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winter-soldier-vibes · 3 years

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Reason to Come Back (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Reason to come back

Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 3574

Request: "can you do something where seb(or one of his characters)and reader used to date and one day he broke up with her and after a short time he comes up with a new girl(not cheating)and the reader thinks that she’s worthless and not beautiful or good enough and that’s why he broke up with her and tries to be better(you know what to do•_-) and silently suffering etc. and with a happy ending where they get back together"

Warnings: mentions of a breakup, angst, depression, very slight mentions of disordered eating and exercise (very slight, not like most of my other fics), general feelings of worthlessness, angst

Tags: @buckys2thicc @mardema @stucky-on-spiderman @abitgryffindorky @freigeistundanderes @barnesplums @thatfangirl42 @buckfics @babyboibucky

A/N: I AM SO SORRY TO THE ANON THAT REQUESTED THIS SO LONG AGO AND THAT IT TOOK SO LONG! I don’t even know if they’re still here, I feel so bad. I got an anon request for this fic and I did not know about the inbox for Tumblr accounts until just recently because I’m incompetent. There’s no excuse for me taking so long to write it, but I wanted to even though it’s been 9 months since they sent it. If you’re still here anon, thank you for sticking with me!

NEW NOTE 06/04/21: I rewrote this to be for Bucky as opposed to Sebastian. It is still mostly the same, just reworded in some places. This is meant to take place in reference to the timeline of tfatws and mentions moments from the show. I am referencing “the time he was gone” as the series episode 1-6. I don’t know how much time passed but I assume it was at least a few weeks if not longer (especially between episodes 5 and 6). That’s how I wrote it.

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It was a quiet night, you under some blankets on the couch watching a movie. There was an empty bowl aside from a few popcorn kernels on the coffee table in front of you, the movie more for background noise than entertainment. You were scrolling through your phone mindlessly, looking for a distraction that would keep you occupied.

Not that it was working too well. There wasn’t much that could distract you from the fact that you were alone.

9 months. You had dated for 9 months. Not that he had been around for much of it. He had been with Sam on an extended mission, and he had been gone for a few weeks. You didn’t know much about the mission, Bucky wasn’t allowed to tell you. For your safety. You understood. It was his job, you knew that, but it could be lonely most of the time. He would call or text you if he could, but he couldn’t compromise his location. You were always happy to hear from him, but it wasn’t the same as when he was around.

You knew this would happen, and you had accepted that. It was hard, but you could manage.

You hadn’t heard from him in a weeks, but you didn’t think much of it. He and Sam must have gotten closer to the answers they had been looking for. You could only hope that he was safe. it took a toll on you, worrying about him, but you had been so happy when he had said he was coming home. But when he walked through the door, he didn’t seem excited at all.

You had wrapped your arms around him, and he had hesitantly hugged you back gently. You had known something was wrong almost immediately, pulling back and trying to meet his eyes. “Babe? Are you okay?”

“We should talk,” he said, struggling to meet your eyes.

You pulled your eyes together with concern. “Yeah, yeah what’s wrong?”

“I, uh… I don’t know if this is gonna work out.”

You shook your head, surprised. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“I just don’t think you and I work with 1,000 miles between us.”

“What?” you said in disbelief. “You’re the one who has to leave and I told you that I’m okay with it, and I am. I never thought you’d be the one with the problem with it.”

“Y/n -”

“We can work this out, Buck. You said it yourself, you don’t normally go away for that long. I’m not going anywhere, I - ”

“I can’t ask you to stay, y/n,” he said, cutting you off. You shut your mouth and shook your head. “Where is this coming from, what happened?” you asked.

He cleared his throat. “I should go.”

“You don’t get to walk away from this like that!” you exclaimed, nearly yelling.

“And I don’t have the right to expect you to wait for months while I’m out trying to save people. I thought it’d be fine but I couldn’t stop thinking about you here, alone. There’s going to be more missions, more danger. They recreated the serum. Who knows what else they’ll be able to create? You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“You don’t get to make that choice for me! I told you I’m okay with it and I still am, Bucky! I know the risks!” you said, tears pricking your eyes.

He looked away. “You deserve much better than me. Someone who can be there for you.”

You walked up to him and cupped his face. “You’re all I could ever want Bucky. Distance be damned.”

He sighed and pulled you into a hug, squeezing you tightly for a moment. “I have to go y/n. I’m sorry.”

He let you go and turned around, not even looking back to say goodbye.

That had been a couple of weeks ago. You had been crushed at first, devastated. But you were still able to function in your day-to-day life. You had a few friends to hype you up or cry with you, whatever the day was. You were able to still get to work, try to move on. And it was getting better, but the nights were still hard. It wasn’t the same when you knew he wouldn’t be coming home.

During the day you could pretend like you were waiting for that night when he would be able to call you. But at night, it was dark and you didn’t have a person you wanted to call.

You weren’t bitter, in a way you understood. You had known how relationships could be ruined by distance and work. But being a super soldier wasn’t a typical line of work. You had been okay with it, but you hadn’t thought that it would’ve affected Bucky as much as it seemed to. You had been emotional at the time, but looking back on it you could understand where he was coming from. Relationships were two-sided - just because you felt okay didn’t guarantee he was.

You knew what he did was dangerous. You had accepted that there might not have always been a happy ending. Maybe he hadn’t.

But then one day you had walked into a bar, only to see Bucky flirting with another girl, laughing away..

That was all you needed to see.

You didn’t want to read too much into it, any kind of situation could be misread. But him laughing with a very attractive girl over drinks shortly after becoming single - you couldn’t help but wonder.

You tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter, that you were reading everything wrong, but your heart still felt as though it was breaking.

She was gorgeous. Much more so than you, you had thought.

Was that why he left? Was he just wanting to get himself back out there? Had he met her and just needed to get rid of you?

You didn’t want to think that way, none of it was true. He wouldn’t do that, he was a good man. But still…

Maybe if you were different it would’ve been harder for him to leave.

Maybe you hadn’t given him a good enough reason to stay.

And maybe, if you were better, prettier, he would come back.

It started small - making more of an effort to go to the gym, not ordering takeaways every night, that sort of thing. Not that you had much of an appetite to begin with. But you didn’t realize when your days had become full of going from work to the gym, nor why you had freaked out so much when you had sprained an ankle and couldn’t do your normal workout.

You had decided to work your arms those next few days to supplement the cardio you had missed. You had kept this up until you woke up one morning struggling to turn over because you were so sore. You decided that that day, you could take a rest day.

A rest day turned into a rest week, and soon enough you were only leaving your house to go to work. And only because you needed money.

You had cut yourself off from most of your contacts, still replying every now and then so they wouldn’t be concerned. You didn’t go out with them or call them because you were worried they would see right through you. Better to stay home. Your bed would never judge you.

You had become familiar with the spots on the wall, the streaks from god knows what, the way that light would filter through your window as the sun ascended and descended the sky. Hours could pass and you could still be in the same position.

You had to keep up a front around everyone. Letting people know how much you were hurting was not an option for you. Then they would ask what was wrong and pull you aside and look at you with this concerned face that you couldn’t deal with. It was the one that everyone always gave when someone was having a bad day, the one people put on when they wanted you to think that they cared. Sometimes they did, but most of the time a person with any sense of morals would put that face on to make a person think that they cared. It’s the same way “How are you?” is more of a greeting than a genuine question.

There were people who cared, but you didn’t want to have that conversation. You didn’t even know what you were doing anymore. It was an honest thought of bettering yourself, but it was for the wrong reasons. Trying to be better for Bucky made you realize how much you missed him. How angry you really were at him. But you couldn’t take it out on him, he didn’t deserve that at all, he didn’t earn that. But you were angry at...something, and maybe it was yourself, at letting him walk out that door, of not calling him and leaving him messages. Maybe if you had fought for him he would’ve stayed. If you had said something when he distanced himself.

You felt like this was your fault. And maybe if you changed something about yourself, you would learn from your mistakes.

Not that you knew exactly what you had done or what isolating yourself would fix, or teach you for that matter.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep because your ringtone jolted you awake. You groaned, shutting your eyes again. You would let it go to voicemail, just like all of the others. If it was that important they would text you.

You let it ring, sighing when it had stopped. You readjusted in your bed, trying to fall back asleep. It was a Saturday morning, you had until Monday morning to sleep. You were going to make the most of it.

But then your phone began ringing again.

You opened your eyes again, picking up your phone to see who it was. You dropped the phone when you saw the name

Bucky Barnes

Why the fuck was he calling you? What could he possibly have to say to you?

You watched the phone ring through to voicemail, soon after seeing a voicemail was left. You didn’t bother listening to it, you didn’t need to. You simply rolled over in bed. If it were that important, he would have called sooner.

Bucky’s POV

As the call went to voicemail again, Bucky was confused. He had never known you to miss a call, ever. It wasn’t like you, he knew you would drop anything to take calls. You had said you hated people leaving voicemails because you hated them having to listen to your voicemail message. You had thought your voice had sounded weird. It was one of the little things he remembered about you that made him smile

And realize how royally he had fucked up.

Being away on a mission wasn’t anything new for him, but maintaining a serious relationship for him was. He had never met anyone like you, and he had missed you so much when he had left. He hadn’t felt anything like what he did when you smiled at him since the 40′s. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but all he could think about was how much he had missed you. And that made him think about how much you must have missed him.

He felt like he was holding you back in some way. He was used to being away in dangerous situations for periods of time but you weren’t. And no matter how much you had assured him that you were okay with the long-distance relationship, as the months went on he felt guilty for not being able to be there in the way that he wanted to.

In the way you deserved.

He broke up with you because he thought you deserved better than relying on phone calls and texts for months at a time. Someone who could be there all the time for you. Someone who you didn’t have to worry about getting shot when he left for a mission. Someone predictable and reliable. Something he couldn’t always do.

But God, did he miss you.

He regretted walking out that door. He regretted not giving you a better reason, for not calling you or texting you until now, weeks later. The more time went on, the more he felt it would be inappropriate to call you to apologize.

But he couldn’t take it anymore, so he dialed your number. And when it went to voicemail, he had gotten a little worried.

He knew he didn’t have much of a right or reason to be worried, but he had a gut feeling that something wasn’t right. So, he decided to reach out to one of your friends.

Hey, is y/n alright?

Why do you want to know?

Look, I know I messed up. I just wanted to apologize and give her the answer she deserves. But she’s not answering my calls.

She doesn’t do phone calls anymore.

What do you mean?

She won’t answer calls. She won’t even come out with us anymore. Something’s up but she denies it.

When did this start?

When do you think?

Bucky’s heart sank to his stomach. This was his fault. And he had to go make it right.

Your POV

You were still in bed, wondering why Bucky had called you. It didn’t make sense to you, for him to call after all of this time. What could he possibly have to say to you? Did he want to inform you of a new girlfriend before the news caught wind of it? Did he want to come up with some dumb excuse to tell you he was sorry?

It made you scoff slightly, but the tug at your heart let you know that it wouldn’t be unwelcome.

You couldn’t deny it. As much as his leaving had hurt you, you missed him more than anything.

You wanted another chance with him, one that you weren’t sure you would get. And the thought of him coming back to you was comforting. Like maybe it wasn’t your fault. Or maybe you had done enough to win him back.

Wishful thinking.

You had lost track of time, once again, but were snapped out of your daze by knocking on your door.

What? Why would anyone be here?

You sighed. It was probably just some random person selling some random product or something.

More knocking. More insistent. You sighed, standing up and silently groaning at the soreness you felt in your body. Not necessarily from overuse, but more so from underuse. You stood you slowly, walking quietly over to your door.

More knocking.

You made it to the door and glanced through the peephole you had, eyes widening and a small gasp leaving your mouth.

Why the fuck was Bucky here?

More knocking.

You ran a hand down your face. Knowing him, he wouldn’t leave. But why did it go from calling straight to ‘I’m coming to your door’? As if he hadn’t been the one to leave you?

More knocking.

You swallowed dryly. “Why are you here?” you called out through the door.

Bucky let out a breath. “I just want to talk to you”

You shook your head on the other side of the door, wondering if you should let him speak. As if he wasn’t already living rent-free in your mind.

“Please y/n.”

You set your face hard, pulling the door open. At least you would get to say your piece to him.

“Now you wanna talk? Fine. Let’s talk.” you said, coldly.

Bucky was slightly taken aback, though he couldn’t blame you. He took in your appearance, exhaustion seeming to overtake you. Dark circles under your eyes, pale skin, you just - all life seemed to be drained from you. He scratched the back of his neck nervously before he asked quietly, “Can I come in?”

You stepped to the side, silently allowing him in, closing the door behind you. You crossed your arms over your chest and shrugged slightly. “What do you want Barnes?

“I’m sorry,” he said. You scoffed slightly, shaking your head and looking away. “Y/n look at me, please. I fucked up.”

“Well it took you long enough to figure that one out didn’t it?” you snapped, looking at him.

“Y/n please -”

“Tell me, when exactly did you figure out that maybe, just maybe, you should say you were sorry?”

“Y/n please - “

“Who was the girl? The one in the bar from a few days after we had broken up? The one you were hitting on over a couple of drinks?”

“The… what?”

“When did you feel the slightest bit of regret? When did you change your mind and decide that you didn’t want to leave?”

“I never wanted to leave you!” he exclaimed. “Can you please just listen to me?”

You looked at him, anger in your eyes but you closed your mouth. You gave him a look that said ‘I’m listening.’

He took a deep breath. “The woman at the bar was an old friend of Sam’s. He had introduced the two of us at one point. I was at a bar one night and and she came over to say hello and stayed for one drink. It’s nothing more than that.”

You took a breath. Situations could definitely be read wrong. You knew it had probably been nothing.

“When we first got together we had talked about me leaving for missions. Long-distance, unpredictable times, dangerous missions. A lot of people have a hard time keeping that going.”

“And I knew that and was okay with it.”

“Let me finish, please.” he pleaded. “I knew you knew the risks but I’m not sure I was as ready as I thought I was. I left and suddenly I couldn’t talk to you because I was worried for your safety. I couldn’t be there for you in all the ways I wanted to be. In all the ways you deserved. I just...you didn’t deserve that. You deserved so much more than that.”

You felt tears prick your eyes. “You already told me that. When you left. What’s really going on?”

He shook his head slightly. “ Sam’s sister had gotten a call with a threat towards her and her children. I couldn’t put you at risk. These people, they were super soldiers just like me. I had a few close calls with serious injuries. And I realized that if I got hurt I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t let you get hurt and I couldn’t let you worry about whether or not I would come home alive. I thought… I thought it’d be less painful for both of us if we stopped seeing each other before that happened.”

You shook your head slightly. “Why couldn’t you tell me that?” you said, a little more softly.

“I don’t know”

You shook your head. “You’re gonna have to do a lot better than I don’t know.”

“I - “ He sighed slightly. “I was scared. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was scared that I was going to lose you.”

“So you gave me up?” you asked.

“And made the biggest mistake of my entire life.”

You looked to the side and bit your lip slightly. “You know I thought it was my fault?” you turned your face back to Bucky’s confused one. “I thought I wasn’t good enough for you. That if I was enough you wouldn’t have left. Or if I was better you would’ve come back.”

He shook his head and started walking towards you to comfort you. “It was never your fault angel -”

You backed up slightly. “You don’t get to call me that. Not right now, not yet at least.”

He looked hurt slightly, but he nodded. After a few moments of silence, you scoffed slightly.

“You know, as much as I hate to admit it, I fell apart these past few weeks. Told myself that the only thing I wanted and needed was having you come back. And here you are and...I don’t know, Bucky.” you shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or think, you broke up with me because you were afraid of hurting me? I - “ you rubbed your eyes. “I just… I get it, but I just wish we could’ve had this conversation weeks ago, Buck.”

“Does this mean we’re done?” he asked timidly.

“I… I don’t know. I just…. I think i need a little bit of time. Please. Just some time to think.”

He nodded, though he looked slightly disappointed. “Yeah, of course.” you nodded, walking him over to the door, opening it. He turned around. “Is it okay to give you a hug, y/n?”

You thought about it for a moment before nodding, letting him wrap his arms around your waist as you looped them around his neck. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, tears forming in your eyes as you realized how much you missed this. How much you needed this. When he went to pull away, you held him a little more tightly before letting him go.

He smiled at you before turning to leave. “Take as much time as you need, y/n.”

You gave him the smallest of smiles back. “I’ll see you later Bucky.”

And with that, you closed the door behind you, not having a clue what any of this meant. This didn’t make it okay by any means, but maybe, just maybe, the two of you could start fresh. Together.

#bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #40s bucky barnes #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns x you #bucky fanfic #bucky #angst #angst angst angst #part two coming soon

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imma-fucking-nerd · 4 years

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Promise Me

(Connor x Suicidal!Reader)

⚠️TW: Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Drug/Alcohol Use, Mentions of Self Harm, Suicide Attempt⚠️

A/N: So as you can tell from the tw this one is going to be very dark and may be triggering for some readers. If you're going through a rough time and don't think you can handle reading depictions of these kinds of things PLEASE skip this one. I only feel comfortable writing about it because I've been living with depression and suicidal thoughts for a very long time, and writing comfort fics with my favourite fictional characters helps. Sorry for the long A/N I just want to make things clear and give a good warning.

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Your alarm clock blaring by you ears woke you up from your only escape from your reality, signalling it was 6am. Groaning, you lazily slapped the alarm off but made no attempt to get up. You knew you had work today but you just couldn't get yourself to stop staring up at the ceiling and into nothingness. What if you just didn't go in? Would anyone even notice? Would anyone even care?

No. No one cares. You're worthless.

And there it was. The voice in your head that sounded like your own yet betrayed you at every opportunity. Yet even so you couldn't help but believe it. After all, it was your thought wasn't it?

That's how it had always been.

Horrible words blending into your thoughts so seamlessly you managed to convince yourself they were normal. But no normal mind tried to tear itself down every time it was silent. That was the demon known as depression.

You've lived with this demon for as long as you've know. It was your normal. But recently it had been more and more frequent with it's hurtful words that spread through your mind like a deadly virus. The past couple of weeks had been especially difficult.

You tried everything you could to shift your mind to something else, anything else. You smoked pot, cigarettes, drank, you even slipped back into an especially dangerous copping mechanism. But none of those seemed to be enough. Every time they would come back. Your voice would spew venom at yourself in your own mind.

The only times you've managed to have any moment of peace was when you were asleep, or when you were with your only two friends. Hank, and Connor. You loved Hank, but it was Connors presence that really made you feel good. A feeling you longed to feel again every time he left. Was it just a silly crush? Or were you madly in love with him? Did it matter?

He would never love you back anyway.

Of all the thoughts that one might have hurt the most, because you knew it was actually true. He couldn't love you. He was, as he put it, 'a machine, designed to accomplish a task.' Therefore, it was a hopeless battle to think anything could come of it. Yet you still had hope. Maybe because you needed to have it to survive. Because if you didn't have that little hope, you might as well been dead.

It wasn't like you didn't have your reasons to hope, or maybe you really were that desperate. Connor was always so sweet to you, but then again e was sweet to everyone. Except Gavin. He would always get you a cup of hot chocolate in the mornings because you don't like coffee. Connor definitely didn't do that for anyone else. He does get Hank coffee in the mornings too. Then there was the fact you were one of the two people he talked to the most, aside from his detective work. Maybe he just pities you because he knows how fragile you are.

So, as you laid there staring up at the cieling, you decided to test that hope once and for all. See if there was anything to be hopeful about at all, or if he really was a machine who wouldn't love you the same way you loved him. You decided you weren't going to go to work that day, and you weren't going to call in either. If anyone were worried about you, if anyone even cared about you at all, they would check up on you, right?

Not if they don't even notice in the first place.

Hour after hour went by. No calls. At first you figured that it was still early and they probably just thought you were late. But you were never late, why would they think that? Aren't they worried? Not if they never cared to begin with.

At around 9am you couldn't take the overthinking anymore and just went back to sleep. You couldn't think if you weren't conscious. A little secret you learned in the game that is living. Sleeping was the best way to just escape. Especially if you were dreaming. That was the best part. Mostly because your dreams were the only place you could feel Connors arms around you, and his lips on yours.

When you woke up again it was 5 o'clock in the evening. However you didn't accomplish an impressive 8 hours of sleep uninterrupted. No, during that time you woke up just for a minute or two before going back to sleep at least a dozen times. That's usually how you slept most days. It almost felt weird when you sleep a long duration uninterrupted.

Glancing over at your phone, your heart dropped when you saw 0 notifications. Well, not including ones you got from youtube. You turned your phone off and tossed it onto a pile of clothes in the corner of your room.

Maybe they were just having a busy day and didn't notice you weren't there.

There was no way Connor wouldn't notice. He notices everything.

What you didn't know was that Connor was in fact not aware you weren't at the prescinct, but that was because he wasn't at the prescinct either. Connor and Hank had been called in to do a high stakes stakeout to bust a person who had been stealing and selling Cyberlife memorabilia illegally. They had to leave at around 4 am, way before you had to be at work. The entire time Connor was disappointed he'd have to break his streak of greeting one of his favourite people every day.

Truth was, Connor had grown quite attached to you. Despite the fact that he wasn't technically supposed to have any favorites. You were just so different from anyone else he had met. You were the first, and maybe only, human that actually referred to him as a friend. Or even treated him with a shred of decency in general. It made him feel....nice. You made him feel.

So, when the duo arrived at the office finally at around 4pm he noticed the lack of your presence immediately. He asked around the prescinct if anyone had seen you today and all of them, well the ones that actually talked to him, said they hadn't. He even went so far as to ask Fowler if you had called in only to be met with the same answer. Now he knew that was odd, that something was wrong.

He tried to call you when he was finished Hanks reports for him so the poor man could take a nap but you didn't answer your phone. Now he felt worried. A fact that only worried him more. However before he had the chance to go to your place to see if you were alright, he and Hank were needed to defuse a hostage situation at 6 pm. Of course, he immediately made his new mission his top priority, but every so often you would slip back into his mind.

It was currently 9 and you had managed to drag yourself from your bed to take care of your business in the bathroom a couple times since you had woken up. Everytime avoiding looking at your pathetic self in the mirror. But you would always go crawling back to the comfort of your bed. You didn't even leave your room yet. Not even to get anything to eat. It's not like you didn't want to, but whenever you thought about eating that damned voice in your head always ruined your appetite. So you just kept your eyes glued to your laptop as you laid buried under your blankets. YouTube was always a good distraction. That was until now.

Now that you glanced at the clock you were reminded of the fact that the work day had been over for you hours ago. The fact that no one seemed to care that you weren't there. You didn't even want to look at your phone. You already knew there weren't any missed calls or texts from anyone. No one cared enough.

If only you had actually looked, you would have seen how wrong you were. How wrong it was.

It was at 11pm when it was all just too much for you. Youtube wasn't doing its job in distracting you anymore and the thoughts just kept getting more and more persistent. The worst part was, you didn't even have the energy to fight them anymore. At this point, to you, they all just seemed to be facts. Like you were trying to get yourself to see the truth.

You weren't wanted.

You weren't needed.

You weren't missed.

You should just die.

You believed them.

Closing your laptop, you sat up in bed, letting your legs dangle off the side of the mattress. You looked down at your feet blankly. You couldn't even bring yourself to cry, you just felt numb as you prepared yourself for what you were about to do. Slowly, you got up and went to your bathroom. Once you were inside you made sure to avoid your own ruthless stare in the mirror.

You walked over to the bathtub and turned the nob of the faucet before sticking in the drain plug, not particularly caring about the temperature of the water. You weren't going to be using it for long anyways. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub you rolled up the sleeves of your hoodie and looked over your arms as you waited for the tub to fill. They were littered with many scars of many different ages. The oldest being more than a decade old, and the newest being only a mere few hours. You grabbed the razor from the sink and turned it over in your fingers. These next couple ones would be more permanent.

knock

The sound at your door didn't seem to reach your ears and were only met by silence. This caused Connor's LED to flicker into a pale yellow. Why weren't you answering? Were you harmed? The android tried knocking again, even calling out your name, but was met with nothing once more. He was just about to go and bust down your window like he had once done to Hank when said older man stopped him.

"Don't you even think about it," he said, pointing an accusatory finger at the android.

"But Lieutenant, (Y/n) might be-" Connor argued but was cut off when Hank held up the finger that was once pointing at him to signify 'one moment'.

Hank then bent down, with a little bit of a groan, before lifting up the corner of your welcome mat and plucking up a spare key. Once Hank stood back up with a huff, he shooed Connor away from the door before unlocking and opening it. Connor wasted no time cutting Hank off from the entrance and stepping inside.

Immediately upon entering Connor noted the complete darkness, but that didn't really matter much to him. Through the darkness he knew you weren't in the livingroom or kitchen, a fact made clearer when Hank flicked on the lights. However Connor also noted that there seemed to be no traces of a break-in or a struggle at all. At least not the definition of a struggle he was familiar with.

"(Y/n)?" he called out.

Silence

Connor moved through your home to where he assumed your bedroom. This was the first time he had entered your humble abode and under different circumstances he would've taken more time to investigate the surroundings. Get to know you a bit better. But right now that could wait until he was sure you were okay. He didn't know why it even seemed to be a priority but he couldn't just ignore it any longer.

Your room was just as dark as the rest of the house and also completely lacked your form. The only thing illuminating the room was the light coming from the bathroom which had it's door wide open. Before Hank could stop and scold him about the importance of privacy, Connor made a beeline towards the bathroom.

The sight that he had walked into made his LED flash a dangerous red and eyes widen. You were laying in your bathtub. Fully clothed. Water tinted pink. Your dangerously pale face. However it wasn't those small details that caused the android to suddenly rush over to your side. It was the two long gashes on both of your wrists. Upon scanning you he found that you had lost a lot of blood, but you were still alive. Barely, but he could work with that.

"Connor what the fuck are you- Jesus christ," Hank cut himself off once he saw for himself what was going on.

"Call an ambulance Lieutenant. (Y/n), (Y/n) can you hear me?" Connor managed to keep his voice calm and steady, a feat that took more effort than he would have liked.

The sound of Connor's voice, and feeling you body shift as he gently lifted you out of the cold water made your eyes gently flutter open. Your dulling (e/c) met with his worry written coffee brown ones.

"Connor...?" you called out weakly.

Despite the fact your vision was blurred from a mix of blood loss and building tears, you could recognize his form immediately. What you weren't sure of however was that if it was just a trick of the mond or not. A sense of comfort in your dying seconds.

"Yes (Y/n), it's me. I'm here, you're going to be okay," he said in the most reassuring tone he could muster.

As he spoke he took off his jacket and gently tied it around your left arm while doing the same with a towel for your right. Guilt and regret ate at you from the inside as you silently watched him, his LED still very red and blinking every so often. Hell you could even see the worry on his perfect features. Before you knew it tears started brimming your eyes before large droplets rolled down your pale cheeks.

"I-I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice cracking as your fragile body wracked with soft sobs.

Connor froze when he heard your little voice but it didn't take him another moment to hold you close to his chest.

"It's- It's going to be okay. It's all going to be okay (Y/n), I promise," Connors words were soft and confident, you almost believed him.

You heard what you thought was Hank's voice speak but you couldn't quite register what he said. It was becoming harder and harder to keep your eyes open. As if your eyelids suddenly weighed a million pounds. You shifted further into Connor and you barely heard him speak but the whole world seemed to be fading. Soon enough you closed your eyes and couldn't seem to open them again.

At least, not for several hours. When you did eventually flutter your eyes open again you were mixed with confusion, and then relief. You knew by the pristine white of everything, along with the abundance of machines you were hooked up to that you were in a hospital. As the memories of the previous night came flooding back your eyes dropped down to your newly bandaged arms, and an IV transferring blood into your system. Like last night, a deep sense of guilt, regret, and shame squeezed at your heart.

When your eyes wandered to your left you flinched slightly when you saw Connor standing next to the bed. His eyes were closed and his LED was gently flickering amber, you assumed he was in sleep mode. However as you jolted slightly at his presence, the sudden movement was enough to alert him back awake. His eyes fluttered open and were now on you, seemingly softening a tad the moment he registered it was you. Your eyes only met for a second before you shifted your gaze down to your hands. The guilt and shame made your eyes sting as tears threatened to form in full.

"How are you feeling, (Y/n)?" Connor asked, breaking the silence.

There was a certain sincerity you've never heard from him when he spoke. It made you heart clench but you weren't sure if it was in a good or bad way.

"I'm okay," you said, your voice hoarse and barely audible.

"Good, I'm glad," he replied.

There was another long silence between you two. The only thing keeping the room from being dead silent being the steady beeping and whirring of various machines. This time it was you who spoke up first.

"I'm s-sorry," you croaked.

Your voice was somehow quieter than before and it cracked near the end as your throat tightened up. You were trying desperately to hold back the tears but to no avail. Large teardrops fell from your eyes and rolled down your cheeks.

"I'm so so sorry," you continued, your body being wracked with heavy sobs.

Connor just stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do for a brief moment. His LED went from blue, to golden, and flickered a dangerous red before settling back to golden. Suddenly, he reached out to grasp your hand. His grip was firm yet gentle, and it captured your attention immediately.

Honestly, he didn't know why he did it. But the sight of your fragile and vulnerable form made his biocomonants feel like they were being crushed. Much like how he felt when he first saw you last night. Except it wasn't nearly as bad. Last bight he felt like someone ripped out his therium pump altogether.

That alone made him confused as to why he felt anything to begin with. It was a question he had been asking himself for a while. At least almost as long as he'd met you. He'd run a million diagnostics on himself and they'd always come back with everything working smoothly. Even after last night. It baffled him.

However at this moment, when you looked up at him with your big, glossy (e/c) eyes, he ceased to think about it. All that mattered right now was you. That was all the information he needed.

"You don't need to be sorry," he said softly.

You intertwined your fingers with his and practically held onto him for dear life. Connor noted how your stress levels seemed to go down at his touch, so he decided to take a seat next to you at the edge of the bed. Once you realized what he was doing you scoot over slightly to make more room.

"Everything is alright, just take deep breaths. Can you do that for me?" he asked soothingly, tilting his head ever so slightly.

You nodded and closed your eyes, focusing on nothing but taking deep breaths. Well, that wasn't the only thing you were focused on. You were also focused on Connors fingers that were laced with yours. It really did help. After what felt like hours, your breath seemed to finally stabilize, and so did Connor's LED, settling on a calm blue.

"May I ask you something (Y/n)?" Connor inquired, a question you heard him ask often.

You opened your eyes and looked up to him. You didn't respond right away, knowing exactly what it was he was going to ask, and you dreaded having to answer it. But eventually, after a few moments of him patiently watching you with those warm chocolate eyes, you slowly nodded.

"Why did you do it?"

His voice was softer than ever, and confusion was written all over your face as he tried to understand. You had to look away from him before you broke down again. A soft sight escaped you and he gave your hand a little reassuring squeeze. You knew you had to tell him, so you took a deep breath before speaking.

"I.... I felt worthless. Like nobody cared if I was gone," you spoke slowly, avoiding Connor's eyes at all cost.

"I stayed home today to see if anyone would care if I wasn't there. No one called. I thought that meant I was right. That I didn't mean anything to anyone. That I was a waste of space. That I should just.....just die," you continued, surprised at yourself at how you were able to keep it together.

Connor listened, his LED whirring golden as he processed the information. He then waited for a moment or two before responding. Wanting to be absolutely sure you were finished before he spoke.

"I assure you that I was aware you were missing as soon as I returned to the prescinct. I regret that I wasn't able to bring you your morning hot chocolate," Connor smiled slightly as he spoke, but it soon dropped along with his gaze before he continued.

"But what I regret more was that I wasn't fast enough to stop you. I'm sorry (Y/n)," the sorrow he held in his voice, and the flucking of his now amber LED made you squeeze his hand reassuringly.

"Connor, if it weren't for you I'd be dead. You saved me. You have nothing to be sorry for," you offered him a weak smile once his eyes returned to you.

Connor returned the smile. It was awkward but it wasn't forced, and it was adorable. His LED returned to sky blue, his chocolatey brown hues glancing down at your intertwined fingers. He gently stroked your knuckles with his thumb, the small action making heat rise up into your cheeks. For the first time since you had been awake, there was a comfortable silence for a few moments before Connor spoke up.

"(Y/n), can you promise me something?" his eyes flicked up to meet yours as he spoke.

"What is it?" you replied, subconsciously tilting your own head.

A habit you picked up from the adorable android.

"Promise me you won't try to take your life again?"

"I promise. But can you promise me something?" you implored.

"As long as it's within my capabilities, I'll try," he said sincerely.

"Promise me you won't forget about me."

"I think I can manage that," he said with a little playful smile before adding,

"I promise."

———————————————

A/N: OOF sorry if the end was kinda ass. And also sorry its so mf long. ALSO sorry its kinda dark. Hope y'all enjoyed anywayss 💙

#dbh fanfic #dbh #detroit #detroit become human #connor x reader #connor rk800 #dbh x reader #rk800 #detroit rk800 #connor rk800 x reader

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boukenboy · 4 years

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#16: アンジェリーク魔恋の六騎士 / Angelique: Maren no Rokukishi

Angelique: Maren no Rokukishi was a visual novel released by Koei in collaboration with Otomate, a developer of many otome games within Japan. It follows the story of Teresa, a young girl whose parents went missing when she was very young. She lives in the city of Siva with her adoptive family - an unnamed grandmother and her annoying brother, Renaud. After hearing strange rumors about a series of kidnappings within the city, she falls victim to a masked assailant later that night, only to wake up in her room a day later with no recollection of what had happened to her. Read on for drama!

Her brother disappears too, and Teresa beings to desperately search for the boy. She soon finds him within the company of a band of traveling mercenaries. She pleads for him to return, but Renaud refuses, pledging his loyalty to the captain of the mysterious group, Leviath. Faced with a lack of options and her brother's stubborn reluctance to return home, she begs the one-eyed weirdo to serve as his assistant, as Renaud is prone to exhaustion and illness. He agrees, and soon Teresa finds herself on an interstellar adventure, supporting the knights as they serve various clients.

Maren no Rokukishi focuses on the nature of war. When is violence justified? Is it worth it? Do the ends always justify the means? The game explores all of these at some point, and overall, its surprisingly cynical and dark, in a sharp contrast to the colorful art direction. Family ties are broken, betrayals abound, and the action sequences are surprisingly well-written. There are sections in Maren that I found myself completely absorbed in the writing - despite being the type to skim fight-scenes, especially those written in a language that I am not a native speaker of.

Unfortunately, most of the above happens in the final hours of the main route - the rest is simply not that interesting, primarily due to the focus on Renaud. So much of Maren revolves around him, and quite frankly, he is easily the worst member of the cast. Renaud is whiny, naïve, occasionally bratty, and has an incredibly irritating voice. He collapses at the slightest bit of effort, and yet everybody in the cast dotes on him and sees zero no issue with letting him lead his own army. Make no mistake, this is not Teresa's story. It is his.

When you're not experiencing Renaud's latest temper tantrum, depressive episode, or fainting spell, you'll be treated to amusing slice-of-life vignettes of Teresa adjusting to a mercenary lifestyle. You'll be harassed by a drunk, attacked by bandits, threatened with your life at the slightest suspicion, and so forth. Like I said earlier, Maren really only picks up in the final hours, where the shit hits the proverbial fan and characters start dropping like flies. The ending is honestly shocking in how far it plunges into campy tragedy - think Game of Thrones, but actually entertaining. I said what I said.

Thankfully, the other routes solve the Renaud issue entirely. But there is a caveat: in order to unlock these routes, you have to complete the main story first. I am of two minds about this feature. On one hand, I think its interesting that the designers have you experience their fantasy epic before allowing the player to romance their favorite knight, but on the other, I don't think that Maren's "canon" story is strong enough to justify it - there's just too much focus on one character, and he's not even remotely likeable. I did some research before writing this game, and found someone who agreed with me, saying, roughly translated from memory, "...but there was too much Renaud, so I'm taking off a star."

The individual routes are much stronger. My favorite of those that I've played was Giovanni - he's basically the ultimate twink: a hard-drinking, gambling, blackmailing scammer who loves trouble. His route is very light-hearted, which was a welcome relief from the drama present throughout the rest of the game, and his playful nature reminds me a bit of a particular ex of mine, so I'm naturally a bit biased. The main conflict in his route occurs during their second date: he carefully arranges a luxurious all-day experience with Teresa. They go to the opera! He gives her a new dress! A fancy restaurant! Flowers! It's amazing!

It is then revealed that he was able to go to such excesses because he scammed rich people out of their money. Teresa, for whatever reason, is appalled at this, and basically tears him apart, making a huge scene in public, even - and I was completely dumbfounded. This might be a bit too political for a gaming blog, but I personally would have no issue with someone I am interested in romantically treating me to a five-star experience through some rich asshole's money. They'll be fine, they're rich - who cares? It would be one thing if he was beating up orphans in the street, but Giovanni only targets those who can afford a little blackmail. He is the ideal husband. Teresa should deal with it.

Kiefer's route was incredibly moving, albeit in a more personal way - this blonde mad lad is absolutely insane, and for a good part of the story, Teresa is left unsure as to whether or not he wants to love her or kill her. With most characters of this type, they quickly warm up to you, but Kiefer is different: if Teresa expresses even something even slightly disagreeable in his mind, he would not hesitate to slaughter her on the spot. He is also the character I'm most attracted to, and that says a lot about me and I don't want to talk about it.

As I said earlier, Maren has a streak of denying the supposed inherent value of family, and there is no greater example of this than in his route: Kiefer kills his brother, an adorable himbo struggling to adjust to high society, in cold-blood, and then attempts to do the same with his father, who, as we find out, tended to dote on his twin-brother. As someone who has been disowned by my own family, Kiefer's rage resonated with me. We, as children, take in our parent's biases, for better or worse, and when we cannot live up to them, it creates a disconnect. I have not spoken to my family in nearly five years. I could understand and identify with Kiefer's rage. I wouldn't go as far as to kill my own family, but who knows what would have happened should I not have left my home town?

I did not know this when I first began playing Maren, but the game is an adaption of a light novel released after Angelique: Tenkuu no Requiem, which is itself an RPG spin-off of Angelique Special 2. This makes Maren a spin-off of a spin-off, but despite that, I still had plenty of fun with the game - I just wish the main route was realized a bit better. I usually like to replay certain routes to better formulate my opinions, but Maren focuses entirely too much on a character I could not stand. I'd definitely recommend this to fans of Angelique, particularly the sequels mentioned above, as I'm sure the game contains all sorts of references to the source materials, but on its own, it's a bit lacking overall. That being said, as much as Maren lacks, there are certain scenes that were so well-done that I found myself genuinely moved. It's an uneven experience, but one worth looking into!

#otomate #ruby party #otome #otome games #visual novel #fantasy game #retro gaming #gaymer #review #angelique #angelique series #played several other routes but this review was long enough

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anthousas · 6 years

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❀ RP Character Profile: Victorine Soleil.

BASICS –––

NAME: Victorine Oronir (née Soleil).

Age: 24.

Birthday: 15th Sun of the 2nd Umbral Moon.

Race: Midlander Hyur with possible Garlean blood from her father’s side.

Gender: Female.

Sexuality: Heterosexual.

Marital Status: Married.

Server: Balmung.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE –––

Hair: Fawn in colour with pink streaks. Wavy. Normally she either wears it down, or puts half of it in a half braid.

Eyes: Pink.

Height: 162cm // 5 fulms, 3 ilms.

Build: Not entirely curvaceous, rather on the slim side with fairly endowed assets. Her tummy is rather flat, though Victorine has a bit of baby fat here and there, particularly on her cheeks.

Distinguishing Marks: During the Warrior of Light’s first battle with Zenos, Victorine foolishly tried to intervene and help, earning her a hefty scar over her left eye. It has since healed, though up close the faintest markings of it can be seen.

Common Accessories: A hat or a headpiece/headdress. She has a fondness for jewellery and is often using layers of necklaces, and is always seen with her ring of eternity.

ABOUT –––

Victorine is a bit of a mystery. In the early years of her childhood, Victorine remembers helping her mother, a seamstress for the Empire back in Garlemald. When Victorine was about 12 or 13, her mother and her fled to Ul’dah; Thus making a young Victorine a bit of a street rat until her early adolescence. When Victorine was around 16, her mother died; Though her death was never specified, Victorine mentions often that her mother struggled with depression as long as she could remember, which hints that it may have been a suicide. The loss of her mother was a pivotal point in putting down her sewing needle in exchange for a grimoire.

She occasionally aided the Scions of the Seventh Dawn when she became efficient as a Summoner, and became more prominent in helping them every so often during the journey and events in Coerthas.

Upon their travels to the Azim Steppe, she met Magnai Oronir, and while originally not getting off on the right foot (she threw up on him) the two eventually realized that they were in love sometime when she decided to stay back in the Steppe while her friends travelled to Doma first; She sees Azim in him where he sees Nhaama in her — Though, the mixed racial relationship breaks traditions, and raises concerns in some. Victorine is however very respectful to the lifestyle, tradition, and culture of the Steppe, and abides it for the most part.

Currently residing in The Dawn Throne, Victorine is a call and Yol ride away from helping her friends should they need it.

PERSONAL –––

Profession: Khatun of The Dawn Throne, also the current khagan of the Azim Steppe.

Hobbies: Victorine is very fond of sewing, and likes making clothes of her own. She also enjoys watching the arts, be they in music, acting, or whatever else. Her primary hobby is being an absolute menace to everyone in her life, be they friend or for; Magnai in particular is her primary victim.

Languages: This is cheating, because Victorine has the Echo.

Residence: The Dawn Throne, The Azim Steppe.

Birthplace: N/A.

Religion: Agnostic to a degree. While she believes or is aware of the existence of deities, Victorine doesn’t necessarily have faith in them.

Patron Deity: Menphina.

Fears: Death; While she has no issues in taking the life of enemies, or absolutely horrible people, Victorine greatly fears losing those she holds dear to her. Loss of her looks; Awfully vain, Victorine is super conscious about her appearance and looks after it in great detail.

RELATIONSHIPS –––

Spouse: Magnai Oronir.

Children: None.

Parents: Laurette Soleil (Midlander Hyur), an unknown man of Garlean blood (possibly).

Siblings: N/A.

Other Relatives: N/A.

Pets: Not necessarily having one in particularly, Victorine does have a whole herd of Tender Lambs that she fancies to dote on. She also has a customized Wind-Up Magnai that has a linkpearl in it, allowing the actual Magnai to communicate with his wife when she’s away from the Steppe; It is lovingly called Magnai Jr. by Victorine (sometimes Little Sun, though she avoids calling it that in front of Magnai’s face).

TRAITS –––

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

HABITS –––

Smoking Habit: No.

Drugs: No.

Alcohol: Every now and then. She isn’t necessarily a lightweight, though gets very giggly when she’s had a bit too much.

CHARACTER HOOKS –––

Did you hear that she shines brighter than The Sun?: While many were beyond relieved that Magnai found his Nhaama in Victorine, the young woman’s menace ways and being from out of the Steppe (or not even a Xaela, or an Au Ra at all) raised some brows. Victorine tries to inspire Magnai’s views on love to be open-minded, while he simultaneously inspired her to believe in a great, destined love. Thus, unless called upon, Victorine is primarily residing in the Steppe.

This is how to be a troublemaker.: More than just a bit of a menace, Victorine tends to cause some chaos wherever she goes, even if she doesn’t mean to, or if she doesn’t realize it. However, most of her menace shenanigans are harmless. Her playful, outgoing personality just makes her outspoken tendencies to say things that people either don’t expect, or exactly what people are thinking (but she still shouldn’t say), often landing herself and others around her in trouble.

For victory!: The only confirmed thing people know about Victorine is that her first name is in fact Victorine. Soleil was a last name that she adopted, and she has never said what her actual last name is, likely because she doesn’t know what it is. Victorine gets rather elusive when asked about her background.

OUT OF CHARACTER THINGS AND CONTACT INFORMATION –––

– You may refer to me as Merm OOC! I’m in my twenties and am in the GMT/UTC+8 timezone.

– Victorine’s in-game name is Victorine Soleil at the moment if you would like to add her!

– Victorine is ICly married to Magnai. If this is for some reason not approved by you, or you don’t dig canon/OC ships, then this is not the character profile for you. Heck, I don’t think my entire page is for you, then!

– For some timeline of their relationship: In her canon, Victorine and Magnai were married sometime during the events of Under the Moonlight. They had gotten together properly after Doma was liberated.

– If you’d like, you can find me on my twitter or Discord; Though I’m more likely to give the former as opposed to the latter unless we’re friends! Messages on tumblr are fine, too, albeit not ideal.

– That being said, I’m a bit picky with whom I plot with: This is not necessarily an elitist thing, it’s just because my schedule is a bit all over the place and I’m not really one to fire out replies constantly which is what some people might be looking for.

– In-game RP is a bit new to me, and I think I’d prefer RPing or plotting (excessively) on social media.

– Listen, I know the Common Eorzean dialogue includes saying things like ‘pray’ in place of ‘please,’ but I ain’t got time for that, man. I’ll try to keep it as canon as possible, of course, but if you really try to scalp me for not using the appropriate terms, you’ll owe me $15 for your shenanigans.

#victorine soleil #ffxiv #character profile #rp profile #lfrp #kinda #balmung #listen victorine is A LOT so i understand if not everyone would like to interact with her and such #reblogs and likes appreciated of course!#*mine #*writing #hyur #midlander hyur #midlander #character sheet

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averagedoctor · 6 years

Note

Hi can you continue "The worst thing" where the doctor still remembers reader and regrets leaving reader/yelling at them. But reader doesn't remember him and thinks he's crazy? sorry if it's extremely sad and if you don't write it that's fine! It's just a question since it says -hi "can" you continue, blah blah- so question not a demand~! bye

Yep, and don’t worry about your wording, you’re fine!! I’ve been thinking of adding to this one for a while so thank you for suggesting it!! (along with @terrainhead)

Part 1: https://platonicdoctorwho.tumblr.com/post/177152549589/the-worst-thing

11th doctor x reader

Pronouns: gender neutral

Word count: 1,755

TWs: none?

Tagging: @evyiione (if you’d like to be added to this list, shoot me a message! i also keep forgetting about this oops)

Reunion

The Doctor slumped against the wooden door, the back of his head hitting it hard as he leaned back. He could hear your sobs outside and he hated to do this, but he had to. It was the right thing to do. With effort, he pulled himself up off the ground and over to the console, switching her to leave. The last thing he heard from you was your broken cries as he tried not to let remorse enter his heart.

One week since leaving you has felt like an eternity. He wondered how you were doing and if you were okay. He struggled to justify kicking you out now that he was all alone. To distract himself, he went to places he never had before in an attempt to wipe you from his mind, just for a little bit. It worked, but then he had to return back to an empty TARDIS with no one by his side. Sighing, he would go into your room and sit for hours, just watching the space you used to sleep in.

Three months without your presence was slowly destroying him. No, not slowly, more like rapidly. He liked to lie to himself and say he was fine, but he was running out of quick fixes. He no longer found joy in fun trips and couldn’t appreciate the beauty in anything. He contemplated going to see the Ponds, but knew they would have questions for him. He couldn’t deal with questions right now. He found himself wandering the halls of the TARDIS, a pit aching in his chest of how much you loved to explore here. He swore he could hear your laughter echoing through the halls, but that was, of course, impossible.

A year. It had been a solid year at this point. At least, it had been a solid year for you. He had been keeping track, and even tacked up a calendar so he wouldn’t be wrong. On Earth, you would be a year older now. He often imagined if you looked any different. Maybe you cut your hair or changed the color, maybe you wore different clothes, maybe even your personality had changed. He didn’t like dwelling on that thought and as soon as it would come he would try and push it far from his mind. At around the six month mark, he found himself overcome with energy and cleaned the entire TARDIS, well he cleaned the places he could find. However, he avoided your room. It contained all your things you had brought on board and pictures you managed to snap on an excursion. It pained him too much to go through it so he left it alone. Lately, he had thought about going to visit you, but hesitated. You probably never wanted to see him again. He ruined his friendship with you because of one lousy day. Yes, people died because of a mistake you made, but people died all the time. He felt like a monster when he tried to rationalize why he shouldn’t have kicked you out. He knew deep down it was the most right course of action, but the crushing loneliness wasn’t backing that up enough for him to believe it.

One year and six months. He started traveling a bit more with Amy and Rory. He appreciated the company but he could tell they were a little antsy. Sure, of course they loved traveling with the Doctor, but they could tell something was bothering him deep down. He had gotten much better at hiding it by now, but the darkness still seeped through at times. He started getting paranoid about their stares and whispers and dropped them off back at home. Amy tried to get him to talk but he whisked away and shut the door, leaving them in utter confusion and worry. He promised early to them that he would be back at some point, and he knew he would. He just had no clue when.

Time started moving by faster and faster with this depressive haze going on in him. Normally, he wouldn’t hold such a grudge over letting a companion go but the fact that you were still alive and that he had hurt you wouldn’t stop gnawing at his insides, a constant ache he couldn’t get rid of. Soon, it was two years, then three, then four, then five. Five seemed to be the magic number as he finally let his temptations fly free and directed the TARDIS to your house. His hearts were beating wildly in his chest and he felt giddy at the prospect of seeing you. He hoped that you would forgive him, but he could find himself accepting if you wouldn’t. It would be hard, as hard as dealing with you not traveling with him had been, but at least he would have to get over himself at that point.

He touched down outside your townhouse and tried to contain the smile on his face. Striding up to your door, he poised his knuckles over the wood and took a deep breath before knocking. Butterflies were crashing over him in waves as he waited in anticipation for you to open the door. Soon enough, he could see you coming down the stairs behind the opaque glass outlining your front door.

“Hi!” The Doctor said, clasping his hands. “I know that it’s been a really long time, and I’m so so sorry about that, but I came back. It took a while but–”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” You cocked your head, leaning against your open door. The Doctor isn’t sure what he was expecting, perhaps a slap to the face, but hearing you utter those words did the same job.

“Hah, it’s… it’s me, Y/N. The Doctor.” He wrung his hands, his smile fading.

“How… how do you know my name? Who are you? Get- Get out!” You exclaimed, flustered with panic and went to slam your door shut on the strange man.

“No! Wait, Y/N, please. It’s me, come on, you know me. Please.” He pleaded with a hoarse voice, stretching his arm out to grab you wrist. You immediately recoiled from his touch.

“I- I don’t know who you are, why you’re hear, or who you think I am… but, but I’m not the person you’re looking for. I haven’t seen you in my life. I’m sorry.” You stammered out at the man’s hurt face, troubled that you couldn’t help him. However, he was pretty weird and knew your name, so you didn’t feel too bad about shutting him out.

“Please! Let me explain!” He shouted in vain as you closed the door. He beat against it with his fists as you sunk down to the ground. “Y/N, please! Please tell me you remember me! All of our adventures! Please, we had so much fun, we did so many things. I know I kicked you out and that it’s been five years but I was wrong for doing that! I was hurt and angry and then weren’t sure how you’d feel about me trying to come back into your life so long after. I know I hurt you that day and I’m so so sorry, just please, please tell me you know who I am.” He cried, tears dripping down his face as he spoke through the door, ear pressed against the paint. He heard movement behind the door and hope entered his heart again as he stood back up. You cracked the door open, biting your lip.

“I really wish I was who you were talking about, but I have no clue who you’re referring to. I haven’t seen you a day in my life and if you don’t leave my property I’m going to call the police.” Taking one last glance at the man, you closed the door and walked upstairs. The Doctor balked at your words, clutching his chest.

“No… no…. no…. nonononono….” He muttered under his breath, tears flowing steadily now. Fluttering a hand around his mouth, he looked at your door and then back to the TARDIS, conflicted. His emotions were running on high and he didn’t know what to do. For both of your well beings, he followed your wishes and returned to the TARDIS. Inside, he broke down like he had never broken down before. The pain he was feeling was unbearable and his whole soul ached. He wondered if this is what you felt like when you had been kicked out. Suddenly, he loathed himself and his actions and rage tore through his body. He smacked the railings and kicked the walls, like a child have a tantrum, before once again breaking down into sobs. His body felt empty in a way he had never felt before and it was like his breath was gone. Struggling to stand, he set coordinates for Amy and Rory’s, finally going to tell them what happened. It seemed optimal, since his break down was in full swing and he had no one else to turn to.

Amy and Rory immediately ran out of their house to see the Doctor hobbling out of his TARDIS, face red and streaked with tears. He explained everything that happened and allowed them to comfort him. He wouldn’t isolate himself this time and he would never make the same mistake as he did with you.

Meanwhile, in your house, you sat on the edge of your bed, staring blankly at your wall. You couldn’t believe he had really come back and that you had the courage to deny him. It hurt like mad to see him so devastated, but you were terrified of messing up again. You were one hundred percent lying when you said you didn’t remember him. In fact, you remembered every single detail from your adventures, and you would go back to them in a heartbeat. Part of you desperately wished you had said yes to him and accepted him back into your life with open arms, but you couldn’t take that pain again. No, remembering him from a distance would be better than even one second of closeness. You couldn’t handle pain like what he caused you ever again. At least, you didn’t think you could. You probably shouldn’t even think about wanting to go with him again. Yet, here you were, wishing for him even though he hurt you so bad. Numbly, you curled up on your bed and wept softly over everything you could have just gained but then lost simultaneously.

#11th doctor #doctor who #eleventh doctor #11th doctor x reader #11th doctor imagine

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fear-chaos · 6 years

Text

Death of Chaos

Orion sat on his couch, reading a love novel while he rested. Today had been a rather boring day for the God of Order, although he didn't seem too bothered by it. He preferred it this way, for things to go by smoothly. The less problems he had to deal with the better, he was not a fan for useless conflict. Although that didn't mean he wasn't good at causing a ruckus when he had to, because he had in the past. As he turned the page, one of the lines stuck out to him and it made him smile. It reminded him of his 'twin', Khorne.

'Love is a chaotic maelstrom of emotions that confuses anyone who deals with it. Love is commonly referred to as the most chaotic emotion that dwells within the heart.'

Between the two of them, The God of Chaos was always the more emotional between the two. He was the 'heart' while Orion was the 'mind' so to speak. Khorne was a mystery all his own, even to his brother who has known him all their life.

"Even after all this time he has never changed. Always such a...dork."

He laughs a little, going to stand up and head to the kitchen for a snack. Sifting through his fridge for something to eat, he decided on a pizza he ordered from last night. Naturally he had put the slices on a plate before warming it up. Cold pizza was horrible. Thirty seconds was what he set the microwave to and he started reading his book again. As the time ticked down, he let the beeping of the microwave influence his humming.

"Hmmm...I might suggest this book to Uncle Phobs, he is a diehard romantic."

Suddenly he felt a stabbing pain in his chest and his head started pounding like a violent drum. The pain was so intense that it drove him to his knees and he screamed out in pure anguish. One of his hands gripped onto his chest as the pain began escalating. The feeling in his head started to become more aggressive, like a fight for his own mind was taking place.

'I know this feeling! This ungodly pain, why....why am I feeling it?!'

That lone thought seemed to be the only one that managed to get through all of the pounding that was taking place in his skull. It felt as if he was being ripped in half, his very being was being torn apart. The last thing Orion thought of before passing out from the pain was Khorne.

A few hours earlier

Khorne shoved his hands in his hands as he stood in the flowery field of Haven, his home. Or at least it was before he left with Orion and he vowed to never return. All he wanted to do was burn the entire realm and send it into despair and chaos. That thought put a smile on his face, though soon it faded as he heard a voice.

"What's this? Little Khorne is on time for once. I never thought I would see the day."

Dehlila, The Goddess of Darkness chuckled a little as she stepped through a portal. The God of Chaos felt his right eye throb at the appearance of his grandmother.

"I would say its good to see you too, but considering only one of my eyes actually function...thanks for hexing it."

Khorne rolled his eyes, something he did often when he was annoyed.

"C'mon Cornelius, you still have attitude problems. You need to work on that."

His cousin, Vort, chimed as he stepped from behind Dehlila.

"Call me that again and I will stuff one of those precious daggers down your throat."

He threaded the God of Toxins, glaring at him. Vort held up his hands, the silver band on his wrist shaking in the process.

"I was just teasing you a little relax..."

Vort chuckled, his ponytail moving as he started walking.

Before Khorne could comment a portal opened up, and his hands balled into fists once he saw the individuals who exited it. The first was Heimen, God of Light. His grandfather. The next was Pendris, God of Water. His uncle. And the last one...his mother. Ophelia, Godless of Magic.

Heimen acknowledged his nephew and wife with a nod of his head, before turning his attention towards Khorne.

"I hope this day finds you well, Khorne."

Khorne had to force himself to speak, the rage inside of him building. And not just his own. These were the ones of split Balance apart, at least some of them.

"It was until I accepted this summons. You said that it was important, I'd like to know what is so important you would track me down."

It was his mother who responded to him, making him gaze at her.

"We...we wanted to invite you and your brother back. This family has been lacking since you two left. I miss you, both of you."

That had certainly thrown him for a loop, a real hard loop. The last thing he had expected to hear was that they wanted the twins back. Ophelia had seemed genuine, she sounded like she really wanted them back. And...he believed her. For all of three whole seconds before he decided to test the offer.

"Does this little offer of yours extend to Uncle Phobs?"

His question got the reactions he more or less expected to get. Pendris went as pale as a sheet, Vort went stiff, holding his arm. Dehlila seemed to growl a little, a hand going to her chest. Ophelia went wide eyed, not sure how to answer. Heimen however simply looked angry, something flickering in his eyes that the God of Chaos could not identify.

"The offer does not extend to that...that abomination. His very being sows discord and pandemonium, his existence is a mistake that should of been corrected eons ago."

"I see...I expected as much."

Khorne hadn't noticed that he had been gripping his palms hard enough to cut the skin. A thin trail of blood dripped down his palm.

"Let me answer your little offer, fuck no. If I had to choose between being a part of this family or death then I will go find Desmond right now."

He took in their reactions before deciding that he had enough. Then he started walking to go leave.

"If you won't say yes then we can just go get Orion."

Vort's words made him pause in his stride.

"You would do what? I couldn't hear you."

"I said we could get your submissive other half. Between the two of you, he is a lot easier to coax. He is a spineless piece of tra-"

The words he was about to speak were lost as Khorne's scythe was through his chest, piercing his soul.

"I still can't hear you."

Before any of the other Gods could stop him, Khorne yanked his weapon upwards and split Vort in half from the chest up. Killing him. The blade of the scythe glistened with the golden blood that ran in the veins of its latest victim. That was when the mayhem started...

A few hours later

The God of Chaos sat down, panting heavily as he tried to recover from his pain. His entire body aches, at least what was left of it. He'd lost both an arm and a leg, the blood that pooled underneath him was a testament. A few new scars would be added to his body as a result. Although...something was wrong. The pain in his chest was starting to building, he felt his soul burn violently. His mind raced as he tried to figure out the cause, before he reached one conclusion: Vort. His soul must of been poisoned, or enchanted to fuck up the one who killed him.

"Huh...I think I am dying..dammit. Am I wrong, Des?"

Khorne looked up, seeing his cousin, Desmond. The God of Death had tears in his eyes but, they would not be shed. Instead he nodded at his dying cousin.

"Yes..."

The situation was important enough that Desmond was going to speak, something he didn't do often. It got him mistaken as a mute a lot.

"I see...oh well."

Khorne shook his head before vomiting a large amount of blood, feeling his head begin to swim.

"Can...Can I get one of your famous last requests?"

He looked at Desmond who had started to approach him, taking a seat next to his cousin.

"Of course."

Desmond calmly strokes Khorne's hair, being gentle as he tried to ease him. He had seen Khorne's death long ago, with the help of Chronos, their uncle. There was nothing to do to stop the poison that had infected the God of Chaos' soul.

Khorne stayed silent for a moment before leaning his head on Desmond's shoulder.

"Lend me one of those little cards you use to talk. A couple of them. I need to leave a few messages..."

The God of Death was a little surprised but he pulled out two of his cards. They were black, with silver writing on them. One of the functions was that they could turn thoughts into voice messages for the desired person. That was the function Khorne would use.

"Thank you.."

Weakly he took the cards from his cousin and held them with as much strength as possibly. Then he thought of Phobia.

'Hey Uncle Phobs...I've uh..got some bad news. And a little good news. Good news is that Uncle Pendris and Vort are both dead. You could say they are...sleeping with the fishes. Get it? Yeah, you'll get it. Hehe...umm..the bad news is that I uh..won't be coming over anymore. Ever, by the time this card gets to you then Desmond would of done his job. I went and got myself killed. I'm sorry...I am so sorry that I went and died. I just wanted to say that I love you and that you were by far the best family to come from those pieces of shit. With love...your nephew Cornelius.'

Khorne blinked back tears as he took a few slow shuddering breaths to help clear his head the best he could. Then, he thought of Orion.

'Hey Oreo! I wanted to tell you that I love you. Weird right? I never drop the L word with you and I realized that...I never said it that much when I should of. I love you Orion, you're the best twin and or other half of my soul that I could of gotten stuck with. I'll never forget when I put that black streak in your hair because I claimed it made you more badass looking. I wasn't wrong. Anyway...I think I should stop beating around the bush. I ummm...I am dying. By the time you get this I will be dead. Man that's depressing as fuck. I'm sorry. I am so so sorry that I went and got myself killed. I left you alone, some brother I am right? I just couldn't stop myself. Vort started talking about you and I couldn't stop myself from just going at him. You know I have always been impulsive. I'm sorry...again. I love you, I always have and I always will. Your dork of a twin, Cornelius.'

Once he finished the second message he let the tears fall, the pain in his chest forgotten by the grief that overwhelmed him. It hurt to know that he wouldn't be able to go bother his brother or go chill with his uncle. He wouldn't be able to laugh with them.

The entire time Desmond waited patiently, hating himself and hating everything. Countless times he had reaped his friends, and even some family. It was knowing why Khorne died that really made him cry. He died defending his brother's name. Desmond would of done the same thing if it had Cyprus who had been badmouthed. Immediately.

"Khorne...its time."

His tone was calm and collected, practiced. Although the shaking that accompanied his tone was not missed by Khorne. The God of Chaos sighed before letting his mind drift to his brother, the pair of them laughing as they goofed off. And that was the last thing he thought of as everything went black and he stopped feeling.

(Yeah...this was a little project I had started doing these past few weeks. It's a big step for me. I know it's sad since I am writing about the death of one of my little bean babies, but I am a sadist.)

#khorne #sadnees #tears #writing #story

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raendown · 6 years

Link

Pairing: ObitoShisui Word count: 1790 Soulmate au: The one where each morning there is written on your arm an event which will happen to your soulmate that day

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Chapter 122: Obito/Shisui

Obito made it three steps in the front door of the hotel before a massive hand caught hold of his collar and he found himself hauled in to the air, feet kicking at empty space and hands scrambling to hold on to the straps of his backpack. He was barely in to his teens but Obito wished he would just hit his growth spurt already so that no one could do this to him anymore. Not that he didn’t know exactly who it was holding him up by the neck.

“You,” a familiar voice growled in his ear, “are going to behave yourself this weekend.”

“Madara-ji. How nice to see you too!” Obito made an effort to twist his body and offer a friendly smile to the looming figure behind him. Instead of greeting him in return, Madara shook him like a rag doll.

“I mean it. If I have to put out a single fire this weekend I will sic Tobirama on you.”

Shuddering at the thought of having to deal with his uncle’s crazy scientist husband, Obito hoped his nodding made him look innocent and pure. “Of course! No fires, I promise! Er, can I go back to the ground now?”

With a great harrumph Madara dropped him. Obito stumbled and hurried away as soon as he managed to find his feet again, rushing in to the venue with no idea where he was going but a great amount of confidence he would find his way somehow. The building was absolutely crawling with people he knew would be willing to help him if he asked.

One of the largest clans left in Fire Country, able to trace their ancestry all the way back to the original founders of the village Obito had been born in, the Uchiha clan had since spread out to all four corners of the elemental nations. He wasn’t sure whose idea it had been to have a massive reunion for them all but he was grateful to whoever it was. Konoha was but a mere shadow of its former glory; any excuse to get out of town for a while was a blessing and the chance to meet members of his distant family was even more so. The only family Obito ever saw was his crotchety Uncle Madara and the frail grandmother he had lived with since he was a baby.

Pushing up his sleeve to check the words on his arm for perhaps the fifteenth time that morning, Obito grinned and headed towards a bunch of teenagers who looked his age, most of them blessed with the distinctive Uchiha looks. Meeting new people was always a delight but it was only half he reason he was so excited for this weekend. This morning his already high excitement had tripled upon waking up to see the event that his soulmate would experience today was “will meet their soulmate”.

As he had for the entire drive here, Obito spent his morning in a state of joy he’d heard referred to as walking on air. Every corner of every room and every new person he met felt as though they were filled with possibilities. He shook every hand he could and forgot more names than he remembered, bouncing from place to place until he found Uncle Madara tucked away in the hotel bar with his husband, both of their looking supremely uncomfortable surrounded by so many strangers.

“Find ‘em yet?” his uncle grunted. Obito shook his head.

“I will!”

“You’ve got dirt on your face, you know.”

“What!?”

Obito spun around to peer over at the mirror behind the bartender, mortified to see that there was indeed a giant streak of dirt down on side of his face. There was no telling how long it had been there or how many people had been too polite to say anything, though it was probably from leaning his face against the window in the car. What an excellent first impression he’d been making! Trying to scrub off the mark with the heel of his hand did nothing so Obito hurried back out of the room to where he’d seen a sign for the public toilets.

The first thing he saw when he burst in to the bathroom was a tall thin boy a few years older than himself, perfect brows folded inwards to form the most aristocratic frown he’d ever seen.

“You should find another bathroom,” the boy said. Obito wrinkled his nose.

“I just wanna use the sink and the mirror,” he said.

From inside one of the stalls there came an ominous rattling. “Ah, let him fix his hair,” a new voice called. “Someone in this joint needs to look good.”

“We are Uchiha,” the tall boy pointed out. “We all look good. Now quit being melodramatic and can we please find somewhere more sanitary to spend our time?”

“I am in the throes of depression, my lowest hour, and if I want to hang out in a toilet I will!”

“Could it at least be a more private toilet?”

Obito inched towards the sink, grabbing a few paper towels on the way. As he dipped them in the water and scrubbed at the dirt mark on his face, he kept one ear tilted towards the voice over in the corner, eavesdropping shamelessly. Movies always made family drama sound so interesting but the only drama he ever got to see was when Uncle Tobirama tried to do science in the kitchen.

He watched in the mirror as the boy apparently named Itachi rubbed at the bridge of his nose and gave a snooty huff at whoever was hidden in the last stall of the row.

“You are making a big deal out of something small.”

“Am not,” the other voice replied. For someone who was apparently depressed they sounded particularly upbeat, cheerful even. Obito noted that his face was completely clean now but he kept scrubbing anyway. This conversation was the most interesting he’d heard so far today.

“Please come out, Shisui. You know exactly who arrived today and if he catches us doing what I think you’re doing there will be trouble. I don’t want trouble. Mother says I can’t go to Math Camp if I get in trouble.”

“Only you would be enough of a nerd to think having Math Camp taken away is a punishment.”

Itachi blinked slowly. “I enjoy math. Now put down the lighter and let’s go.”

More curious than ever, Obito finally turned the taps off and tossed his paper towel in the bin. He decided against making any efforts to hide his actions, instead marching over to where the two others were talking and popped his head around the door before Itachi could react. Considering their conversations he had expected to see someone in the toilet stall with a cigarette or a pilfered bottle of alcohol, perhaps even partaking in some sort of recreational drug.

What he found was a boy a few years older than himself trying to get a flame from his lighter so he could set off the bottle rockets he’d strapped to the back of the tank. ‘Shisui’ looked up at him with a wild grin.

“Hey there! What’s your name?”

“Obito.”

“Do you like fire, Obito?”

“I love fire but Madara-ji said he’d be watching me like a hawk today.”

“You see?” Itachi huffed beside him. “Even he knows not to cross Madara-sama. Can we stop this foolishness?”

Shisui waved him off, eyes set on Obito. “Nonsense. What that old wind bag doesn’t know won’t kill him. Do you want to help me light the rockets Obito?”

“Alright!” Obito dove inside the stall with stars in his eyes, beyond happy to have met someone who shared his propensity for mayhem, and reached out to take the lighter from the older boy. The moment their fingers met a spark jumped between their skin and they both snatched their hands back. Obito looked back and forth between his fingers and Shisui.

“Holt shit,” the other murmured.

“Doesn’t that mean–?”

“Pull up your sleeve! What’s your event for today say!?” Obito held still as Shisui lunged for his arm and pulled up his sleeve, reading it out loud. “Will meet their soulmate. How come yours is so straight forward and mine isn’t!?”

“W-what’s yours say?”

Shisui rolled up his sleeve to show off the black writing curled down his forearm, which read “will fall in love”. As soon as he read it Obito promptly turned red in the face and clutched at the straps of his backpack as though they might steady him against the embarrassment. He was intrigued, sure, but anyone would be to find a soulmate as awesome as Shisui – and they barely even knew each other! It was hard to imagine how much more amazing the other boy would be once they got to know each other a little better.

“I thought you were going to fall in love with someone and then maybe someday we would meet and find out we were meant to be platonic soulmates! Don’t get me wrong, platonic is fine. It’s fine! But…”

“That’s not what you wanted?” Obito ventured. Shisui snapped his fingers.

“Exactly.”

“So…you were going to light bottle rockets in a hotel bathroom…because you thought your soulmate was going to fall in love with someone else?”

The other boy twisted his mouth to one side wryly. “Well anything will sound silly if you say it in that tone. Look, what I do in my utter devastation is my business.”

“Do we really need to keep up the dramatics?” Itachi asked from behind them. Instead of looking at all embarrassed by his own behavior, Shisui gave a haughty sniff and held his lighter aloft once more, clicking it a few times until he finally got a flame going.

“Speak for yourself, Drama King. Hey – Obito, right? – do you still wanna light some rockets with me?”

“Of course!” Shuffling closer, Obito all but plastered himself to Shisui’s side, a massive grin splitting his face

While Itachi groaned behind them and muttered about leaving so they couldn’t drag him down in to their mayhem, Obito and Shisui both huddled closer to the rockets strapped to the tank of the toilet, giggling like a pair of children. As the first fuse lit and the familiar scent of burning met his nose, Obito couldn’t help but send out a silent prayer of thanks to the universe for bringing him someone so perfect.

Just as the other boy’s arm had predicted, he was pretty sure he was already in love. Finding his soulmate was worth every hour of the endless lecture Uncle Madara made them sit through once he caught them.

#rae writes #soulmate collection #obishi #obito #shisui #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

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sireneia-a · 6 years

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hc : kliff & endings

{ tw : suicide mention and themes of suicide over like the first half of the post }

i personally am taking in kliff’s fe2 ending as blog canon over fe15 but i’m fine with exploring that ending where he leaves valentia and goes to archanea-- solely because his ending in fe15 accurately reflects his arc in echoes which as i’ve stated before, i do not use. i think it’d be a disservice to mix and match the endings and arcs.

kliff’s ending just ambiguously mentions that he is never to be seen again shortly after the war. i’ve personally interpreted this to mean he killed himself. it’s not necessarily the interpretation that everyone has and i respect that, and i don’t encourage suicide as a solution to mental health problems speaking as someone who has suffered from depression and anxiety as well. i’m not choosing this because i want to be edgy.

i’m not going to go into specifics of how he commits the act cause i’d really rather not ( though i have thought about it ). i’ll just say i place it timeline-wise a few months at the very least after the war is over but after alm’s coronation.

that being said, i do have alternate endings. it’s mostly just if he ends up developing past his envy of alm to at least a healthier level, then he wouldn’t. in his ship ending with faye, he travels the world with her and eventually even settles in askr with her. as sappy as it sounds, he finds a future much more believable, much more enticing, and he doesn’t worry as much about his own shortcomings. i’d like to hope that she helps him change his perspective and finally understand his own strengths, even if they’re not the ideals he once held himself to.

even without the ship ending, i think it’s pretty likely that the more he interacts with people and they change his view, ESPECIALLY in askr with other mages for example, then he’d be able to get himself out of his preconceptions. this is where taking him out of his element as just a simple villager, something he views himself as wholly as per fe2′s recruitment lines, really benefits him. i’m not saying romance has to be the way to save him in essence, but just he needs someone to help guide him and stop his stubborn streak. i honestly think tobin, gray, and even alm himself could also be big helps potentially.

i’m not saying this as in like... i want to pressure people who write with me to prevent his death or anything cause i honestly think that’s kinda Shitty. i honestly probably won’t reference my interpretation of his gaiden ending much at all unless someone is legitimately interested in writing something with me in reference to it, especially since suicidal themes can be kind of an Iffy subject and even i was kinda hmmgnh writing this.

#✦ | FELL SPIRITED ( kliff. )#✦ | headcanons.#// if you don't wanna read this due to the theme dw!! it's not like. Universally blog canon or anything #// and i probably won't really bring it up very often #suicidal themes tw ----#suicide tw -----

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mizukikuramoto · 7 years

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“KILL JA̶CKSEPTICEYE | Bio IN̵̛c Redemp T̨I̶̢on” Analysis + Theory

I don’t know if this is going to get any attention in the tag... that’s alright if it doesn’t. I just want to collect my thoughts into an analysis and a theory.

Well well well... Anti is back for more, and we also had the pleasure of seeing Dr.Schnee in action... Let’s just get to the point. Hey g͚̘͉̘̖̼̤͒̓̆̓͌̚͡ĺ̷̞̙̰̳͔̯̼̞̓̆͑̃̚͢͝ȉ̵̬͕̖̥͊̉̐̕̕̚͜͠ẗ̡̻̝͍͇́̑̈́̔̽̄͞͡͡ͅc̷̬̳̭͉͉͚̹̗̏͑̊̌̐̇͛́͡͡ͅh̦̘̪̥̽̾̒̋̉̃̀ͅ b̷̧̠͖̦̗̍͌̑̈́͗̇̕͜͠͡͠i̶̯̭͔̪̭̫͍̣͍̳͑́̈̉͌̆͞ţ̧̭͕̭̙̩͔̭̲͛̈̄̓̊c̬̰̞͔̹̱̙̪̹̳̉͌̀̃̒̑̚͡ḣ̶̨̜͙̜̙̔̈̋̋̕̕͝!̨̛̛̞̠̳͕̌͌̎̓͐͆͢ I’m going to shoot your plans out of the water!

But first, let’s dissect this video a little bit. I’ll be using time stamps as a reference.

[0:39 - 0:45] Jack feels sick and steps out of the video, covering his mouth as if he’s about to throw up.

[0:47] Ze good Doctah takes over! He is confident, per usual.

[1:22 - 1:28] “JackSepticEye. . . he is one of my dear friends.” Normal for an alternative ego to have a correlating relationship with the ‘main ego.’ He expresses an attachment to Jack.

[2:00 - 2:10] “Taking shape, taking form. You do not look the best. You do not look the way you have always looked. You do not look like... yourself...” A bit weird to say that after assuming a stomach problem. It’s as if Dr.Schneep is aware of Jack’s disposition, that Anti is slowly taking control of him and that it’s physically taking a toll on him... well, perhaps appearance wise, but the video in itself is showing that Anti is causing Jack to slowly inch to death.

[2:22] The first glitch is seen. Subtle, sudden. Dr.Schneep appears to be fine.

[2:57 - 3:02] “Always. Always with the mood swings, one time he is one person, the next time he is a completely different person.” I’m probably looking at this too much... I just found this interesting.

[3:07] Ze doctah’s eye is itchy... ehh, it’s probably because Jack’s eye is itchy. Nothing more probably.

[3:41 - 3:45] Dr.Schneep starts to worry about Jack. The appropriate response for a concerning doctor and friend.

[4:14] The second glitch is seen. Longer than the first. It looks like Dr.Schneep is getting a nose bleed, just like how Jack got one from the “Say Goodbye” video. This could be Anti infecting him.

[4:18 - 4:28] “I saved my very good friend Chase. Chase Brody, he went back. He saw his family. Did they take him back? We may never know--” I mean, there’s speculation that Anti already got Chase. I saw a picture of Anti with his hat in a post. Just a thought. Dr.Schneep is getting a bit more concerned.

[4:54] Preeeety specific with the ‘anti’ in anti-coagulants...

[5:03 - 5:12] “If something gets inside your body, and it wants to destroy you from the inside out, there’s only one way to deal with it and that way is SCHNEEPLESTEN.” Things are starting to get serious. It’s just like timestamp [2:00 - 2:10], it’s as if he knows that Anti is slowly gaining more control over Jack. The third glitch shows ze doctah with black eyes, just like Anti’s. Anti has now fully infected Dr.Schneep, and I think he knows it too.

[5:12 - 5:25] “You’re not... looking yourself. It’s getting very warm in here. . . very scary, very, very, nervous.” He is reaaaaally stressing out at this point. He’s trying to compose himself, but he is really worried about Jack and he’s getting flustered. Him saying that it’s very warm is probably due to him panicking.

[5:26 - 5:34] “What is happening? I feel it in my own arm.” Jack and Dr.Schneep are one and the same, they have a connection. Maybe it’s a heightened connection since Anti is inflicting pain on Jack while infecting ze Doctah.

[6:03] The fourth glitch happens. Dr.Schneep is rubbing his neck. It possibly connects to the slit on Anti’s neck? The one he stitched?

[6:32] The fifth glitch happens. Ze doctah is stressed out of his mind.’

[6:38 - 6:43] “You need... get... whatever is inside that brain! Whatever is inside, we need to get it out!” He is fully aware of what is happening to him, and he is stressing out big time because he is going to lose Jack if he doesn’t do anything. The sixth glitch shows Dr.Schneep convulsing, as if possessed.

[6:44 - 6:47] The flickering of the glitches are becoming more frequent, and Anti’s voice emanates from Dr.Schneep’s voice when he says ‘die.’

[6:49 -6:54] “Not again, I will not lose you. I almost lost you once before.” HE’S ADMITTING THAT HE STITCHED AND HEALED ANTI AFTER “SAY GOODBYE!” This is it! After Jack killed himself, Anti took over his body, and ze doctah stitched him back together. It’s still Jack’s body nonetheless! More flickering occurs.

[6:58] Dr.Schneep is freaking out, he has no idea what to do. He’s going to lose Jack. He is panicking.

[7:15] His attempts to save Jack are becoming futile. Systems failure is in the Zalgo/creepy font in cc. The camera flickers dimly to reveal Anti for the first time, smiling at us. Anti knows that he’s going to kill Jack, again.

[7:40 - 7:48] Dr.Schneep grows anxious.Anti speaks out from ze doctah with maniacal laughter. Anti has more control over him.

[7:51 - 8:02] “Ve need to save him-- I need your help!!” Dr.Schneep is being driven by fear and panic. The feedback of the camera is lagging. He knows his demise is coming, and now he’s screaming at the audience to help Jack. He knows that we, the community, can stop Anti, but he alone cannot. Anti continues to speak over ze doctah, telling the audience to save him and not Jack... just like he always wanted us to do. (By the way that was a pretty cool transition from Sean to Anti c:)

[8:05 - 8:10] “Antidepressants, Anti-- depress--press--press--press. We have to depress Anti--and--get him out of there!” He’s trying to fight against Anti’s influence. He doesn’t have that much time, and now he’s trying to go against the glitch to send the community a message to stop Anti.

[8:11 - 8:20] Anti fights back and manipulates Dr.Schneep’s body to hang itself on the cord of his headphones. Ze doctah- thank goodness that this happened- breaks out of Anti’s control and continues to do his best to save Jack. This shows that he was, originally, one of the strongest egos among Jack’s alternatives. Sadly, he’s losing the battle as he is slowly fusing with the glitches of the video.

[8:24 - 8:29] Dr.Schneep is stuck in the control of Anti’s glitch, which is apparent from his repetitive, yet contorted, mention of anti-coagulants. His movement is synced with Anti’s as the camera flickers between ze doctah and Anti, signifying that Anti has full control over him now. Their expressions match, the madness is taking over him with every pulse of a glitch.

[8:30 - 8:46] Ze doctah’s pain is either the connection with Jack slowly dying, or the pain is from Anti which he is inflicting upon him. Anti, in the background, continues to laugh as Dr.Schneep succumbs to the realization that Jack will die, that whatever he did made Jack worse, that his efforts were wasted on someone that was going to die.

This is Anti’s part. I’m just going to list out the important parts he says.

“im tired of playing pretend! sick of it!”

“and you thought you had him back”

“they all follow me”

“ive kept control all of this time!”

“i am eternal, always!”

“fooling around over, and OVER! in fucking circles!”

“mocking me with your ‘glitch bitch’ ” ha yeah shut up Anti you are a glitch bitch

“that doctor thought he could save him but he was MINE! he was weak!”

"who do you think youve been watching all of this time”

“powerless”

“my puppets”

“there are no strings on me”

So... what now.

What does Anti want? What is he going to do? Jack is dead... again. What happened to Dr.Schneeplesten? I have a few ideas as to what’s going to come in the future.

There’s a few new things he mentioned during his little hissy fit: “my puppets” and “there are no strings on me.” He’s talking as if he is a puppeteer, the one pulling strings in this entire predicament. He wants- desires for power, for control, and as we were watching,”powerless” and unable to do much at first, he was ever so slowly getting what he wanted. From this video, it appears that Dr.Schneeplesten is now under Anti’s control, making the strongest of the bunch submit to Anti’s will. It’s just like what ze doctah said: “If one goes down, then they all go down.” Anti is planning to take down every other alternative ego and to break their will so that he could enter easily within them. He was able to successfully infect Dr.Schneep by making him feel helpless. Anti slowly pushed Jack to death and Dr.Schneep couldn’t do anything about it, causing him to spiral into a heap of panic and mistakes. He was mentally broken, and that was when Anti entered. If he was able to do that to him, then think about what he could possibly do to the rest of them?

What I fear is that Anti will use all of the alternative egos against Jack. Jack’s creations will turn against him.They will torture him, just like how Anti did to ze doctah. They will do all the dirty work, and Anti will grab the opportunity to possess Jack and fully control him. In a way, it’s like a computer: if you take down all of the smaller systems in a huge one, then you can hit the center core of the process with ease.

Now... what can we do?

We fight back. We can think two steps ahead of what Anti is planning. We continue to strengthen our will for Jack to come back- especially when he broke his two video streak OH MY GOD WHAT HAVE YOU DONE ANTI YOU BITCH- and to make sure that we #saveseptic/#septicsave rather than save Anti. If we break now in a heap of worry, which is honestly working Anti WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO JACK, then we are playing right into the his hands.

Let’s do this for Dr.Schneep! For Jack! We are more than one person. We are a community. We’re not going to let some petty glitch take over Jack!

On another lighter note, I hope that you enjoyed my analysis, interpretation, and theory! I would really love your feedback please dont roast me alive. I’ll be honest, I’m scared to post this over tumblr. It’s moreso that it might get negative feedback, but that’s the risk that I must accept. I never really popped my head and put my input in stuff, especially in Mark’s and Jack’s community, so yeah ^^’

Have a good day all. Stay awesome, you are all amazing.

#jacksepticeye #saveseptic #septicsave #jack #antisepticeye

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news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog · 5 years

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Why does the Duolingo owl scare me more than my high school Spanish teacher ever did?

The Duolingo owl is ruining my life. So why do I feel so pressured to learn from it?

Like many other disappointments to the public education system, I spent seven years studying Spanish and barely retained any of it. The little remnants that still float around my memory are disjointed and just out of reach — I remember the words and their purpose, but can't seem to string them into a coherent conversation.

The pieces are all there. They're just scrambled.

I started Spanish lessons on Duolingo months ago, but my enthusiasm wore off. When I stopped ascending two levels a night, the notifications began.

SEE ALSO: The Duolingo owl is out for vengeance in these threatening memes

Unlike my high school Spanish teacher, whose reach only extended to 50 minutes of class time a day, Duolingo is always with me. It lurks in the shadows of my phone, waiting for me to practice, and striking when it's most personally inconvenient. Whether I'm navigating rush hour traffic or sitting through an excruciating first date, Duolingo's push notifications remind me to spend five minutes on my daily lesson precisely when I don't have five minutes.

It's an internet-wide experience: Duolingo's passive-aggressive notifications became a meme, and the company even leaned into it by bringing the threatening owl to life in this year's April Fools' Day prank.

Granted, Duolingo users can turn these notifications off, and if you ignore them for long enough, the app will send you the ultimate passive aggressive alert: "These reminders don't seem to be working. We'll stop sending them for now." But allowing that to happen is even worse — you're just admitting defeat and accepting your failure to progress.

The moment you've all been d̶r̶e̶a̶d̶i̶n̶g̶ waiting for... Introducing Duolingo Push! We're taking notifications out of your phone and into the real world. Yup: Duo the Owl will literally show up to remind you to practice so you never miss a lesson. 👉 https://t.co/UB8ld0pyiY pic.twitter.com/kHEQv2Winc

— Duolingo (@duolingo) April 1, 2019

Despite my annoyance with the overwhelming notifications, I still feel pressured keep going with Duolingo. I used to dread vocabulary quizzes and writing assignments, but somehow my high school Spanish teacher never instilled the same anxiety and guilt that skipping a Duolingo practice session does.

oh god oh fuck pic.twitter.com/JmrilYLl3n

— John (@monadoboii) March 31, 2019

To get to the bottom of this, I reached out to Rosanny Genao, who was my Spanish teacher for two years of high school, to figure out why an anthropomorphic green owl scares me more than she ever did.

"You're not really encouraging people by sending messages that are going to generate more anxiety," Genao explained in a phone call. "I feel like if you're getting notifications all the time, it's almost like you're getting harassed."

The actual notifications aren't even that threatening — it's the personal disappointment that follows.

There are no stakes when it comes to learning with an app. There's no risk of failing a midterm, or lowering your GPA, or losing credits and repeating a required class. You won't miss out on walking at graduation if you skip a few nights of Duolingo practice.

At the same time, you're the only person holding yourself back if you don't keep going. Nobody will hold you accountable for not memorizing past tense conjugations except yourself; if you decide to stop educating yourself, that's on you.

"Duolingo consistently makes me feel like a failure," my friend Rebecca texted when I joked about the owl's menacing reminders. "I feel like you could track my depression by looking at my Duolingo history."

It's a commonly held sentiment.

"Every time Duolingo sends the 'we'll stop sending you these reminders because they don't seem to be working' notification my heart breaks," @bicesrceis tweeted. "Stop reminding me how much of a failure I am."

"Not only am I a disappointment to my parents but now I’m also a disappointment to the Duolingo owl," @jaz_ham said a good month before the murderous owl went viral.

The duolingo owl when you leave it alone for like 5 minutes pic.twitter.com/q5hQKVgZ7r

— Violet⚧☭⚢⛤🛡 (@OnePrplGrl) March 29, 2019

According to Genao, we're too used to finding immediate answers. In the age of Amazon Prime and Google Translate, who wants to spend time on absorbing and understanding a new language when you can learn it all in an instant?

"It's the technology era," Genao said, referring to the neurotic people like me who finish ten levels a week before crashing and burning, doomed to never achieve bilingual glory. "We want everything, all the information as quickly and effective[ly] as possible. And we want to be done."

The immense pressure to learn comes from the immediate validation of completing a level. Practice more, and you're awarded more lingots. Acquire enough lingots and you can buy power-ups that'll freeze your streak for a day, outfits for the owl to wear, and bonus lessons that'll teach you idioms and flirtatious phrases.

Aside from the bonus lessons, none of these purchases have real-world value, and unless you're planning a Love Actually-type romance with a Portuguese woman in rural France, learning to flirt may not hold much weight either. The knowledge that you achieved something is still there, though.

If it's any solace, following Duolingo's orders won't actually make you bilingual.

You can't truly acquire a second language by pairing matching phrases. There are two branches of bilingualism: simultaneous bilingualism, which means the speaker was spoken to in both languages from birth, and sequential or successive bilingualism, which means the speaker learned a second language later in childhood or adulthood.

the new duolingo ad is weird pic.twitter.com/VDij0YVUaF

— miranda (@shazamstark) March 27, 2019

A paper from MIT and the University of Ottawa notes that when it comes to multilingualism, "most of this language learning occurs in untutored, naturalistic settings and throughout the lifespan of an individual."

Even though language learning apps may have flashcards, visuals, and speaking components, they don't compare to immersing yourself in another culture. You don't just hardwire your brain to start thinking in another language.

"It takes about five years if you really want to be bilingual," Genao explained. "It depends on the person but unless you are immersed in the language by going to that country where it's spoken, it takes at least three years to become somewhat proficient in it."

Which only adds to the fact that there are literally no stakes in ignoring Duolingo's pushy practice alerts. Still, knowing that your own lack of motivation keeping you from moving forward is enough of a guilt trip. A human teacher, Genao says, will keep you accountable for learning. If you're unmotivated, you have someone to push you to continue.

"Whatever is that benchmark for the expectations you have, you set those goals on your own on an app," she said. "Where a teacher might demand a lot more from you."

Not learning is a failure to yourself, and depending on the type of person you are, is worse than any teacher's disappointing lecture. You may have lofty goals, but confronting your own ambition is terrifying in itself. For me, realizing that I'd never be conversational just from an app was absolutely freeing.

the fact that the duolingo HQ owns a duo fursuit somewhere in their office is what scares me the most pic.twitter.com/6SVQgFoK4U

— reya | i'm babie (@catradoreya) April 1, 2019

That's not to say that you should give up on learning altogether. Learning Dutch phrases got me through a semester abroad, and getting into Korean has made grocery shopping for traditional family recipes significantly easier. But at the end of the day, Genao says nothing will accelerate language learning like daily conversations with a native speaker.

I'm less self-deprecating when it comes to ignoring Duolingo's push notifications now, but it doesn't mean I'm deleting the app altogether. Duolingo, thankfully, will not come to my house in the dead of night to torture me into memorizing vocabulary, but I keep the app around as a self-flagellating reminder to try it again one day.

There will always be a slight pang of guilt for not paying more attention in Señora Genao's class every time I clear my notifications.

WATCH: These warming 'space pants' use technology to help people with chronic pain — Future Blink

#_author:Morgan Sung #_category:yct:001000002 #_lmsid:a0Vd000000DTrEpEAL #_uuid:cbc89493-e446-3d5f-9d1b-ad94ac997c35 #_revsp:news.mashable

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purrplelace · 8 years

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My ace ring: How I unintentionally out myself all the time

This post is being written for the March 2017 Carnival of Aces (hosted by yours truly!!!) for which the theme is “Ace Pride.”

I realized I was ace* around the end of my junior year of college. Shortly after, I ordered myself a black ring to wear. Okay so maybe I bought more than one ring. (We won’t talk about how many rings I own now lol.) But whatever ring I choose to wear, it has a really important meaning to me which goes beyond saying, “Hey look! I am asexual!” Actually, the reason I wear my ring has nothing to do with making me visibly ace, and I have found that to be more of an unpleasant side effect, to be completely honest. But more on that later.

When I first realized I was ace, I struggled with the idea of being alone as I ventured into adulthood. I feared the financial cost of not having a partner, as well as the lack of general emotional companionship. Most of my friendships up until that point in my life were firmly centered around school, and any friendship where school was no longer a factor eventually fizzled out. My parents were (and are) taking care of my grandparents, and I wondered who would take care of me when I was their age. I was also recovering from a pretty serious depressive episode and just dealing with a lot of anxiety in general.

I knew that I would never wear a wedding ring; never make that sort of promise to another person. So I made that promise to myself. A promise to stay true to who I am, and to not make any compromises in what I want and am comfortable with because of these fears. A promise to treat myself to things that I perceived as being “for couples” like going to the movies or getting a nice mattress and sheets (like seriously I felt so guilty about owning those it was weird). A promise to be intentional in my friendships and build relationships that give me the support that I need. My ace ring represents that promise.

And over time, that promise has grown to be more than I even thought it could be at that time. Since I had given myself the freedom to want something other than the traditional marriage and kids path, I was free to explore exactly what it is that I wanted. And now I have a plan to buy a house, get my master’s, then adopt an older kid on my own. Subject to change, but I am excited about it and it feels real in a way that the idea of marriage never did.

I did not think about the fact that someone might recognize my ring in public.

The first time it happened was early on in my senior year of college. I had recently come out to a few of my closest friends, but there were still some more close friends I wanted to tell before I even thought about the idea of my asexuality being common knowledge. I was the president of my school’s professional organization for future music teachers, and I was nearly tackled in a crowded hallway on asexuality awareness week by one of the freshmen in the group who was also ace. I went into full-on panic mode. It ended up being fine, but she was not a person I was planning on being out to.

Once I started student teaching in a middle school, I gave some thought to whether or not I would keep wearing my ring in professional settings. But the idea of taking my ring off when I went to school and putting it back on when I went home just felt… wrong. Like I was ashamed of who I was - like I was breaking the promise I made myself when I started wearing the ring. I eventually figured that a middle-schooler would only recognize my ring if they themselves identified as ace, and in that case I would be a positive adult role model of an ace person for an ace kid, so that should be fine. During my student teaching, no one so much as commented on the fact that I wore a ring and I completely stopped thinking about it.

During Christmastime, I played a gig as part of an orchestra accompanying a high school’s choir. This did not involve interacting with the high schoolers at all really. The orchestra was mostly made up of professional musicians my age, but there were a few talented high schoolers in the mix. Once we were finished playing the concert, one of these high schoolers approached me. She complimented my haircut–I am a young woman with short hair and she was (probably?**) a girl with short hair–so that was nice. But then she said “and your ring is awesome” and practically ran away from me. She may not have known what my ring meant. But based on how fast she hightailed away from me before I could react I am guessing she did. And it was amazing. It made me so happy to see how happy she was to see an ace person in public. Random high school violinist–if you by any chance are reading this I want you to know that you made my day.

After this experience I was so excited. I felt like my questions about how a student might react to finding out about me being ace because of my ring had been answered in a no-pressure situation. And it worked out great! Then, in January, I started a temporary job teaching in a middle school through the end of the school year.

My first day was rough. It is a difficult job. I was also shocked by the amount of homophobic language I heard from the kids on a daily basis. I did not tolerate it at all, and judging by the decrease in the amount of times I hear the word f*g, the kids are at least getting the idea that they can’t talk like that in my classroom. Day 5, however, I am teaching a pretty talkative class, and I move this one kid to the back because he won’t stop talking to the kid next to him. Then I heard a whisper from the back – “She’s asexual.”

If that was it, I could have brushed it off. I was mishearing things. But the kids he said it to were slightly confused and replied back “Asexual?!” slightly louder than the original kid had said it, loud enough that I could be certain that they were talking about me.

I pretended I didn’t hear them. I just kept teaching. I was internally freaking out. I am often internally freaking out when teaching so I guess I had gotten used to it. I actually considered taking off my ring right then and there, but that would have been too obvious. I opted for putting my hand in my pocket. The end of school came quickly. I was nervous that I had not seen the last of that situation. But at this point taking the ring off is not really an option. Taking the ring off would tell those kids that I am ashamed of being asexual, and I would be breaking the promise I made myself when I decided to start wearing the ring in a worse way than if I had simply not worn the ring to school. So now I am stuck being out to my students.

It has been a few weeks since this happened. The next few classes, the student who figured out that I was ace was trying to be a model student for me. Which was slightly strange because he has a troublemaker streak and the whole “good student act” didn’t really work for him. It made me feel better about him knowing though–that this kid who knows I am ace wants me to like him probably means nothing bad is going to come of it. And now he is just a mostly good kid who sometimes does things like throw his pencil into the ceiling when he thinks I am not looking.

But now I am out in the classroom, at least to a certain extent, and I am not exactly sure how to navigate it. I have friends who are gay teachers, but I have trouble talking to them about it because I am so aware of the fact that being out as asexual is different than say, telling your class about your partner who happens to be of the same gender as you. I am worried that someone will find out about the situation and decide that it is inappropriate. Teachers are being put on administrative leave left and right in the district I work in, and that is not the way I want to start my career. The state of Maryland, where I work, protects against employment discrimination based on sexual orientation, but the way the law is written excludes asexuals.

But ultimately I don’t think that it is inappropriate for me to wear my ring to school. My presence normalizes asexuality (and non-straight orientations in general) for the students who know about it. I can’t even imagine the way my life might have been different had I had a middle school teacher who was openly ace. I might have gone through puberty and realized then, when I wasn’t experiencing what my classmates were, that I was asexual, without fears that it was just because I was young. I might not have, but I would have had another option beside just convincing myself that I was straight.

*I see my asexuality and aromanticism as linked. When I refer to myself as ace, I mean aroace. Don’t worry, I know that this way of approaching the ace identity does not apply to everyone :) More on that in this post.

**I really hope I am not misgendering this person. High school violinist if you so happen to read this and I misgendered you I am sorry and will fix it if you tell me.

#carnival of aces #march 2017 carnival of aces #asexual #asexuality #ace #ace ring #ace pride

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shenanigumi · 8 years

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20 Questions Tag Meme

I was tagged by @lanaya-lavellan! Putting it up here first, since this blog was the one that got tagged.

1. How tall are you? 5 feet 4.5 inches at last count.

2. What color and style is your hair? Brown, except it’s the kind of brown that can’t really make up its mind—streaks of lighter and darker, sometimes bits of gold, mostly almost copper. It’s wavy and kinda bushy and falls past my waist at this point, so I should really have my mom trim the ends. It gets in the way all the time, but literally the only thing I know how to “do” with my hair is put it up in a ponytail. A low ponytail. I can’t even do the high ones like Chizuru’s got.

3. What color are your eyes? Boring brown. But I like to think it’s kind of a nice brown. A clear, chocolate brown. Not the dull brown I’ve seen in other people.

4. Do you wear glasses? Yeah, have for the past 15 years. When I was six, my mom took me to the San Jose Opera production of Die Zauberflöte and we found out I couldn’t see the subtitles without binoculars, so we hooked me up with glasses as soon as possible after that. My eyesight has been getting steadily worse ever since. Literally everything farther than 3-4 inches from my eyes is blurry without my glasses.

5. Do you wear braces? *shudders* Please don’t ask about my teeth. I had braces for a year and a half, from sixth to eighth grade. Apart from that, I’ve technically had retainers since second grade, but it’s been literal years since I’ve worn them and now my teeth are subtly starting to shift again so all my suffering may have been for naught ughhhh

6. What is your fashion sense? You say “fashion sense” like I have any kind of sense for fashion. Alas, I do not. Most often it’s a.) 1 of about 5 pairs of almost identical skinny jeans, each of which I wear repeatedly until obviously dirty; b.) whatever t-shirts are clean; c.) an extra layer of some sort if the weather calls for it, typically a zipper hoodie; and d.) boots or sandals. I have exactly one functional belt, and though I own multiple pairs of shoes, I wear exactly one pair of boots and two or three identical pairs of sandals to death. I do adore dresses and skirts, but they’re so much effort I hardly ever get/take the opportunity to wear them.

7. Do you have any siblings? No, thank gods.

8. What kind of student were/are you? The kind that was above average when she was a kid, so she developed expectations of natural aptitude—the kind that panics whenever she gets a C or lower on any given assignment due to a phobia of disappointing her parents—the kind that started struggling to do her assignments because of the weight of her own unrealistically high standards—and the kind that learned to really, genuinely hate school because of it, yet still feels obligated to participate. Don’t even talk to me about school, seriously. I'm strung out so tight I’ll snap if you touch me.

9. What is your favorite subject? I really do hate school. I don’t even like my past Creative Writing classes, for gods’ sakes (blame the teachers I’ve had). I’m okay with my small press editing class because my classmates are chill and one of them legit runs the class, but like, I literally don’t have a favorite subject. Unless you count my independent study on Bakumatsu Japan, because that’s fucking awesome.

10. Favorite TV shows? I don’t watch TV alone, but I’ll watch some things my family puts on, like certain dumb game shows or Project Runway whenever it’s in season. I also sometimes get hooked on Law & Order (especially Criminal Intent), even if I usually can’t watch the first several minutes due to general squeamishness. Oh, and if RWBY counts, I guess I like that too, although my enthusiasm has waned somewhat as the series progresses.

11. Favorite books? Sorry, but for all my love of writing, college has totally ruined my appetite for reading, as well as my ability to read for pleasure. I can’t even remember the last book I read all the way through, let alone ones I actually like. I suppose the longtime favorites that have stood the test of time include The Thirteen Clocks by James Thurber and A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. I also seem to remember liking the Pippi Longstocking series by Astrid Lindgren.

12. Favorite pastime? Writing, first and foremost (and, more prominently, bouncing ideas around!!); dancing, at least whenever I remember I like it; and playing video games, more for the plot than the experience. Seriously, I am such a casual gamer. I’ll be on the easiest of modes and I’ll still probably have a hard time. That’s a big part of why I like otome… no actual gameplay required…

13. Any regrets? This is depressing enough already, come on! But I don’t really have any long-term crushing regrets, so moving right along…

14. What is your dream job? I'm technically already a writer, since I write constantly, but getting paid for my passions would be awesome. My ultimate goal is to be able to sustain myself just by writing fiction, whether novels or short stories… but in the meantime, I’d love getting a day job as an editor. Frustrating as it usually is, it brings me a strange sort of enjoyment, and I like to think I’m good at it.

15. Do you want to get married? Being only demisexual and grayromantic, I’m not entirely sure marriage and I agree with one another. Besides, marriage is more a side effect than a life goal, wouldn’t you say? Lots of prerequisites, don’t you think? I’ve only checked one box, so… I mean… we’ll see. But if anyone gets me any diamonds, fuck that, I’m saying no till I get a better ring. Amethyst is where it’s at. Nobody gets enslaved and worked to death over amethyst.

16. Do you want kids? How many? In my current state, I absolutely could not handle kids, and it’s difficult for me to think of not being in my current state, so I can’t give a solid answer. See, I feel like in order to truly be said to “want kids”, you have to be okay with all the possibilities. If it were possible for me to have a single blood-related daughter without having sex, artificially inseminating, or being pregnant at all, I might consider it. Maybe. Until then, nahhhhhhhh.

17. How many countries have you visited? Just the one I’m from. Might consider exploring more now that a certain “mangled apricot hellbeast” (to quote someone on Twitter) has been elected president, though. Think some of my family members can hook me up with an Italian citizenship if I ever need to make an escape…

18. What’s the scariest dream you’ve ever had? There was a super-symbolic dream that really upset me (fear, anger, sadness, you name it, I felt it) back in eighth grade, all about how so much sexism and racism in America has been swept under the rug instead of getting fixed, and how the same people have ultimately been in power for centuries. It was really deep and unsettling, and I was only like 13-14 so I didn’t know how to process it. I’m still not totally sure.

19. Do you have any enemies? Nah. There used to be people I hated, and I’m fairly certain people hated me too, but I haven’t had anyone I’d call an enemy since roughly high school. The last person I hated was one of my Creative Writing teachers. I refer to him only as “Professor Jackass”.

20. Do you have a datemate? …Hey, ain’t that a planner? Or are you referring to a significant other? (And if that’s the case, if you marry your datemate, do they have the potential to become a housespouse?! I might even consider getting married now!!) Anyway, I do have a planner, but never learned to use it. I also happen to have a boyfriend of just over two months, and I don’t really know how that happened, or what I should be doing with him, but he somehow manages to make my life brighter—so I hope I can do the same for him, in my own inimitably clumsy way.

Tagging: @doodlethewhiteraven, @sabinasanfanfic, @impracticaldemon, @shell-senji, @kazama-hime, and @queen-mizera if you haven’t gotten this already! But please feel free to NOT do it.

#personal #tag meme

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lekshk · 4 years

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The Power Within

"The more we are willing to accept what is and not what we thought; we will find ourselves exactly where we belong." ~ Unknown source This is a concept I never understood before. I have always been the kind of person who changes destinies, fights them to create my own. It took me almost 28 years to at least give this concept a thought. Well, I still fight but this thought is there somewhere in the storeroom of my mind. I take it out sometimes and it does give me peace. Four years back I took a decision that changed my life forever. I broke a perfect glass vase and the broken pieces hurt a lot of people including me. And I would criticize myself so much I soon went into depression. It was during this time I came across an example- No matter how much ever you crush an orange; all that comes out is orange juice. That's when I realized I can only offer what I have within. And if it is unhappiness, resentment, anger, guilt, self-doubt, then that's what’s going to come out in some form or the other. All I knew was who I want to be but I didn’t know who I was because that’s something I never ever gave it a thought! The process is an actual reverse- you have to know who you are first, then based on that knowledge either love and /or be kind to yourself and then become who you want to be. I was so unhappy I would spread unhappiness around and it looked as if a fire had broken out in a forest! And the level of toxicity had gone to such an extent I blamed all and sundry for my unhappiness. So, I decided to break this pattern. But I didn't know where to start. Since I am a movie buff, I got a cue from one of the movies (Bangalore Days) to prepare a checklist of all the things I wanted to do before I die. So, I started by creating a film and dramatics club, taught Spoken English to adults, went for a cycling expedition in Jaisalmer. I was living my so called "last" days to the fullest. And I was so much in love with myself that each day was a celebration for me! Suddenly, I am no longer what the situation demands me to be. I am just who I am and for some reason it was liberating! It was also during this period, the new me fell into a series of relationships -an outcome I wasn't prepared for. Soon, without realizing, I was heading to a depression spiral again because after the initial phase of excitement, boredom started to sink in and there was a constant effort to fit the new me into these relationships. My focus soon shifted, I was making mistakes at work, I was self-critical, would go angry one moment and calm the next, would rebel the moment I heard the word "no" and got into the horrible feeling that everyone is against me. And yet again, it was time to break this pattern. But instead of a checklist this time, I decided to take professional help because I was looking for a permanent solution. A chance look at a flex on Listening post at my workplace, made me reach out to them in desperation. Now, I don't know whether it was Karma or I was at the right place at the right time, I got a counselor who matched my wavelength (a movie buff to be precise and a book lover too!). Here was a lady who not only listened to me but also gave me home works (turned out there are no free lunches here!). She gave me books to refer to (Brene Brown’s Gifts of Imperfections and Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind) and to my delight, movies I could take examples from (the list endless). Initially, I resisted her challenges (partly because I always had guy friends and was uncomfortable talking to women on personal stuff), but embraced later because somewhere I knew she was right and I felt like trusting her. It wasn't she agreed on everything I said, in fact, we disagreed, most of the time. But she had a calm, bedside manner which was supplemented with insane scolding and at the back of my mind I knew I have someone who would both challenge and hold me at the same time if I fall. She gently pushed me to face my fears, the pain associated with it, the discomfort that came along with it, the shame and vulnerability that got exposed with it. I was in the mud pool (of uncomfortable topics) only to realize daag acche hai later! The counselling sessions went on for a year and gradually became an integral part of my evolution journey. After that, unfortunately, our sessions ended abruptly when the Listening Post counselors changed to Icall. Now I understand why distance grows the hearts fonder. I missed her to the core and didn’t know she was family! But I also remembered one of her comments in a session of how proud she was to see the progress I had made. Well, I have always been an obedient student (chuckles). Jokes apart, though I didn't know we wouldn't be speaking thereafter, today, after being a teacher myself, I understand the sense of fulfillment she had knowing, I had managed to grab the essence of the tools she had given to cope up and I am ready to sail through on my own now. Today, my approach to relationships (of any nature), work or rather life is far more authentic and wholehearted. The perfection streak hasn’t gone completely yet (in fact it does wonders at times), but the love now is more genuine and heart felt, the gratitude more sincere and a ray of "hope" things are going to get better. I still struggle with sense of belonging and worthiness. I still make mistakes, become judge mental at times, and get arrogant/angry/jealous/feel hatred. However, this time, I am more aware of what's happening to me and I respond to such triggers with, "Hey, watch out! Grab your tools, it's time for action!!!" As a first step I have started creating boundaries and hold people accountable. Do you know how powerful that is? I can choose who/what I want to do/be. I get to choose every single day! I acknowledge the feeling, either writes it down unfiltered, truthfully in my thought journal or state it in my mind, take a deep breath and then change the way I feel about it if it is distressing me. Today I know, all power is within me. I have to deep dive inside to get answers and also love myself during that exploration. Both have to go hand in hand. I also reach out when stuck. I realize I don’t need to hold it together every minute, every single day. And whenever possible, I thank those who contribute to my growth. But let me be honest, there are days when I want to be exactly what's expected of me. Also, I no longer aspire to be someone. I am only inspired by their thoughts or ideas or actions. I now strive to become a better version of myself. Again, all this is a choice if you look at it. Finally, I have prepared a mantra or a route map for myself to help me get back when lost (PS: It's flexible to change) My mantra is on, what's yours?

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spamzineglasgow · 5 years

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(ESSAY) The Ritual of Panic, by Rhiannon Auriol

Rhiannon Auriol situates panic in its personal, cultural and political contexts. With reference to fire festivals, witchcraft, film, visual art and literature, historical upheavals and contemporary crises, the essay considers the tensile, sometimes erotic, functioning of panic in relation to ritual, fetish, social boundaries and the pressures of adolescence.

> The opposite of an orgasm is a panic attack. It is also its twin. Both can leave you shaking. Breathless. Sweaty. You can have them in multiples (if you’re female-bodied), sometimes in a row for hours. There is a sense, to both, of a ritual release; once the last throes dissipate there is a violent shape of relief. And although the emotional aftermath of each is radically different, one thing is for sure – you always remember your first time.

> The ritual of panic is brutal and cyclical. I had my first panic attack aged 14. At school, they were reliable company. I would lock myself in a toilet cubicle when I felt one coming. I learned early on how to have panic attacks very, very quietly. Learned to carry all the right kit in case of an emergency rendezvous with my panic: tissues, makeup remover, water, gum, rescue remedy (I’ve graduated now to cigarettes and CBD). I have been panicking in this routine for years; all my life high-functioning anxiety has affected by ability to form healthy relationships with food, sex and work. I came of age nervously and erratically, swinging from confidence to collapse on a roughly six-month rotation. Terrified and in thrall to my panic, I was prepared to try anything to satisfy its crippling needs. And in this way my panic became ritualistic, a deity, pacified ineffectually by a private ceremony performed in bathrooms up and down the country. I got by without ever asking why I felt so trapped in this cycle, without examining what my struggle showed about the myth of worry that so many live by. Then I tripped over an essay by Fiona Duncan which struck home with its line, ‘Anxiety is a story I am telling myself’. My panic controlled me through my belief in it, I realised.

> Ritual, panic and sexuality are old lovers, intimate enemies. One of the definitions of panic is ‘of or relating to the god Pan’, the pastoral deity and mythological figure who has been portrayed alternatively as a kindly satyr or a sexual-Satanic symbol of ritualistic sacrifice. The myth goes that if the sleeping god was disturbed, panic would ensue, the flocks and herds of his slumberlands scattered by the resultant wrath. In order to placate the divine sleeper and avoid panic, animals were ritualistically slaughtered at Pan’s altars, ancient blood spurting onto stone in perfect harmony with the people’s nervous heartbeats. Pan’s association with nature also ties him to ideas of fertility and sexuality, to the rhythms of the seasons and their accompanying rituals such as the pagan celebrations of solstices and equinoxes. To an extent these festivals, as with many religious rites, are also sacrificial acts, alternative performances of homage to the power of the worshipped object (be it moons or gods) while also hoping for protection from fearful forces of change.

> There is something to be said for exploring the erotic element of these acts. As a child I regarded pagan celebrations in the same light as sexuality; they seemed mysterious and thrilling peaks of energy, climaxes if you will, strange and enchanting and (according to my Catholic mother) forbidden. When I moved to Edinburgh for university, I was free to go to the Beltane Fire Festival on Calton Hill, a ‘ritual drama’ and Gaelic celebration of May Day which throbs and flickers with sexual energy – from the raw allure of the dancing to the fierceness of flesh painted red, flowers of fire streaking the night sky. I saw how Beltane welcomed chaos and through this sense of liberation and lightness, the darker side of our impulses, panic, was staved off.

> It is possible however for the object of worship to become fetishised through rituals, symbolically distorted into something it is not. In the 18th century ritualism began to be associated more and more with notions of perverse sexuality, as did the god Pan. The goat-like form of the nature god began to take on a Satanic symbolism, largely due to Christianity’s moral panic over anything to do with sexuality and alternative deities, both of which Pan embodied. Consequently, people who worshipped Pan or Satan were denigrated by mainstream society as Satanists, pagans, witches. Demonstrating this shift in attitude with his Black Paintings series the 1798 Francisco Goya painting Witches’ Sabbath depicts a Satanic Pan surrounded by a coven of worshipping yet cowering witches. The great goat is garlanded and presides over the painting as if a priest in ceremony, the object of awe but also fear as indicated by its emphasised size and centrality to the composition, as well as the terrifying eye contact it maintains with the viewer. One of the witches clutches a baby, suggesting at first the Christian ritual of baptism, except the way the infant is grazed by one of the Devil’s hooves means it could also be a sacrifice, thus the baby is transformed into a signifier of both life and death. As a symbol of fertility, the baby also contrasts with the barren landscape of the piece’s background, which is littered with the skeletons of children. Such ominous depictions of Pan became rife, particularly in Europe at this time. And through such widespread portrayals, the concept of Pan was fetishised as the image became more powerful than the reality, especially when coinciding with proximity to moments in history such as the Basque Witch Trials. The tendency towards fetishisation taps into something fevered and feared stemming from how our societies are organised – the psychosexual release that comes for many with the mystery of worship is tempered by the craving to have control over a dominant wildness in our being, to shape power into a more limited comprehension.

Francisco de Goya, Witches’ Sabbath, 1789, oil on canvas. Museo Lazaro Galdiano, Madrid.

> From witchcraft to devil worship and paganism (among a plethora of other beliefs and practices), people get nervous about what they can’t comprehend. Deviant sexuality makes people panic. In fact, anything considered out of the norm does – that is why ‘witches’ were hunted. Witch hunting was political panic warfare, of a kind we still see today and have done throughout history under different names and faces, from the Red Scare to the Satanic Panics of the 80s. A lot of the time politics is about Eros, not Logos, as evident from looking at how it is emotionally guided voting which underpins the rise and normalisation of extreme and dangerous political phenomena – 20th century fascism, Donald Trump, Brexit. Each of these things could be described as having been fetishised by its supporters, while creating a sense of extreme panic or doom in its opponents. Susan Sontag describes how ‘the fascist dramaturgy centers on the orgiastic transactions between mighty forces and their puppets’ where the former requires placation and the latter worships or is punished. Sontag goes on to locate Nazi control within a cult-like eroticism: ‘the colour is black, the material is leather…’.

> On the 29th March 2019, incidentally the day that Brexit was supposed to have its chaotic way, I experienced a major depressive episode which lasted most of the following summer, triggered by a violent panic attack which woke me up in the night and made me see static. Mine was unrelated to Brexit (at least consciously) but others’ mental health is being disastrously affected by the Brexit cacophony, from counselling for MPs to the new term of ‘Brexit anxiety’ the uncertainty is eroding the country’s peace of mind. In failing to make sense out of public sacrifice – very literally, in the form of taxation, time and trust – the ritual of government has failed over Brexit, something which we are perpetually made aware of thanks to the fuel of media panic. Yet even amidst so much chaos, tradition and structure are clung to, the rituals repeatedly performed (Boris Johnson asking the Queen for permission to prorogue Parliament strikes me as a prime example), still hopeful of something changing, something miraculously being fixed. This is comparable to the more quotidian scale of ritual action. We seek control over things we cannot predict or see, all these things keep happening and there is no control over any of them, so we fill each day with things, with plans and schedules and jobs and lists to try and wrestle something back but only succeed in being so busy that we cannot breathe at night.

> As was the case with the mythological rites to Pan, vital things are sacrificed to my panic – relationships, money, time, happiness. The normalisation of the anxiety-inducing rites of passage which we describe as ‘coming of age’ is reflected in the documentary film All This Panic (2016) which follows a group of teenage girls through their Upper West Side lives in modern day New York, that city of anxious architecture and nerve-wracking streets. Throughout the documentary, directed by Jenny Gage, the girls exude a childish confidence which fails to mask their inner struggles with anxiety. ‘There’s all this panic…people are texting each other all the time… I’m petrified of getting older’ are just a few such indicative lines in the film which capture the sharp contrast between a mulled blasé outward attitude and the confusion within as the girls ricochet between casual crises. They are analogous characters to J M Barrie’s creation Peter Pan, a figure whose defining feature is eternal youth, a boy forever, fetishising the state of childhood. Peter plays the pan pipes, an instrument named after the god Pan, and in possessing the secret to flight appears to be a free spirit – and yet ‘he can never quite get the hang of [life]’.[i] Exaggeratedly careless, the iconic character appeals to the desire in readers to regain the laissez-faire boldness of youth. Today however, this idealised formative country is under siege. All This Panic portrays a post-wounded girlhood where beneath the ritual of performative femininity – make-up routines and coven-like cliques – is a terror at what may be waking, at what has to be covered up.

> What All This Panic highlights is how the milestones and expectations young people are expected to meet as they carve out lives for themselves are literally ‘rites’ exerting immense pressure upon the individual to follow them, to perfect each one: the correct clothes must be worn, the magic words that will make everyone want to be friends with you must be said, everything must be documented online, everyone must know when you start having sex for the first time, and you hide the 99% of things which don’t measure up to the pretty and perfected life – such as losing your mind. But what happens when these rituals fail, when the sacrifice is not enough, when things go wrong, and the sleeping demon is woken? Panic.

> The artist Laurie Anderson treats panic with a dose of hope in her video We Are In Constant Panic Mode. She would have us ‘try to see these great surges in a mode that’s not panic’. When a wave of anxiety approaches instead of drowning in it, we should ‘find a really good way to ride that. Fighting is a disaster’. What I took from Anderson’s observation is that perhaps the death of panic is found not in liberation from fear but in its acceptance. As the news that ‘The Great God Pan is Dead’ struck despair through the hearts of the ancient citizens of Palodes, they were simultaneously freed to explore new conceptualisations and interpretations of the world. We have a habit of killing our gods, of suffocating our emotional life, denying our desires. Perhaps after all it is not the panic which must be fixed, but the rituals we are restricted by. Rituals which are distancing us from nature and distorting our spiritual clarity – rituals which are creating, rather than placating, all this panic. But first there are more immediate things sufferers of anxiety can do – seeking medical help, taking (prescribed) pills, reducing intake of caffeine and alcohol, meditation and reconnection to the natural world. Like first figuring out how to have an orgasm, the body and brain must learn how to make positive joyful connections rather than repressing those pathways, and that is what anti-anxiety medicine can help create. The stigma around taking pills and the fearsomely described side effects led me to the most ironic panic of all – anxiety over taking my anti-anxiety medication. But I took it anyway and stepped outside the prison of my panic. And that is how the ritual ends.

Text: Rhiannon Auriol

Illustration: Maria Sledmere

Published: 19/3/20

[i] Barrie, J. M. Peter Pan. 2008.

#essay #essays #panic #Rhiannon Auriol #criticism

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