#I just feel so completely mentally and emotionally frayed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solasan · 3 years ago

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🍋🌳💚💤🌸 for sivala?

JUMBO OC ASK GAME

🍋 does your OC act petty and jealous easily? what sort of things make them feel like this and do they experience guilt for getting so worked up? how do they deal with these emotions when they get them? if your OC doesn’t feel like this often, why not?

answered here <333

🌳 compare your OC to themself from 10 years ago. how has their mental state changed since then, how have they aged and grown up? would they say they’re in a better place than they were back then or do they need help? what advice would they give their younger self? what advice would their younger self give to them now?

hoo boy. sivala ten years ago was obviously very different, bc her life was the complete opposite, and she's obviously kinda... lost everyone lmao. i will say i think her development had already started by then though; yasta's death would've been pretty recent (within the last year or so) and that's what first started real change in her personality.

she was ironically a lot more emotionally stable / self-possessed, bc she'd worked very hard to forge herself into the Perfect Jedi and put aside her more dangerous feelings. she was however having problems with meditation (as she does for the rest of her life, bc meditation was so intrinsically tied with yasta in her head that she couldn't do it bc of the pain) and her control was beginning to fray; she was having more emotional responses in stressful situations. given that she was a consular and they’re so bound up in meditation and study, diplomacy and emotional regulation, this was... obviously not great.

by 9 bby, she's driven by emotion. by her pain and her hope combined. she can generally still talk circles around people — she's slippery! — but she's more likely to leap first and ask questions later than she used to be. her best plans come as a consequence of extremely poorly thought-out decisions. there’s a reason she doesn’t run the path on her own, and it’s not bc she just loves people so much <3

she would not say she's in a better place shdsjkdjkds. she loves the people she protects; she loves the people who help; she loves the few remaining jedi she's found. she'd still trade it all in a heartbeat to have back what she's lost. honestly, the main advice she would give herself is probably: don't let the people you love out of your sight. also, like... always have a backup plan? always have contingencies in place? open up untraceable accounts and get ready to run.

younger sivala: could you fucking. chill out please. and meditate a little. please. older sivala: ✓ seen 10:56

💚 talk about some of the traumatic events in your OC’s life. these events can be ones that have happened to them or a loved one. these events can be minor or major.

there’s so much oh my god. i obviously can’t ignore order 66, bc it’s the biggest one; sivala was on siskeen with two other jedi when the order was given out, and when their men turned on them, she watched both of those jedi die. half-jumped, half-fell a few hundred feet off a separatist skiff and survived by the skin of her teeth. then she felt vuren die on coruscant, swiftly followed by practically the entirety of the order, and the sudden silence in the force literally had her screaming at times, she was so desperate to block it out. she doesn’t, uh... actually know precisely how vuren died, and she certainly never recovered his body, so there’s that added guilt on top of her usual survivor’s guilt.

yasta’s death i’ve already talked abt 🤔 there’s also, yknow. the usual horrors of war. even before yasta passed, sivala wasn’t sleeping well. for years, she’d been a mediator; she was trained in combat, and she carried a lightsaber, but she spent more time negotiating with politicians and furthering the expansion of the jedi archives than she did actually fighting. she’d killed before, but not on such a huge scale, and the realities of war vs the skirmishes she’d been part of in the past were weighing on her heavily. she saw a lot of shit that messed her up. some of it still features in her nightmares a decade later, even after everythng else that’s happened.

💤 what was your OC like as a baby, a child and as a teen? (if your OC is a teen or a child, what will they be like as an adult?). how have they changed since then? what lessons have they learned and what things about their youth do they miss the most? do they have any general regrets?

as a young baby (under three), she was relatively easy. she cried like other kids, but wasn’t particularly prone to tantrums; mostly, she just seemed curious. however, after the jedi brought her to coruscant, sivala became... a bit of a nightmare. she threw screaming fits that could be heard even outside the creche; refused to listen to any authority figure (and... honestly probably bit at least one of their minders); generally made a bit of a name for herself as one of the worst younglings of her generation. she was actually a bit of a bully during her younger years, and i think her and quinlan came to blows a few times, bc they’re around the same age and i don’t see him just taking that.

as a teen, though, she’d grown a lot. through yasta’s guidance, she eventually developed a real skill for meditation and emotional control; yasta was herself known for her more emotional nature, and she understood a lot of what sivala was going through. i think she definitely saw some of herself in her padawan. which is good, bc by helping sivala deal with her whole... shit, she leads sivala to like... actually repenting for being an asshole as a kid, and apologising very maturely. sivala was pretty desperate to prove herself and pass the trials, like most padawans, but she went about it patiently. she understood it was something she couldn’t take lightly, and something she had to work for.

she’s obviously changed a lot, as i’ve already covered. and she has a lot of regrets surrounding her survival / the lack thereof of the people important to her. but she regrets taking things for granted, too; regrets thinking of the jedi as a timeless, concrete thing that would never fade, now that she’s lost it. she regrets that she didn’t tell people she loved them more. she regrets the goodbyes she never said. the hellos. the girl is mired in regret 🤷

🌺 does your OC have any tattoos or other body art? does their body art have any specific meaning behind it? do they have any scars? how did they get those scars? any birthmarks?

no tattoos, but plenty of scars! most of them are ones she got during the clone wars, but she spent a few years as a smuggler between order 66 and forming the path, so she’s got quite a few from runs gone wrong. she definitely has some kind of facial scar, but i haven’t figured out where yet. she has a number of blaster-wound scars on her torso, too. and one birthmark on her shoulder-blade! it’s about an inch and a half big and it doesn’t really look like much, but obi-wan kisses it sometimes and sivala gets very overwhelmed when he does.

#made some new oc meme banners n i totally forgot abt them im stupid #anyway............#THANK U SM SOPHIE ILY <3 i love talkin abt my baby n u pulled NO PUNCHES w these questions #answered #shadowglens #ch: sivala sylwiri

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generallypo · 4 years ago

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in all sincerity, kim dokja makes me happy and he deserves to be so too :^(

incoherent yelling and sobbing under the cut. these fEELINGS will not be contained aaauuunnghhh.

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anyway i binge-read all 500+ chapters of ORV this week and i honest to god feel bad for this -- completely! fictional! aghhhh -- guy. in case you haven’t figured it out, the following is some spoilerly shit

i went in expecting a fun, brainless power trip fantasy for dudes with an isekai addiction. instead, it turns out ORV is actually a gigantic, self-deprecating prank on the entire genre itself. kdj plays more into the sad -- if high-functioning-- clown trope than the sexy, edgy, chuuni bastard type i was prepared to laugh at. there were -- gasp! -- female characters with personalities! parents (aka ADULTS who act like ADULTS) who actually survive and feature prominently! adorable children! a real sexy, edgy bastard! a power trio with amazing fashion! sexual tension and bickering! friendship! life and death bonding!

*breathes in deeply* fouND FAMILYYYYYYY.

like, yeah, the plot around the first few arcs seems a little aimless, but the buildup is worth. the world-building is pretty decent. there’s discernible effort put into the fight scenes, and i can appreciate that. but -- but! what i stayed for were the characters -- namely, the fantastic OT3 of KDJ, HSY, and YJH -- who come together despite their initial rivalries and end up saving each other’s asses, like, every other day. granted, the other characters don’t get as much focus, and they do fall into certain character tropes..

but a trope done well is nothing i would gripe about. every significant character in ORV has a coherent, and more importantly, respectful take on their respective trope. maybe it’s because sing-shong is actually a married couple, but all the interactions between even minor characters are a convincing blend of awkward rambling, suggestive humor, sharp remarks, and casual banter. in other words, this cast of mostly working adults (plus a teen and two kids) talks like working adults. the relationships built throughout the story are, frankly, some of most realistic of its genre. sing-shong has managed to craft a dynamic that undoubtedly brims with fluffy fondness all around, but also drips with sarcastic tension, with unspoken urgency, with a wariness that softens into sincerity over the course of many, many chapters. it’s the kind of progression that makes even stock characters read like more than just the 2-bit villain or comrade or love interest. here, we have relationships both straightforward and not, strained or otherwise, romantically-oriented as well as decidedly the opposite -- and then numerous others scattered along the spectrum with the freedom to shift either way.

it’s also an interesting point of note that our MC kdj actually does not end up with a stated romantic partner, much less a conventional heteroromantic harem. he gets teased about that fact from time to time, but it’s with less of the sleazy shonen locker room humor one would expect and more of the good-natured ribbing you’d find among friends or that one especially nosy auntie at the yearly family reunion. kdj is a grown ass man. in the background, i applaud his maturity, and he handles all the prodding like a champ.

so instead of finding and fulfilling his horny, he builds himself a wealth of loving family. yeah, there are beautiful men and women around him. yeah, they unequivocally adore him. but they’re also adults, and they have priorities, too -- which are not so much finding a way to bang kdj’s brains out and more so simply keeping the damn guy alive. this is truly not ‘oblivious mc with his thirsty, sex kitten harem’. it just so happens that a guy proves himself to be unflinchingly gentle and capable in an apocalyptic setting despite his broken self-esteem, and lots of people find that attractive, romantically and platonically.

it.. kinda makes sense? he’s a hard worker, thoughtful, and good with kids. kdj is the kind of guy you know would make a reliable partner, and anybody with eyes can plainly see and appreciate that.

and it’s not that our MC’s a total brick wall. in fact, it’s likely the opposite, and he’s just too darned repressed to admit it. from what has been implied, kdj does indeed recognize and accept love, or at least a primitive concept of it. i like to imagine that the kind of love that he ends up seeking out simply manifests itself more easily as acceptance and safety, as warmth and a home of people to return to every day. even better, the people who surround him know this, and they give him exactly that. it’s refreshing, and honestly, really sweet.

(as a side note, i really, really do appreciate the cosmic bi energy radiating off of kdj, who canonically earns the title of being loved by all and is all but in name married to yjh and hsy. he also respects women and small children and honestly anyone who isn’t total scum to him or his family. i respect that.)

but the happy stuff aside, you know it it just ain’t ORV without the generous screaming dollop of angst. admittedly, there’s self-sacrifice, injury, lonesome wandering, more sacrifice, some epic fighting, reunion and confrontation. all of it is a lot to digest, sure, but never does it feel entirely hopeless, or truly, truly heart-clenching. ORV, up until the final act, is a mostly light read. you relax in your chair, thinking that nothing beyond this point can disturb you.

yeah fucking right.

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and then the beginning of the end arrives. when the squad finally break through to their ‘ending’, the scene that kind of breaks me is the reveal of the Most Ancient Dream. it ties so much thematically into the little tidbits that we get of kdj’s past, and it though it feels like almost a joke that the source of the goddamn apocalypse is a kid with bruises smeared across his skinny ass body -- it’s such a pathetic picture that it’s kinda poetic, actually. you’re left mystified but somewhat convinced, like a math problem explained halfway through. this.. child.. is a villain somehow, isn’t he?

and then 999th turn uriel speaks up, and she. just. hugs him.

[[You are this universe’s most powerless existence, aren’t you.]]

that. that gets me. kdj’s reaction immediately upon this revelation? absolute murder. seeing him essentially self-destruct upon realizing that all these people he’s surrounded himself with -- some who continuously proclaim their loyalty and affection for him throughout their journey, some who suffered eons of war and loss and trauma because of his existence -- not only forgive his younger self but smother him with unconditional acceptance and love is stifling, is too vulnerable and exposed and he simply can’t cope -- it’s so telling of his true mentality, of his crippling insecurity and crumpled sense of self-worth. kim dokja is a liar, through and through, so much that he fails, or perhaps refuses, to comprehend the veracity of others’ kindness and love towards himself.

by some miracle, the events at the end of the world somehow resolve.. or so it seems. there is a departing train, a liberated team of ex-gods, and a child rousing from his slumber. in the aftermath, i am left shaking. somehow, despite the ending having been (happily?) reached, there’s still another chapter ahead. what is this witchcraft?

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and then ah, yes -- the epilogue arc. i teetered on the edge of being critical for a little bit there -- is that display of deus ex machina, of sad, self-sacrificing nobility a bit too egregious to be acceptable? is this some wild last let-me-yank-this-outta-my-ass plot twist to drag out the chapter count? i sincerely thought that the arc before it would have been the finale. i was wrong. thank god.

anyways, as an answer to the above: no, and no. i stake my firm claim on the belief that the epilogue arc was meticulously planned out well in advance of its release, confusing and time-warpy as it is. i liked it. tremendously. even if it entirely invalidates all of kdj’s supposed development (”haha lol yeah sure i won’t sacrifice myself or anything anymore guys don’t worry about me” -- KDJ, at some point because he’s a lying rat bastard). actually, our beloved MC disappears for a large chunk of this arc, and i think it’s great. in his absence, the other characters not only go absolutely fucking nuts, but they have to figure out this new problem on their own, even if the lure of peaceful complacency in the newly saved Korea might convince them otherwise.

and then the whole time paradox thing comes around. yjh goes to space, hsy saves the only life she can, and kdj grows up. the crew waits, holding onto their hope even if it bleeds them dry. sing-shong does a damn good job of illustrating their fraying calm, their lurking madness, the unseen but pervasive depression that seeps in from kdj’s absence. the kids lose their father, lhs and jhw lose their reliable leader figure, ysa loses a best friend and confidant, lsk -- as distant as she pretends to be from her son -- loses her only child. and then there’s hsy and yjh , who are essentially bereft of the other half of their existences. their pain is palpable, is grounded in the hopeless, gnawing frustration of an utterly meaningless victory. emotionally, ORV hits all the right -- if agonizing -- beats.

however, a story can’t sustain itself just through its pathos. i’m happy to say that ORV doesn’t drop the ball after the first milestone, and after all the hurt, the characters do leap straight back into action. even better, the plot holes actually do get patches, and the poetic cycle of writer, protagonist, and reader comes full circle by making use of all those supposedly throwaway characters from the myriad world lines.

at the end of the road, there is a distinct sense of unity, of a delicate but undeniable cohesion to the world lines and their origins. sing-shong lets us guess a little here at the finish, but there’s just enough information to feel hopeful. maybe there never had been a definite start -- or finish -- to the story of kdj company, and... that’s okay. everybody ends up where they were meant to be, where they fought and struggled to reach. it’s.. almost like a happily ever after, if we’re allowed to dream of that.

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now, i realize, this was all an orchestrated maneuver.

i’ll take it.

to me, all of this work sounds like someone put some serious thought into this behemoth of a plot. it cements the entire original premise of the story. it suggests -- but never explicitly confirms! -- the possibility that breaking free of the cycle is possible through the exact same system that sustains it. it’s terribly interesting -- and inspirational! with all the dramatic revelations and life-threatening scenarios and the cast’s resigned acceptance of them that essentially make up ORV’s entire mood, there’s still that last hint of rebellious and righteous anger that lights up the whole damn nebula. it’s like the kdj company blasting away at the heavens just to yell into the nether: we’re not looking for the happy end, but the free one. stay alive.

it’s subtle, and yet it’s such an emotional gut punch. i came away with the most ruinous, frustrating, bittersweet sense of longing in ages. i pined. for these fictional darlings. god, i am weak.

so. yeah. ORV is pretty good. flawed, but ambitious and impressively thought out. i’m stoked that the webtoon is making pretty good progress, even if it’ll take an eternity and a half to meet that monstrous chapter count. i’m still gonna follow it. hell yeah.

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(by the way the idea that secretive plotter and co are literally gonna take care of and raise baby kdj and spoil him and be the best friggin family a kid could ever want does things to me. protect him. he’s suffered too much. let at least one worldline’s version of him know happiness. and actually, aLL OF THEM DESERVE DOMESTIC BLISS TOGETHER IN A BIG OL MANSION WITH SUN AND FRESH AIR AND TENDER FAMILY MOMENTS UGH)

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and there you have it, folks. you made it to the end. in the far, far distance, i’m cheering you on and crying my eyes out in gratitude. thanks for tuning in!

#omniscient reader #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #kim dokja #fanart #kdj happiness rights!#protect him!#let! him! have his big house! with everyone! he loves!#please!#long ass emotional screeching #look i can't do him justice with drawing but hell can i yell out my love for him :'^DD

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heli0s-writes · 4 years ago

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IV. Symbiosis

Summary: “Since you’ve been caught—” Fury squints, “Canoodling With The Allegedly Injured James Barnes, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s already halfway finished with digging you up. Forgeries. Petty theft. Grand larceny. The damn rest of the kitchen sink. So, Ranger…” The way he says it is both lazy and threatening, completely on brand and irritatingly calm.

“Here’s my suggestion: get ahead of this thing before it knocks you on your ass.”

A/N: 4.8k words. I’m a liar who lies because after 4 months of overthinking and coming up with diddly squat, here is part 4 of Trinity Epoch sans smut. I’m sorry! I’ll double your pleasure next time. xx Thank you for sticking with me, I’m so sorry it’s taken so long.

Warnings: Language. References to canon-typical violence.

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

Bucky stays like that a while longer, just breathing.

Your fingers trace his hair—running through the strands, over the shell of his ear, then resting briefly on his cheek. All the ways you used to with Natasha when she’d break her own heart, or maybe ways you would have liked her to have done for you when you felt like you were dying a little bit.

You feel it now: a small death in the wake of last night’s simple touches. Your body and Steve’s body curled around each other sprung something immeasurable, as if the drift flowered then and ripened beneath your skins. You bit into it. You savored its taste. You could have lived on it alone.

Everything smears together like a child’s careless hand in a mess of paints until all the brights muddle dark. A shaky breath as you work yourself into calming, trying to find coherent words while your head remains a pot of sideways soup, at best.

Bucky shifts until he’s looking up at you, nose millimeters away. His irises are just a touch more gray, a sprinkle less green. You can see Steve in him, just as he can see Steve in you and then your eyes begin to prickle, Nat’s face undulating behind the burn.

You don’t really know what you want to say. Maybe apologize, run, beg for forgiveness, grab Bucky by the shoulders and shake him until he understands that you didn’t mean it— you didn’t mean to hurt him. That you love him. That he lives inside you, too.

His ghost from the drift— the aftermath phenomena of the neural bridge when pilots take on a bit of each other’s consciousness out of the cockpit and into the world with them. Take two people with a predisposition for the drift into the cockpit into each other’s brains and they exit heightened—sharper, better—imbued with each other’s strengths and knowledge. Mind-meld long enough, deep enough, and your core endures, but you become a different beast.

When Steve’s consciousness bled into yours, so did Bucky’s. If you walked away with half of Rogers, you also got a quarter of Barnes and it only compounded worse during Polidori’s drop. Resurrecting trauma, agitating itself, making a mess of your weary soul.

You relived his amputation last night, just as fresh as you relived Nat’s death. More visceral than the first trial run, you witnessed him—felt him—torn and hoarse, clutching his shoulder as he rocked helplessly inside Orion’s chest, frayed wires sparking across his cheek and landing in his own blood. His teeth gnashing together as he tried to hold on for Steve’s sake, steering his co-pilot’s panic back on course. Terrified and agonized, but he was hellbent on making it out.

Bucky who made you laugh. Bucky who took you to dinner. Who walked with you, gave you his jacket, listened to your rambling and crying, and kissed you because you reminded him of his co-pilot, or maybe of himself.

How could you not love him, after all this?

Armageddon slows for nothing though, and before the first letter of his name can fall out recklessly from your mouth, three precise thumps jostles it back in.

Steve’s voice is muffled through heavy steel. “You in there?”

The door slides open with a tremulous croak but neither of you bother to separate. Nothing seems to matter now.

“Buck...” Steve looks from one raw face to the other, stepping forward and reaching out. He grasps Bucky’s hand. “We should talk—” he closes his mouth into a thin line, shoulders slumping heavily before letting go. “I’m sorry. Later. Shit’s hit the fan.”

The office is stagnant air full of questions but other than the squeak of the marshal leaning back in his chair, nobody makes a sound.

Fury untucks a finger from the crook of his elbow before pointing it between your eyes.

“Culpability.”

Across the room, you flinch in his crosshairs. Standing apart from them, you’re partially slack against one of many steel filing cabinets, using it to prop yourself up in case your knees might give out as vertigo descends.

It’s been a lot to take in. Everything— the night, the morning, emotionally, mentally, physically. The hull is a steel cage, and pilots are well armored, but you’re still hooked up to the robot enduring damage, taking hits at barely .0001 percent, but taking it all the same. You’re bruised up good beneath your clothes— Polidori’s claws leaving four tender imprints of a scratch to Orion’s right shoulder. Your shoulder. Steve’s shoulder.

To your right, he shifts. A tiny hint of pain streaks over his expression before it falls serene again, fixed on Fury.

“Since you’ve been caught—” the marshal squints, “Canoodling With The Allegedly Injured James Barnes, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s already halfway finished with digging you up. Forgeries, petty theft, grand larceny, the damn rest of the kitchen sink. So, Ranger…” The way he says it is both lazy and threatening, completely on brand and irritatingly calm.

“Here’s my suggestion: get ahead of this thing before it knocks you on your ass.”

This thing, being any story a 13-year old kid with two thumbs and a twitter account can spin between now and when you let Pepper Potts spin it for you first. There’s not a lot imagination can’t conjure to fill in the blank pixelated space between Bucky standing on the curb and you right behind him wearing his cap and jacket. Not to mention that once speculation goes live, it starts sprouting all sorts of appendages with minds of their own, and no matter how diligently you might cut one off, two would only sprout in its place.

The marshal stands up and takes heavy steps before turning the corner of his desk, absently tapping a pile of folders together like they’re not already in a perfect column. He slips a manila folder out from the stack and it becomes obvious that his suggestion is just buildup to some other type of impetus.

When you open the file up under his sharp gaze, you feel the blood drain from your face and possibly from your entire body.

The bullet he aimed between your eyes hits home. Cue your brains blowing out slow. Impetus met.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky appears over your shoulder, staring at the same grainy photocopied document. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I make a lot of jokes?” Fury leans forward, pointer curving over the top edge, tapping emphatically one, two, three times, even waving it back and forth in front of your unseeing eyes. “I’ve got a good contact inside the PPDC who risked a lot to get this out. They’re just plans for now, dogeared behind other pages, but don’t doubt the Corps’ cowardice for a second. The second this program looks like it might not hold up, they’ll turn their efforts there.”

You’re gone. Trapped between the lines, vehemently scanning the page, reading the same words over and over until they no longer make sense. But it’s not like they made any sense in the first place.

ANTI-KAIJU WALL: CONSTRUCTION AGENDA. SPRING 2020.

The conception of a perimeter stretching around the Pan Pacific—North and Central America, East and South Asia to isolate emerging Kaiju. It’s a fetal skeleton at most, the roughest of outlines for a plan, and truthfully, it’s no plan at all.

It’s shameful. It’s shit.

The so-called Wall of Life implies the portending death of the Program—of all Shatterdomes and Jaegers. It implies no support, no funding, and no repairs. No Kodiak. No juniors. No future.

Back and forth, you’re still desperately inspecting as if the words might shift into a new message, maybe one that didn’t spell out certain extinction, but despair is rippling across your face. Bi Fang and Polidori had wings, and they were only Category II. Bi Fang massacred one of the best pilots you’ve ever known—and it was only a Category II. Any higher and they’d blow through that wall like a ribbon of wet toilet paper.

Hysteria creeps up at the mere thought of it, fear stubbornly lodging itself in your throat. Nuclear-powered automata—the only proven defense against the terror of massive alien attacks are being dismantled in favor of steel rods and cinderblocks. They might as well build it out of Legos.

Anti-Kaiju Wall. A string of ants meeting a boot.

You’re panting softly, tongue swollen in your mouth, shaking with equal parts terror and rage, on the verge of breaking into inappropriate laughter and yelling.

“What—what do they expect?” You croak, “The breach opens, the fucking thing comes out, sees a fence, and what—they think it’s—going to crawl back in…?”

“Hey, calm down,” Bucky curls his fingers around your elbow. His hand and its black plates are peering at you, purring, dull gold bands threading at the knuckles. For a second, the prosthetic disappears. For a second, he’s blood red again.

“Hey!” Bucky grips tightly when you sway. “I’m fine! Don’t—don’t.” Steve’s jaw is set firmly on your other side, arms crossed so severely his biceps bulge with the strain.

“Nick,” He’s abruptly brusque as he eases the file from your grip. “Give us a minute.”

“You’re in my office.” But the marshal’s words hold no bite. He’s already won; he knows. Cornered again, he’s got you same as before in Red Cloud.

You get the gist: play out your redemption arc and come clean with your record. Win over the public, hoard all the additional support and funding you can because you’ll need every goddamn cent of it when the PPDC rips it away. The gossip. The photos. The headlines. It’s the perfect opportunity for a few hundred million when the media is putting a magnifying glass on your presence in Hong Kong.

Duty. Duty. Duty.

You’re just one small part of this colossal puzzle—a negligible smear of guts across the battlefield trying to keep the rest of the pieces together while the PPDC sits in their panic rooms throttling the entire fucking thing.

Fury steps to the cabinet and slides the file back in its place, keeping the illusion of it being just another unremarkable envelope in a row of hundreds of others. The metal drawer shuts with a clang, housing the most damning piece of information you’ve ever seen. His tact aside, you know he would never show you his hand like this if it wasn’t completely necessary—or pertinent.

Steve was right, you understand now.

The world owes you. And it owns you.

The next six—seven?—hours scatter like pulled teeth with your head spinning like a top the entire way. Pepper had been outside the door for the conversation, waiting on standby to whisk you off for princess lessons. Having already (and correctly) predicted your compliance, Fury scheduled an interview for precisely at nine. Then you were off, towed along by Miss Potts and her hasty strut.

You try to find perspective, reminding yourself that you’ve successfully gone toe-to-toe with the Empire State Building with fifteen rows of teeth seven fucking times and come out on the other side alive and if not in one whole piece, then at least 2-3 relatively serviceable pieces. You’re functional. A little damaged, but fine enough. But there’s also the fact that you’d just hopped out of Orion not even 24 hours ago coupled with how you’re suddenly in the middle of something that feels less like a confused love triangle and more like divine providence at the end of the world.

Fuck. No time to think about it now. The human brain is not programmed to multitask, and you’re hanging on by a mere thread. You prioritize making it through the night just as alive as you can make it out of a drop. Just a couple of hours and you can rest. Just a couple more.

After what felt like an eternity and a half of simulating Q&A, practicing your posture, smiling into a mirror, and one horrible limo ride where you stared dead-eyed out the window—Steve and Bucky’s steely gazes after you—the building finally comes into view.

Hair. Makeup. Wardrobe. You wear pants. You smile for the camera. You don’t stand in the middle of the group photo.

8:55 and time halts to a near stop. You can hear your heart in your throat, or in your skull. Your eyes feel switched from their sockets, or stomach rotated 30 degrees. Someone fixes your mic wire, your blouse collar, asking you to turn just a little over there. Three cameras are pointed to capture every angle, punitive red dots angry and glaring.

A live broadcast was agreed upon to ensure the least amount of potential edits and skews, as well as the charmingly quaint idea that it’s unscripted. The rub, therein, lies upon the burden of poise and a flawless performance. You rehearsed lines until your jaw felt like it was coming unhinged. Then you did it again.

Everything requires precision, and you keep that in mind with your hand on the glass of Dom Perignon being constantly refilled. An amicable gesture by the hosts, but their intentions are cunning: loose lips sink ships, and they’re betting on yours to sink the S.S. Orion Bravo.

Out of view, the translator sits with her legs crossed, listening to the questions before turning the words over in English.

You take a sip of champagne and it fires off like a gunshot—Cantonese and English in rapid-fire verses.

<2017 was a fateful year for both the Jaeger Program and the world. Beloved pilot Natasha Romanoff sacrificed her life to protect Alaska’s coast in a final battle against Category 2 Bi Fang. Memorials dedicated to Romanoff’s efforts appeared across every nation to lament her death and celebrate her heroism. Yet, somehow, no one seemed to be asking the million-dollar question: Where is her co-pilot?>

The host’s open hand urges your reply.

The lights seem to turn up even brighter. Your back starts sweating. The room is about to collapse. In short, naturally—infuriatingly—you choke.

Seven hours of droning like a broken wind up toy, already knowing how to answer this question by heart, prepping yourself for the interrogation, the relentless demand to publicize your grief, to placate the people about your relationship with their heroes—and, you choke.

Bucky’s chin tilts microscopically in the corner of your line of vision. You’re fine, he’s saying, you got it. He’s strangely calm, even pleased, as you stutter involuntarily. Like he’s the first to remember an inside joke you’d long forgotten, his grin widens the longer you look at him. Steve turns next. Focus. Don’t fight the drift. The drift is silence.

And suddenly, your shoulders ease. The static in your exhausted brain slides out of your ears.

You sit up tall. You smile. It doesn’t quite feel like your smile, but, it’s a good one. You know this smile; it’s Steve’s smile. Like a seamless assembly, you fall into rhythm.

The white of his teeth slip out from between Steve’s lips. He notices too.

You calmly recite the introductory speech you’d been practicing for the last two hours, feeling out your new voice, borrowing from his bearing—deeper, smoother, certain. The major points get run through: your record and own personality traits keeping you from the spotlight, admitting genuinely that you’re pretty damn uncomfortable now, so they’ll have to forgive you for any slip ups. It goes over well, as Pepper predicted; “candid” blunders made Rangers human—made them likable.

When the subject of Anchorage rolls back around, you can practically feel Steve’s jaw bulging preemptively. You graze his foot with yours as a warning to back off.

<It’s remarkable that you were able to bring the Jaeger back to shore, there has been only one pilot who was capable of that—>

“I’m thankful to have had Stacker Pentecost as my mentor. I owe so much of my resilience to him. It was difficult, but simply put, I had no other choice. I feel so lucky to have survived it.”

“She was one of a kind.”

“Yes.”

The host clears his throat, visibly awkward that you’re being so terse, but taking the hint until Bucky turns into the spotlight, that divorced happiness he’s so skilled at beaming into the lenses.

Steve easily picks it up, steering the conversation where he wants it to go. He’s disarmingly sincere as he relays the process of Bucky’s injury, replacement, apprehension, and finally success

His bright blue eyes flicker secret messages and you decipher them all.

“The connection was like—"

There’s a bell chiming in your ears. Bright, crisp chirps of it, cutting through laughter and bickering. You taste summer air in your throat, Bucky’s hair flying in the wind. “Riding a bike…”

“Exactly. New bike, same motions, and it worked. It was great. We learned things about each other. Some good, some bad—”

Crosshatched pencil lines of their shared apartment. Smudges of charcoal in a sketchbook. “He’s an unbelievable artist, but—”

“No— don’t say it!”

Bucky smothering a small kitchen fire. Steve throwing a damp rag on him in a frantic attempt to assist. Your voice is bubbling out gleefully. “—an awful cook!”

“It’s true,” Bucky smugly chimes in. “The boy can’t boil water. Breakfast eggs come with shells every time.” You can taste the grit between your molars—crushed grains inside an overdone omelet, Bucky spitting out spinach and feta cheese.

“Oh my god,” you sputter into a sip of champagne. “It’s so bad.”

“Do you see what I have to deal with? Two people knowing my secrets. Two.”

<Fantastic! Already we can see a great friendship here—>

It seems congratulatory, but there’s determination to drive into scandalous territory, poking at any rumor to lance and leak. A sly smile crosses his face as his assistant shows photos of you and Bucky in the city, but the lurid suggestion only gets shrugged off. “We’d gone out for dinner. It was the first time I’d left the Shatterdome after Seigehook and I needed moral support.”

“I’d give you my jacket if you looked cold.”

<Steve, Ophelia isn’t concerned that your new co-pilot is a woman?>

“No, absolutely not. ‘Lia’s the first person to support Orion—and the loudest. I don’t know what I’d do without her. You don’t have her behind the curtain, too, do you?”

<Well, what about personal memories? Won’t you know everything about each other…? Private things?>

“Sure, but what pair of pilots don’t? You got twins and siblings, not just married couples. Look, here’s the thing: the neural bridge doesn’t take you to a filing cabinet. It’s not open like that. It’s more like—somebody help me—” Bucky snaps his fingers your way, “—what’d you call it the other day?”

You didn’t, but you say, “A dream?”

“Right, a dream. If you think about it, you can pull on it, but if it’s not in the forefront of your mind. It’s a non-issue.”

“We’re all adults here,” Steve confirms.

Steve’s palm faces outward as if keeping the host at bay— or, you think, keeping himself at bay. “Hold on. This isn’t about replacement. Nobody is framing it like a nail in the coffin—we’re in the interim of a period of time, readjusting. Short of death, nothing is going to take him away.”

Sunlight. Recruitment. Ice baths. Training until they had to carry each other to bed. Your eyes flutter, head pilfering through the memories like instinct.

“James is still Orion’s co-pilot.” You agree. Apprehension. Dread. Terror. Confidence in each other even when they didn’t believe in themselves. They were together. Nothing else mattered. “Steve’s co-pilot.”

The tight look on his face is temporarily wiped as he beams proudly, “He’s my Bucky. Always has been, always will be.” He claps Bucky on the back twice and each thump’s echo bounces its way into your chest.

Bucky bristles and sputters, but a healthy pink dusts its way across his cheeks, “Don’t embarrass me, Rogers.”

“Are you blushing?” You tease, elated.

“Don’t you start, either.”

<Well… this is very wonderful. Is there a possibility we’ll be seeing a triple-piloted machine? The Tang triplets have been in talks for a new model.>

Steve shakes his head. “We haven’t discussed it yet. Nothing’s off the table, by any means. Just not priority at the moment.”

“Normalcy, as much as we can get in the middle of all this.” Bucky holds out his hand, closing it into a fist, letting the camera zoom in. “We’re… still working through all the kinks, balancing the personal and global.”

He flexes his fingers, letting the microphones pick up the drone of machinery, but his meaning is another secret. Clicking Morse codes of well-oiled obsidian plates purring two names. You’ve stopped listening to everything but the echo incandescent in your heart.

You down your glass.

Champagne tipsy, you try not to stagger through the lobby. The doorman nods toward the limousine parked faithfully by the curb.

The barrage of questions slowed after it became apparent that there would be no sensationalist headline. There was attention to Bucky’s arm, his handsome face, of course, before the banter quickly devolved into entertaining frivolous sidebar queries. Five flutes bubbled down your throat and by the end of it, you no longer wanted to grab camera one and shake the shit out of it, anger whittled down to a dull hum of annoyance.

Thirty million stupid dollars for inane reels of:

What’s in your purse? What do you eat? How do you stay feminine in a Shatterdome full of testosterone—have you tried any K-beauty skincare routines? Do you have anyone special in your life?

Bucky went in, then, leaning forward until he was nearly rocking off and leveled his glare. You know she’s on the other side of the same robot, buckled up into a ninety-pound rig steering two-hundred tons of—

It took a miracle (see: Steve’s firm hand discreetly on the back of Bucky’s neck and Pepper drawing a sharp line across her throat) to effectively halt the derailing train.

“I can’t believe,” Bucky grouses now, opening the door and waving the driver back to the front. “Those goddamn questions.”

“Does wiping my sweaty face with my even sweatier shirt count as skincare? What’s the K stand for?”

Bucky smacks the back of your head with one hand, other clumsily yanking the door open with the other. “For Korean—have you been living under a rock? Just—get in the fuckin’ car.”

You slap him back. “Quit it, you invalid.”

“Invalid? I’ll show you a fuckin’—Steve, did you hear—”

“Both of you, get in the car.”

And you shriek, scrambling in and yanking Bucky along by the scruff of his jacket. Mischief courses beneath your skin, encouraged by clever alcohol, now fully buzzed its way to every extremity.

Still giggling and leaning into the thrill of it, you slump over the smooth plastic molding of the door and press your face against the tinted window. It’s a cool reprieve on your warmed cheek, frosting when your temperature meet the glass. Bucky’s easy Cantonese, albeit slurred, is requesting a ride back to base. His hand has found its way into yours, fingers laced large and warm, clasping tight before he lets go.

“Haven’t had a drink—oh--” you murmur, catching yourself as the wheels shift.

“Since Red Cloud.”

“Outta my head, Rogers.”

“Says the person who kept finishing my sentences during that interview.”

“It’s the champagne! It makes me—“

“Stupid?”

“You’re an ass, Barnes.” But you’re laughing at him, at the way he’s smirking— cheeks gone ruddy. Both of them, open beside each other, heads inclined intuitively together. It makes you ache to see—to experience again after disruption—Rogers and Barnes. Barnes and Rogers. Perfectly fitted.

The partition slides up. The sunroof tugs open with a whistling draft.

Hong Kong’s lights are vivid—too much to properly see the extent of space’s beauty, but there are a few twinkles you’re able to make out in the moonless night as light poles and skyscraper tips whiz overhead. They’re brighter than most, simple to spot patterns in the dark.

“Orion’s out tonight,” you mutter, moving to catch the line of its belt, “Look. Beneath his feet is Lepus, the hare, pursued for all time.” From across, Steve follows, also looking to find their hero as your hair rustles wildly, making a hurricane against your ear.

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic,” Bucky scolds. He’s annoyed and comfortable on leather, ankle crossed over opposite knee. “You’re not being chased by anything. Besides, if you were a constellation, you’d probably be the soup ladle.”

You laugh. He’s always playing the part of a stoic so well. “Hey, I’ll have you know the Little Dipper’s got the north star in it. That soup ladle’s gonna be the thing that gets you home when you’re lost.”

The tone shifts—time dragging its pace as you look at them in wonder. The city’s overripe heaviness of the blows through, making goosebumps on heated skin.

“Buck,” Steve says, and Bucky slips his jacket from his shoulders to slide over yours. He tugs the lapels down like he’s trying to keep you on earth and your hands clasp on his wrists for a second before you let go. They’re both sitting up now, watching your bleary gaze unfocus.

Steve and Bucky oscillate in front of your eyes, their lines blurring until it doesn’t really matter who you’re looking at—until they become one. So easy, like this, just them like two sides of the same coin, belonging so seamlessly to each other.

“Sorry,” you blurt in shame, “I feel like I fucked it up. Ruined a thing that wasn’t mine to ruin.”

“Think you put it together,” Steve responds quietly, and the simplicity of his statement throws you off. “We found our way.”

“Soup ladle,” Bucky jokes.

“But, aren’t we just trading one war for another? World peace only made it because of monsters.” Unspoken questions hidden inside large-scale metaphors— symbiosis could only be achieved under the lies of other relationships. Whatever this would be, it wouldn’t be accepted. Steve still retains his supermodel girlfriend and you and Bucky dutifully fall in line for your own packaged little PR lies.

He shrugs. “I’m fine with losing a few battles in this war, but Orion’s got a good track record, doesn’t it, Buck?”

“Twelve— thirteen kills, sweetheart.” Bucky’s grin is lopsided. “Don’t forget you made that happen.”

“Thirteen’s an unlucky number.”

“Feels lucky to me.” Steve’s hand wraps around your wrist, thumb resting on your pulse. He taps your skin, looking genuinely apologetic. “Listen, all I can do is ask— and I’m not good at asking for things. I just want to make them happen.” A quick glance at the watch under his cuffs and he tugs at your arm like a lost child, “So, before we get back… will you come here?”

As he said, he’s not really asking. More like reaching his will out to you, finding you when you’re caught in the undertow and pulling you back to safety. To them. Okay. Okay.

Your footing slips, but they take your hands and turn you carefully, letting you settle in between. Bucky hums a low sound, fingers curling around your waist. Steve does the same to the opposite side and you feel both torn apart and held together by them.

Steve nuzzles your neck, hot on your skin.

“She was wrong,” he whispers, barely audible over the sound of your rising breath, “You know that? She was wrong, and I was wrong. I thought it couldn’t happen—thought I had other priorities, other things to manage and settle and save and... I lost sight of what matters most. But I’m gonna really fix it this time—I’m gonna do it right by you.”

He looks to Bucky, pained and relieved, “Both of you, I promise.” He takes Bucky’s hand in his own and holds it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, his palm, saying softly, “I love you, Buck. I’m sorry you waited so long.”

“Hey stupid,” Bucky says shakily when your chin starts to quiver at the sight of them. He’s sniffling and swallowing his syllables, unable to stop himself from staring at Steve’s face in his hand, how Steve kisses the blue pulse in his wrist. “Ain’t you—too pretty to cry?”

The rocking of the car flattens out as Steve gently presses his lips to yours, letting the trail of salt bursting down your cheek into his mouth. He moves to the line of your jaw, promising,

It’s okay. I got you. Nothing’s gonna hurt you anymore.

They kiss you and the world turns itself right.

They kiss you and then they kiss each other. Again and again and again.

#marvel #stucky #stucky x reader #pacific rim au #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #fanfiction #reader insert #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader

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drxwsyni · 4 years ago

Text

Petrified (pt. 7)

Yandere Erasermic x f!Reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

a/n: this part is a lil short, but to make up for it the next one will be spicy. thanks for reading <3

*Sidenote*: Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the taglist!

4.4k words

Warnings: panic attacks, anxiety, mild gaslighting and light non-consensual touching

A certain ringing sounded inside your head as your heartbeat picked up its pace. Progress made towards calming frayed nerves crumbled in an instant. Even more so when whoever was on the other side of the door knocked in the same succession once more.

On dangerously shaky legs, you rose from your spot on the wooden seat at the kitchen table. You took slow and hesitant steps towards the entrance, not really knowing what you should do. The plethora of ideas as to what could happen based on how you react came as no surprise, countless scenarios racing through your mind at light speed.

Should you answer it?

Maybe if you ignore it they’ll leave.

But what if they don’t?

They have no reason to stay if you’re not home.

...

...Who’s on the other side?

By now you had carried yourself to be positioned just a couple of feet in front of the door. The next logical step would be to look through the peephole, if anything to simply satiate your curiosity that was eating you alive.

A voice permeated through the atmosphere before you could make any moves to do so.

Low and gruff, but most importantly―irritated.

“You in there, (y/n)?”

Realistically, you also shouldn’t be surprised that Shouta was here. Of course he couldn’t simply leave you alone. He was nothing if not persistent, and painfully unaware of how his presence could sometimes stir up more anxieties inside of you than he calmed.

Luckily for him, having been put through the wringer was greatly dulcifying your inhibitions. For the most part.

You were weak, and in no state to put up much of a fight. But you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try to, even in the slightest.

If he already could tell over the phone of just how worn out you were, hearing your broken and hoarse voice in person would likely only solidify his incessant concerns.

“Y-yeah, I’m here...You don’t, um...You didn’t need to come and check up on me, Shouta. Everything’s f―”

“Open the door.”

...

There was no use in arguing with him. He wouldn’t hear you out anyways.

Hands trembling as they fumbled with the lock, a few fresh tears rolling down your cheeks, you slowly opened the front door. The gap only made it about two feet apart before Shouta took over and pushed the rest of it all the way open.

Warily, you took a few steps out of the way. Without asking, although it wasn’t like he ever really asked for your permission, Shouta entered your apartment. He shut the door behind him, a resounding click as it closed, sealing you in with him.

Another thing you disliked about the erasure hero was that he only saw what he wanted to see. Things like what he thought was wrong with you, and subsequently what he wanted to fix.

You cursed yourself for growing so complacent with him. Because now, not only did you not have the energy to put up any more resistance, but even if you did, you weren’t entirely sure if you would do so anyways.

Right now, Shouta was seeing you beaten and bruised, both mentally and physically. That’s what he wanted to fix, and you had no choice but to let him have his way.

Accepting your fate, you remained in one place as the man approached you. Your body was shaking as you feebly attempted to contain more sobs from escaping you. But Shouta was smart―he knew very well that the moment he comforted you, there would be no way you could keep those walls up.

And so when he pulled you into a warm embrace, gently cradling the back of your head while whispering reassurances that “It’s okay,” and “You don’t need to hold back,” your body simply couldn’t stay resilient under that weight.

Your form crumpled against him, any apprehension for Shouta falling away into nothingness as your being sought the comfort he was providing. Like a damn breaking at the seams, preconceptions of the man faded while you tiredly submitted to his consoling. You hated yourself for finding solace in his arms, the headspace you resided in betraying as it desperately needed relief from everything that had been unfolding. Events not just from today, but from weeks of growing weaker and weaker.

The fact was that you couldn’t keep up with the changes in your life. On the inside, the stresses of having to repeatedly acquaint yourself with the hero and his partner was wreaking havoc on your mental state. On top of that was trying to balance living your normal life while maintaining a dishonest front to keep them satisfied. So on the outside, your body was diminishing in strength from having to spend its resources keeping your sanity afloat. Naturally, wanting to keep using your quirk at work didn’t do a single thing for you.

It all boiled down to you being completely and utterly wrecked in every sense imaginable. You couldn’t keep this up even if you wanted to. That fact hadn’t gone unnoticed, but as you succumbed to all the pent up strains, Shouta gladly helping you ride out the tremors of those ailments, it wasn’t something you could care about.

Did you really think you’d get away with this?

…

Shouta’s words, quiet so as not to frighten you in any manner, brought you out of the cloudy haze you felt yourself drowning in. “Why don’t I make you some tea―help you calm down a little, alright?”

Face still buried in his jacket, you weakly nodded. You didn’t even want to fight against the offer. Not now, at least.

Slowly, Shouta pulled you away from him, a light grip on your shoulders steadying you. It felt distant, the hand on the small of your back as he guided you into the kitchen. A chair already pulled out, you plopped down at the table. In the back of your mind you registered a hand on your head, briefly smoothing down your hair reassuringly.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened yet. Just take a few moments to relax.”

The hand disappeared, and you were left feeling empty and alone as Shouta went to turn on the kettle. You went back to aimlessly staring at the grooves in the wood of the table. With how muddled everything felt, it didn’t seem like anymore than a few seconds had gone by before a steaming mug was placed in front of you.

You could hear the sound of a chair quietly scraping against the floor as Shouta pulled it up next to you, taking a seat. A few seconds of silence went by.

Shouta waited for you to start explaining yourself. But judging by the still greatly anguished expression on your face, he noted that it wasn’t likely to happen just yet. The best course of action would be to continue to wait until you were ready, your mental state probably not capable of handling any insistence from him. So that’s what he did.

“You just let me know when you’re ready to talk, okay?”

Another half-hearted, barely noticeable nod from you, and that was all the confirmation he needed.

The small sounds of your sniffling filled the otherwise quiet expanse of your apartment. It felt like a herculean task to simply think. Of what you were going to tell Shouta, how you would portray either the truth, or keep lying to him and yourself. You tried focusing on any one thought, but it simply broke off halfway through, excuses unfinished, outcomes unexplorable. It was easier not to think, when nothing could really form a comprehensive conclusion anyways.

The intrusive noise of a knocking at the door caught both yours and Shouta’s attention. Nervously, you fiddled with the hem of your shirt, eyes remaining downcasted in worry. The erasure hero offered a quiet “Stay here,” as he went to greet whoever was outside of your apartment on your behalf.

The distant commotion of voices exchanging drifted into the kitchen. You didn’t need to look up to know who Shouta had let into your apartment. Not when that more high pitched, concerned lilt in a certain blond’s voice could be heard from where you were seated. It sounded like they were arguing, but the details of their dispute was beyond you. They seemed to be trying to spare your feelings, keeping quiet so as not to startle you any more. Especially when Hizashi’s voice raised even in the slightest, only to be followed by his partner coldly shushing him, it became clear that they didn’t really want you hearing whatever they were talking about.

But having resigned yourself, albeit not really willingly, to their whims, the notion that whatever they were discussing likely had to do with you didn’t really bother you. Something in the back of your mind reasoned that it was the aftershocks of having yet another meltdown, but you felt particularly docile. A subduing calmness, keeping you from caring about the two men in your home, or what they had planned for you. But you also knew that it was likely that even the smallest prompt of either of them poking at your emotions would have you relapsing.

Your mind went backwards onto its self doubt. You always knew that the chance of you succeeding in your scheme of lies and fake behaviour was low. But you didn’t want to believe it.

It was funny how the men that caused you so much distress were also so attentive to rid you of it. You were emotionally fragile. You didn’t have the energy to keep anything from them now.

You didn’t realize the two had entered the room until waves of loose blond hair caught in the corners of your vision. Turning your head, barely by even a few centimeters, you saw how Hizashi had slid into the chair once occupied by his partner, pulling it closer so he was right up next to you. Carefully, he placed a hand on your back, leaning down to try and get a glimpse of your drained expression.

Your tea was getting cold.

“Hey there, songbird. Ya wanna tell me what happened?”

Shakily, you brought up a hand to wipe the tears spilling down your face, noting the uncomfortable irritation in your eyes. You shrugged your shoulders, searching for the words to say. He waited patiently, and eventually you found them.

“I...um. T-there was this crowd, b-blocking my way. ‘Cause of the incident, a-and―” The admission caught in your throat, broken and incomplete for a few seconds as you involuntarily stopped to sob. Reminiscing on the event wasn’t as hard as going through it, but it did bring up many of the same emotions. Panic, being suffocatingly overwhelmed.

Helpless.

“...And I had to cut through them. T-there was the alleyway, b-but I couldn’t just…I c-couldn’t...”

You could feel your breath start to pick back up, nothing to stop it from losing control. Those painful memories made their comeback, filling your head with dreadful notions of what had happened, what could’ve happened.

“Hey,” a hand cupped the side of your face, turning it in the blond’s direction, “look at me.”

Your eyes, watery and unfocused, met his. The troubledness swimming in his look shifted. An expression of mild confusion took its place, studying your features intently. A thumb gingerly swiped the falling tears from under your puffy eyes. Hizashi’s focus shifted to the build up of wetness and makeup product on his skin, brows furrowing in the slightest. He regarded you once again.

“Sweetheart, we know you haven’t been holdin’ up your end of the deal. And...this is what happens when ya let yourself get so worn down. I mean...” He sounded hurt, like a disappointed parent trying to educate their child as he looked you up and down. But nothing could equate to the shattering feeling inside of you.

This whole time, you were unconsciously rubbing away at that artificial mask. Nothing was left to conceal your lies. No amount of excuses could hide your faults. Not with them there to witness the clear display of carelessness to keep such things hidden on your part.

It was over for you.

“...I-I’m sorry…”

A wave of fresh convulsing shuddered throughout you, your head still cradled in the blond’s hands, face leaning into his palm as you realized your mistakes.

The words were garbled, incomprehensible and panicked. “I couldn’t just...I mean, I t-tried to―”

Hizashi pulled you into his arms, an embrace somehow tighter than his partner’s. You didn’t even know where Shouta was actually, your eyes screwed shut as you were pulled into the voice hero’s lap. The noise of quiet and soothing hushes barely registered amongst this new bout of intense and taxing emotions.

It felt like everything was your fault. They had pushed you, sure, but you were the one to fight back so hard. You were losing yourself to self-deprecating ideas. But really, it didn’t come as a surprise. This was just how things always came to be in your subconscious. Against your better judgment, you decided that it was your fault that you were in this position.

Technically speaking, that was absolutely the case.

You could’ve very well put your foot down long ago. Stopped the two heroes the second they tried to pry into your personal life. It wasn’t right for them to guilt you into spending time with them, but that’s exactly what they did. And they did it until you were forced into an inescapable corner. If you fled, your faults would come back to haunt you. You would risk losing your job, and damage your chances of finding a career in the future.

If you had just been strong all that time ago, none of this would be happening. And now you were everything but strong. Reduced to a frail sobbing mess in Hizashi’s arms, emotions catching up with you faster than you were able to handle.

A certain sensation began to wash over you―one not entirely unfamiliar. A light feeling, enveloping you in a sedated stupor. And just like last time, Shouta and Hizashi were subjected to caring for you, knowing full well that you couldn’t cope with the weight of their words, a result of your actions, all by yourself.

Only this time, your panic and dread wasn’t brought on by mere lowly criminals that they sought to protect you from. They were at fault for alarming you further. What you didn’t know was that it wasn’t something they quite minded, when along with it came the notion that you would be forced to let them see you back to good health.

They were both troubled by your stubbornness. Yet, the anticipation for what your behaviour meant―that you would have no choice but to let them keep a closer eye on you―made the turn of events you were subjected to a welcome reality.

And so Hizashi comforted you as you cried, your breath fast paced and slowly bringing about unintended fatigue.

Shouta oversaw the ordeal, an irritation mixed with dangerous satisfaction brewing inside of him. Glad to know this would only make you closer to them, but frustratingly calculating how he’d beat this disobedience out of you.

You remained vulnerable. Tired, and unable to fend their ideals off. A state of complacency that seemed to grow with each passing second.

A state that you distantly feared would be your undoing.

_____

Hesitantly, you swung your legs over the edge of your bed, wincing at the coldness of the hardwood as your bare feet touched the floor. The haze of slumber just barely resided in your mind, fading more and more into the background as the noise of someone moving throughout the small kitchen of your apartment drifted down the hall and into your bedroom.

Clinking of utensils and cupboards opening and closing met your ears, the culprit remaining unknown.

Secondarily, your senses picked up on the wafting scent of cooking food. Whoever had taken up residence, they seemed to be making breakfast.

You padded towards the presence, silent as you finally laid eyes upon the intrusion.

Briefly, a wave of relief washed over you, seeing that it was just Hizashi who was enthusiastically cooking with various ingredients at the stove. There was a certain beauty to it―how the warm sunlight of the morning washed over his form, painting him in gold. His locks, loose and falling over his shoulders, seemed to glow ethereally, swaying gently as he moved from the stove to the counter next to it.

And then you remembered why he was here.

Your gaze unfocused, thoughts falling victim to the recollection of last night's mishaps.

The notion that you weren’t entirely in shock at the turn of events since making it home after work scared you more than the fear you once felt at the hands of those events not too long ago. A deep feeling of emptiness for your lack of control over the situation overrided those jarring emotions. It was troubling, not being able to pinpoint the where it came from, it instead seeming like an all encompassing numbness.

Wrapped up in your thoughts, you unconsciously shifted on your feet, still positioned at the entrance to the kitchen. The slight movement wasn’t much, but it did inconveniently put pressure on a particularly creaky floorboard.

Alerted at your presence, Hizashi looked over his shoulder expectedly. “Mornin’, sleepyhead!”

Your drifting gaze shot up at the characteristically enthusiastic greeting. Now met with the weight of responsibility, to own up for your behaviour, and the thanks he was most likely expecting for taking care of you last night, a small pit of trepidation formed inside you.

Finding that the action of meeting his glance directly only put more pressure on your already strained being, you settled for awkwardly avoiding it to look at any one thing that wasn’t him. “Hey, uh….I’m sorry for last night, by the way. And...everything else.”

Unsettlingly nonchalant, Hizashi waved off the apology. “Don’t worry about it. We know you were just a lil’ frazzled and tired. You feelin’ any better now?”

You gave an insincere, half-hearted smile. It probably looked a bit pained, that being how you felt. “Yeah, I guess…”

It was obvious he was avoiding the elephant in the room, being the admission of your deceitfulness from less than twelve hours ago. Hizashi’s behaviour only made you feel worse, but it was what you had to deal with until he took his leave.

The blond turned back to the stove, which was preoccupied with a couple of pans, counters lined with bowls and plates. “Why don’tcha take a seat, hun. Grubs almost ready―oh, and Shouta had to head into work, but he wanted to stay ‘til you woke up.”

Moving almost sluggish, exhaustion always lingering, you did as he said. “What about you?”

The voice hero’s tone took on more enthusiasm, if that was even possible, seemingly just by you engaging in the conversation. “Called in sick just for you! Couldn’t have our songbird all alone after what happened, right?” He moved about the kitchen, you unable to see what exactly he was cooking from your position at the table. “I slept on the couch after tuckin’ you in, ya passed right out not too long after, y’know.”

You were thankful for the brief avoidance of the subject, regrettably noting that you couldn’t ignore it forever. Soon enough, Hizashi finished up with putting together breakfast, bounding across the room to set the table. Fresh off the stove, the mouth watering smell of all your favorite morning foods were displayed in front of you. He portioned out his own meal next to you, a relaxed sigh escaping his lips as he sat down.

Politely, you thanked him for the food, disregarding how it was made with stuff you bought, some of the ingredients you weren’t even planning on using for a while. Moving past that, you weren’t surprised to find that it tasted perfect. For a second, part of you thought you wouldn’t quite mind his meals to be a recurring thing in your life. But of course, that would mean he would be a recurring thing as well. You settled to enjoy his hospitality for the moment, and then move on.

Hizashi always tended to break the silence first, and now was no different.

“So, Shou’ and I were thinking―s’probably a good idea for you to take some time off work for a bit. I know you might not see it, sweetheart, but ya really need a break. Whatcha think?”

You nodded in fake understanding, setting down your fork in the process. “I get last night was...a lot. But that kind of stuff doesn’t usually happen―the incident, and the crowd. I can’t let it hold me back.”

Everything in your being wished he would take your response and accept it for what it was. In your mind, it stood as clear denial, a request to drop the subject. But Hizashi, naturally, saw it as a challenge. You just needed more convincing.

“I got it, really...but ya still lied to us. I’m not tryin’ to make ya feel bad, hun. Neither of us are...but you need the rest. And you gettin’ hurt last night only proves that.”

Without realizing, you began spacing out, away from the conversation, which was more like a lecture at this point as he continued to go on. You picked up on a few parts, how “much worse it could’ve been,” and that they were worried sick “once ya gone and fainted” in his arms.

But one thing was true and lingering in your mind while he spoke, a fact that could very well get you through all of this. “I’ve been through worse.”

It came out during the small break in his speech, still reciting why him and his partner were so convinced that you needed to hold off on work for a while. At the confession he paused, enough time for you to realize that it likely wasn’t the best thing to admit.

“W-well not much worse, but I don’t think this whole thing is such a big deal.”

The look he gave you, like a disapproving parent―it didn’t make you want to side with him in the slightest. “It is a big deal. Shou’ and I are just tryin’ to help ya, sweetheart.”

“Okay, well...I just don’t think I need any help.”

That wasn’t entirely the truth.

Yes, you needed help. But not from them. The only thing they were good for was causing you stress, sometimes not even the few moments when you did enjoy their presence was enough to redeem that fact. You needed someone who wouldn’t weigh down your conscience, someone who would support you properly, who’d handle the parts of your life you couldn’t yourself.

And most importantly, someone who would respect your boundaries.

Hizashi let out a disappointed sounding sigh, leaning back in his chair. Having somehow managed to finish his meal amongst his talking, he pushed his plate away. You could tell by the way he clasped his hands together, giving you a pensive and serious look, that you weren’t going to get anywhere with him. Neither of the two men really cared about considering your side of the story, favouring the one they made to fit their ideals instead.

“Regardless, we need to work things out here. Something's gotta change, this whole lifestyle ya got goin’ on isn’t doing a thing for you.”

Always unable to meet his level of confidence, looking back at him too tasking given how much attention he was giving you, you stood up. Judging by the lack of food remaining on either of your plates, it was decidedly safe to start cleaning up.

“Okay then. Maybe just...give me some time to think of how to fix things? Just to gather my thoughts, since y’know, I’m still a little beat from yesterday.” You spoke through the motions of gathering both of your plates, bringing them to the sink. As you ran the water to wait for it to heat up, you heard Hizashi rise from his seat, the sound of the wooden chair lightly scraping against the floor meeting your ears.

“That’s fine and all...but ya gotta promise us you’ll actually do something. You can’t just say you will and then―”

“I get it, Hizashi. I won’t do that again, I promise.” You felt his looming presence join you near the sink. Fearing that he’d scold you further for interrupting him, your eyes remain downcasted, face slightly contorted in worry.

In a gesture that was likely meant to be reassuring, except it didn’t feel that way, Hizashi’s hand met the small of your back. “We just want what’s best for ya, songbird.”

You snuffed the flicker of anxiety sparking in your chest.

“I know.”

A dreadful silence, only awkward on your end, hung in the air, you being grateful at the blond’s next statement.

“Well, why don’t I give ya some time to yourself for now―clear your thoughts, yeah?”

Trying to contain the relief and excitement you felt at his nearing absence from your apartment, you gave a small nod. “I think that’s a good idea, why don’t I see you out.” Plugging the drain for the basin to fill up, you dried your hands and led Hizashi to the front door.

“Remember to call us if ya need anything,” he said while putting on his shoes and coat. He continued, “And we still expect ya to take that time off, or at the least quit using that lil’ quirk of yours.”

“I’ll see what I can do, thanks for helping me out, and if you don’t mind―give Shouta my regards too, please.”

Sending you a beaming smile, likely at the fact of your semi-compliance, he finished shrugging his coat on. You expected him to finally make his departure, but by now you should really know that nothing was ever typical with the two. Before you could question his movements, Hizashi wrapped you in a tight bear hug, close enough that you could literally feel the warmth of his body seeping through his clothing.

“Shou’ and I, we worry so much about you. Try taking better care of yourself, for your own sake.”

Having your face practically buried in his chest was a saving grace, because he couldn’t see the look of a deep set uneasiness take over your expression. At the hand that was drifting just a little too low for comfort, and at the strange and oddly threatening sounding tone to his voice.

How very characteristic, but simultaneously uncharacteristic of him.

Hizashi held you for a couple more seconds than a natural embrace should be. When he relented, you forced yourself to appear unbothered, and more importantly, grateful.

“We’ll see you soon, ‘kay hun?”

Oh, you had no doubt that you would.

“Of course.”

(End of part 7)

_____

Taglist: @roseloverofpastels @shinsous-eye-bags @tjhonoluluprezstitch626 @pekusofixus @riathearora @glitterypinkkitty @elektraeriseros @hadesnewpersephone @axolotleyeliner @idratherliveinbooks @silver-stardrop @niko-su993 @olivia-grace26 @shigsteranddabstersimp @hawks96 @pink-dodo-writes @amishahosein24

If you’re name was crossed out it’s because I couldn’t tag you!

#yandere bnha #yandere erasermic #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere hizashi yamada #yandere my hero academia #yandere mha #yandere aizawa #yandere hizashi #yandere eraserhead #yandere present mic #yandere erasermic x reader #yandere x you #yandere fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #yanderecore #yandere

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soundsof71 · 4 years ago

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FIVE ALBUMS YOU NEED IN YOUR LIFE RIGHT NOW!!!

aka, My Top 5 of 2020, but I didn’t want to seem too retro!

Yep, I have a classic rock blog. Yep, I think that the best rock and roll in history is being made RIGHT NOW. And yep, ALL of it is being made by women.

(Shown at top, Nova Twins by Ant Adams [x] and The Tissues by Michael Espleta [x]. I was planning to make a collage of all my faves in concert, but not all of them were able to play in 2020. Both of these photos are pre-pandemic.)

There’s been quite a bit of movement on this list, and all five of these have spent some time at Number 1 as the year has done (gestures broadly) All This™. Anyone looking for rock and roll is going to dig any of these.

Rocking out is just the start of it, though. Wrestling with my bipolarity and schizophrenia is tough on a good day, and there haven’t been too many of those lately. The plague has also taken its toll around me, with two family members dead and a third who’s doing better, but will likely never be all the way back. (Mask up, kids!)

I’ve written plenty about how deeply Taylor Swift and Phoebe Bridgers have moved me this year (and will do so again), but in those rare stretches where I’ve had enough spare energy to listen to music at all these days, I’ve mostly been looking for more than beautiful music. Heavy times need heavy lifting, and I find that in heavy music.

The five albums here have all helped carry me, pointing the way toward light.

1) BULLY, SUGAREGG

Alicia Bognanno is a force of nature as a guitarist, vocalist, composer, and producer/engineer. (While working on her degree in audio engineering at MTSU, she interned with Steve Albini, who remains both a fan and an admirer). A Nashville transplant from Minnesota, she’s still a natural fit in her home on Sub Pop: as heavy as Soundgarden, as hooky as Sleater-Kinney.

I was blown away hearing her searing honesty while working through her discoveries of her bisexuality and bipolarity (double bi!), and her triumphant roar lifts me out of my seat every time I listen.

“She sings the hell out of [these songs], her voice fraying to the point of combustion every time she launches to the top of her range. This is phenomenal music for converting anger and anxiety into unbound joy.” ~Stereogum, Album of the Week

Also, check this fantastic interview with Alicia in the New York Times talking about what she’s gone through to get here.

TURN IT UP!

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2) GANSER, LOOK AT THAT SKY

Ganser syndrome is a rare dissociative disorder characterized by nonsensical or wrong answers to questions and other dissociative symptoms such as fugue, amnesia or conversion disorder, often with visual pseudohallucinations and a decreased state of consciousness. ~Wikipedia #it me

‘Just Look At That Sky’ doesn’t presume to offer solutions; it’s an honest document of what it feels like to wade through anxiety, day by day, not a survival guide or handbook of answers none of us actually have. Whether or not you pay attention to this, Ganser are simply one of the most invigorating, exciting new bands. ~Clashmusic

I saw one very positive review compare Ganser to a cross between Fugazi and Sonic Youth, but I think they hit much, much harder than either of those. And as you can surely guess, I also deeply relate to their themes of mental illness and dissociation while trying to make it through All This™. But my god, are they TIGHT. This is a BAND.

Ganser has two fantastic lead vocalists, and on “Bad Form”, bassist/vocalist Alicia Gaines wrote the song for the voice of keyboardist/vocalist Nadia Garofolo. Alicia also wrote a FANTASTIC essay on the strains that making an album during a pandemic puts on the mental health of the entire band at talkhouse: “Writing, recording, reaching out, balancing relationships outside and within the band, I found (and still find) myself under-rested and agitated to no particular end. More than not doing enough, I was not enough.”

(If you can’t relate to that, I can’t relate to you, tbh.)

This video also does a fantastic job of showing dissociation. TURN IT UP!

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3) THE TISSUES, BLUE FILM

“Blue Film” is a ten-song shot of dagger-twisting electro-(s)punk. It’s completely addictive from the very first listen. The tour de force is “Rear Window”, an art-punk masterpiece of slashing guitars and mad caterwauling. Copious doses of jaunty poetics and social commentary reward the earlooker patient enough to untangle Kristine Nevrose’s hysterical meowing about intergalactic salt shakers and hysterectomies, but I’m too emotionally invested to look under the hood.” ~ Sputnik Music

“Rear Window” is in fact my most-played 2020 track. TURN IT UP!

youtube

4) GUM COUNTRY, SOMEWHERE

It’s not all heavy! But even when I’m looking for something light and hooky, I need a bite, and Gum Country has done it with the kind of swirly, feeedback-laden wall of sound that Lush or Yo La Tengo would make if they lived in LA. (Recent transplants to SoCal from Vancouver, I do think that the sunshine has gone straight to their heads, in the very best way.)

Indie music nerds will know guitarist/composer/singer/front woman Courtney Garvin from The Courtneys, and she really does throw up a glorious wall of sound. I adore this video too! Sweet, swinging, fun -- and yes, the drummer is playing keyboard with one hand while slapping the skins with the other!

I mentioned earlier that all five of these albums have spent part of the year at #1 on my list -- I think that this one might have spent the longest stretch there. Like all shoegaze, even as hooky as this, the truth of these songs is revealed in VOLUME. TURN IT UP!

youtube

5) NOVA TWINS, WHO ARE THE GIRLS?

Now, THIS is heavy! Amy Lee (vocals, guitar) and Georgia South (bass) are fucking LOUD, and insanely intense. A mix of grime, hip-hop, metal, punk, and good old rock and roll, they’re a harder-hitting, more theatrical Prodigy, with a pyre of intensity that recalls the heaviest howls of Rage Against The Machine. Indeed, Nova Twins spent a good bit of 2019 playing heavy metal festivals and toured as openers for Prophets of Rage. (Tom Morello has been a fan and supporter from the beginning.)

As you may have noted in the photo at the top of this post, their musical audacity extends to visuals too: they design their own clothes, hair, and makeup, they art direct their own videos, and more. They impress the hell out of me, and I’ve been a huge fan since hearing their first singles in 2018. I’ll plant a flag and say that Georgia South in particular is the most innovative musician on any instrument in any genre right now, but they’re both absolutely monsters.

I’m honestly not at all sure that #5 is high enough for this, but I’m absolutely certain that after this video, you’re gonna need to rest for a little. LOL

“Taxi” is the story of two gleefully and creatively violent women shaking up the local crime syndicate as they use a vintage cab for their moving murder scene. This is the movie that Robert Rodriguez wishes he was making with Sin City, if it were combined with Blade Runner and The Matrix. And gangsters. And a snake.

I’m gonna take your crown I’m gonna, I’m gonna bleed you out We demand it by the hour We devour, control, power

I’m gonna burn it down Even the, even the royals bow

So not the same kind of therapeutic work being explored on this rekkid, but you know what? Fucking shit up is therapeutic too!

Definitely take this full screen, and for the love of fuck, TURN IT UP!

youtube

SO. Not done with the best of 2020 yet? I’m sure not! A lot of my favorite songs aren’t on albums (at least not yet), so for an unedited list of everything I’m finding, check out my Spotify list, 2020: Shuffle This List! 268 songs and counting, over 15 hours, and not finished yet. I’m still checking out everyone else’s Best of lists (including yours! Message me links to yours!!!), so will probably be adding to this for most of 2021, too.

And for more banging tracks by women from 2020, plus a few 2019 gems that I’m still grooving to, check out my more thoroughly curated Spotify playlist Women Bangers: A Tumblr New Classics Jam. (You’ll see a couple of these tracks there!) I’m working on a YouTube playlist and an essay to properly roll that one out. I’m also still tweaking the ending, but the three dozen or so tunes there are definitely bangin’.

Tell me if you hear anything you dig here, and tell me what YOU’VE found! We’re gonna get through this together.

Yr pal, Timmy

#me #new classics #classic rock #women in rock #best of 2020 #bully #ganser #the tissues #gum country #nova twins #essay #youtube #punk rock #punk

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cake-writes · 4 years ago

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making the beast beautiful (one)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (cheating); Steve x Reader (married)

Story Warnings: Mental Illness, Borderline Personality Disorder, Splitting, Clinical Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Anxiety, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Low Self-Esteem, Cheating, Angst, Drug Addiction / Abuse (Cigarettes, later Alcohol & Pills), Recovery, idk it’s gonna get depressing but we’ll have a happy ending!!!, Eventual Smut, 18+

Summary: Bucky knows the struggle, the pain, the emptiness. He understands. He can relate, because he knows. And some days, he still struggles – even told you once how low he’s been. But Steve? Your sweet, loving husband of a year and a half? No, Steve doesn’t understand. He can’t, no matter how hard he tries. So one day, you finally give up and give in to your most self-destructive temptation of all: your preoccupation with his best friend.

A/N: i know this is another wip SORRY but it’s literal word vomit because ya girl just really needed to yeet these sad bitch feels into outer space lmao 🤷

Your addiction to him starts slow, like the creep of nicotine through your veins from the cigarettes that he offers you on the rooftop.

Not often enough to do any damage, you try to tell yourself about your smoking habit – or maybe what you actually mean is the amount of time you spend with him. Bucky Barnes. Your husband’s best friend. Your former teammate. Not that it matters, because from one night to the next it’s all you can do to cling to the one good thing you have left, the one ray of light– or maybe he’s the one last shred of hope you’re willing to bind yourself to like a lifeline.

And if it snaps, you’ll fall.

Too bad the threads are already starting to fray.

And lucky, lucky you that you fall even sooner, because your reality has shifted to one shade off from normal, and you can hardly tell what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. You want to prioritize yourself because you know you should – maybe be a little selfish for once, to combat the awful feelings of self-hate that plague your mind, but you don’t know if that particular affirmation is driven by self-esteem or self-destruction.

You can’t tell anymore. You don’t know who you are.

You’re a mystery, a chameleon, borderline, and the only thing you do know is that Bucky makes you feel again – too much. He makes you feel things you shouldn’t, makes you obsess and overthink and daydream and wonder about what life could be like with him instead of Steve.

Because that’s what you do when you fall in love. You turn into that. A monster. A beast. A siren hell-bent on the destruction of yourself.

So, you fall. You fall deep. You fall hard. You fall fast, but it’s the savouring of the moment that always brings out the worst in you. It brings back the worst part of you that you’ve buried under layers and layers of trauma and depression – the clinginess and neediness and desperation at the center of it all, and every layer covering up the euphoria makes you cry because you have to hide it for fear of losing yourself all over again. Losing that feeling. Losing what makes you you.

You’re happy, now. Right? So why do things you shouldn’t do?

But you just can’t help yourself.

You shouldn’t have accepted that first cigarette.

You shouldn’t have texted him asking for another.

You shouldn’t have talked to him about personal things meant for your husband.

You shouldn’t have talked to him about the most personal of things: your husband. Your relationship. Your insecurities because of your illness.

You shouldn’t have – because Bucky knows. He understands. He’s been there.

He knows the struggle, the pain, the emptiness. He understands. He can relate, because he knows. He’s been there. He’s done that. And some days, he still struggles – even told you, once, how low he’s been.

He might have a different slew of acronyms to define his own mental state, but they all spell out the same thing: FUBAR. And so do yours.

But Steve? Your sweet, loving husband of a year and a half? The man of your dreams, the one you’d married in the gown of your dreams, in the venue of your dreams? He’s resilient. And let’s not forget your wedding, with Bucky standing right there as his best man – the same Bucky who accidentally caught the bouquet you threw in his direction, because your aim was purposefully off to make him feel like he belonged for once.

Even before you got to know him, you always had a soft spot for him.

And now? You’re fucked. Completely and utterly smitten.

No, Steve doesn’t understand. He absolutely, fundamentally cannot, through and through. Not for a lack of trying, though, or that’s what you keep trying to convince yourself. He supports you physically: makes dinner when you’re ‘tired’, runs errands when you’re ‘busy’, gives you love and affection just like he always has. You’re his wife; it’s his obligation. He has to.

That’s how you feel, anyway.

He treats you that way out of duty, not love, because Steve always has to put the greater good before himself. He puts your happiness before his own, you think. And he tries so hard – he does. And whenever he tells you he’s happy, you just can’t believe him because you think so poorly of yourself.

Why would anyone willingly want to be around you?

And emotionally? He tries so hard with that, too, but he just doesn’t know. He doesn’t get it. He never says the right things, only well-meaning insensitive ones because he hasn’t been there, he hasn’t done that, and he thinks it’s all in your head – that you’re just not trying hard enough, that you just don’t want to get better badly enough, because if you did then you’d be up and at ‘em already. Then you’d be healed. Then you’d be out of this funk and back in the field with him.

You’re not.

You won’t be for a long time.

You’re not the same girl he fell in love with. Not that he’s ever said that directly to you, but sometimes you think it’s how he feels. He signed up for a wife, not a child. He signed up for the you from a few years ago, now, not the shell of a person you’ve become because of your illness.

Ironic, considering what he was like as a kid, Bucky likes to remind you when you start to hate on yourself because of how you’ve changed – because you’re not normal anymore. He used to be so sick all the time. Then the serum made him right as rain. Don’t take it to heart.

Steve got better because of a miracle. Hard work and determination can only get a person so far, but it was pure luck that got him to the serum. You know that. Bucky knows that. Steve probably knows that deep down, too, but he doesn’t see it that way. All he sees is his hard work.

He lies to himself. He always has.

He probably lies to himself about his love for you, too.

So it’s hard to believe he’s happy. How can he be? You don’t bring anything to your relationship but self-pity and unhappiness. And how can you not take it to heart that Steve doesn’t understand? Your husband, the one who should be supporting you and validating you and making you feel like you’re seen, thinks you’re always throwing a pity party for yourself, thinks you’re just too lazy to get up and actually do the things you want to do, thinks you’re just not trying hard enough.

Come on, doll, he says. Let’s go for a walk.

To you it just sounds like, Walk it off.

Because he’s said that before, too. A hundred times. In the field, and out.

You’re not an agent anymore. You can’t handle it anymore. You can’t handle anything anymore.

Deep down, you’re convinced that Steve thinks because it’s not physical – that because there are no scrapes or bruises or broken bones to prove that you’re in pain – that your depression isn’t real. Not really. It’s an illness, same as any other, and he just doesn’t understand it because he can’t see any physical evidence of it.

Never mind the weight you’ve lost.

Never mind the bags under your eyes.

Never mind the crying spells, the dissociation – but then, you hide those from him the best you can these days. You don’t want him to see how bad you are anymore, because he just doesn’t get it. Because it hurts so much every time for him to look at you with those soft, confused baby blues and act like it’s not a big deal, like a little bit of sunshine’s a cure-all for your woes.

Ironic is right. The boy’s been to war and he hasn’t even processed his own trauma. Hasn’t even been to a shrink despite having two best friends poking and prodding for him to go. He’s in denial.

He refuses to believe that you just couldn’t get to the laundry today because you’re too exhausted from lying in bed all day. He refuses to believe that you couldn’t eat a bite because you didn’t even think to, too busy caught up in your own pain to remember, let alone care. He refuses to believe that you don’t even feel like you deserve to do anything good for yourself, so why even get up? Why bother? Why try to do anything anymore?

Just let the darkness take you away. Bit by bit. Piece by piece. And then, maybe one day you won’t have to feel anything anymore. Maybe you’ll just disappear.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

He refuses to get it, and some part of you feels like it’s because he doesn’t want to. Because he’s afraid to acknowledge that it’s true. That if he starts therapy like you did, then this could just as easily happen to him, too.

But hey, that’s his problem, not yours. You’re still learning to prioritize yourself – to break away from co-dependency and focus on your own needs for once. You’re barely keeping your head above water; why should you have to work on him, too, when he doesn’t offer you the same consideration? You’ve done what you can, and he just turns a blind eye because he doesn’t want to understand your issues. Or his.

So, you’ve given up.

You plaster on a happy face when he’s home – a painful, never-ending reminder that you’re not okay, and you keep your troubles to yourself. You’ve stopped sharing your struggles with the man you married because he doesn’t understand, and it hurts. You try so hard to act like nothing’s wrong that sometimes you dissociate, and you don’t come back to yourself until you have a cigarette hanging between your lips, lit by a Zippo engraved with a clever, If you want to make love, smile when you hand this lighter back.

Seeing the joke on Bucky’s lighter always brings you back, because it’s ridiculous. It’s a throwback to his army days; Steve found it awhile back with Bucky’s old personal effects. Makes you wonder what he must have been like back then.

Cigarette smoke and leather and sandalwood in the dead of night – and you always make a point to smile when you hand it back to him.

Temptation incarnate, now. What a dream he would have been back then.

Sometimes you text him when you and Steve have had another fight.

Sometimes he texts you when he needs you to ground him.

Sometimes the two of you just text each other for the hell of it. It’s usually related to someone’s mental health, usually yours, but occasionally not; after all, over the last few months he’s become your partner in misery and crime. The two of you have shared things to each other that you’ve never told another person, not even Steve; and in some ways, you feel like you’ve bared your soul to him.

It’s intimate.

In other ways, you’ve kept your guard up because you know you’re playing with fire.

It’s wrong.

You know you should really tell Steve about your midnight conversations – that you probably know his best friend almost as well as he does, now, but Bucky’s become a guilty sort of pleasure that you keep near and dear to your heart. He makes you feel things that you haven’t felt in a long time, but you’re not ready to acknowledge what that means. Not yet.

And neither is Bucky, evidently, because Steve’s still none the wiser.

Eight months of this and you still want more.

Your husband trusts you. He never asks who you’re texting or what you’re up to. You’ve given him no reason to believe otherwise. He feels safe and secure in your relationship, but maybe he’s turning a blind eye to that, too.

He shouldn’t.

You wish he didn’t.

Some small part of you wants him to catch you, and that’s what you resent the most. You’re self-destructive – ready to destroy the one good, stable thing in your life in favour of an impossibility, but you can’t deny that Bucky gives your brain the dopamine it needs, it craves, it lacks.

He’s been gone on a mission the last week and a half, but you saw the Quinjet fly in the hangar earlier in the evening, around six, and you’ve been keen to text him since. You’ve held back for a little while, not wanting to appear to eager to message him – so you’re certainly not too proud of how quickly your resolve cracks.

You, 10:33pm Please don’t tell me you came home with Lucky Strikes again.

Bucky, 10:41pm Sorry, princess. Didn’t realize I was seeing royalty tonight.

And then he sends through a photo of a slightly crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes in his hand – an invitation to come to the rooftop. Judging by the setting, he’s already there.

Despite his choice in a particularly harsh smoke, you’re more focused on the pet name that has your face burning hot. It’s something he’s started to tack on recently – ‘princess’ being most common, particularly when he’s teasing you about being spoiled in some way, but when he slips it in during a real conversation is what really makes your heart pound.

You know you should tell him to stop. You know you should, but, you don’t.

You like how it feels to feel for once.

You’re married. It’s wrong. You need to stop, but you just can’t help yourself. You’re lonely.

Steve’s still away on a mission, which doesn’t bother you nearly as much as it used to – you hope he returns safely, of course you do, but you don’t really miss him. Not like you should. That’s happened more often than not as of late, and you can feel your attention shifting the longer you keep up this dangerous game with his best friend.

If it even is a game, that is. It’s probably not. How could he possibly be attracted to you? You’re depressed. You’re boring. And, to top it all off, you’re his best friend’s wife.

Of course you’re the only participant. Bucky’s just humouring you. That’s all.

And now, as you swipe on some deodorant and attempt to make something out of the rat’s nest that is your hair, you feel a particularly awful level of disdain for yourself. The self-loathing pairs nicely with your poor appearance; you haven’t slept well in days, and you’ve barely eaten in just as long.

It’s only when Steve is here keeping you on a regular schedule that you do. Otherwise it’s a free for all anymore.

Bucky never seems to mind – just encourages you to go do what needs to be done when the conversation’s over. And somehow, you listen.

Sometimes he texts to ask if you’re doing okay while he’s away on a mission, too – and you always lie, because he can’t prove otherwise. He sends you a couple reminders anyway, because he just knows. He understands that you’d rather not burden him with the truth.

And then, when he comes back, he calls you out on your lie. He calls you out and reminds you how valuable you are – to Steve, mostly, and to the team. You’re irreplaceable. You’re needed.

He never says how important you are to him, but you always wish he would.

It’s stupid. It’s wrong.

You’re married.

Tonight will be no different. Despite your negative beliefs about yourself, he’ll tell you otherwise, but you won’t believe him. You never do, even though you desperately want to.

You’re a mess, so a beanie it is. You pull it over your tangled hair and somehow get your bangs looking presentable, at least; then you give your clothes the sniff test, spritz a little body spray just in case, and head out the door. You had a shower yesterday because even you couldn’t stand it anymore.

That’ll do.

Fingers tap anxiously at your feed in the quiet elevator. There’s some mild jazz playing, just like usual, but your heart pounds inside your chest – only brings more attention to your nerves.

Bucky hasn’t been gone long, but you’ve missed him.

It’s stupid. It’s wrong.

You’re married.

After exiting the elevator, a short flight of stairs takes you to the roof. Once you start to push, the fire exit door blows open of its own accord; it’s windy up here due to the change of seasons, not that you’ve even noticed it considering you haven’t been outside in over a week. The fresh air shoots straight through your hoodie and sweatpants, and you briskly rub your arms to warm up, immediately wishing you’d checked the temperature before you came outside, maybe grabbed a jacket. You hadn’t even thought of it. Your mind’s a mess.

Hadn’t thought of dinner, either. Or lunch.

That’s when a heavy leather jacket is deposited ungracefully on your shoulders, and you glance up behind you to find Bucky standing there, giving you the look. It’s the one that pre-empts the lecture. “That help?”

You nod, basking in the smell of him – sandalwood and spice. Ah. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He knows.

He can tell with just one look that you’ve been lying to him – that you haven’t been taking care of yourself like you said you were. But he doesn’t reprimand you this time, or offer you platitudes; the disapproving look is enough.

Slippers on your feet, you pad over to the two lawn chairs he set up awhile back near the edge of the eastern wing; it’s got a nice view of the landing pad, but beyond that is the lake, and the two of you have come up here long enough to catch the sunrise once or twice. It’s nice.

“Good mission?” you ask, shoving your hands into your pockets as you collapse into your chair. It’s made of a terrible green fabric, seated low enough to the ground to let you curl your knees to your chest and cry when you want to. And you do. A lot.

This time, however, you’ve got your legs extended far ahead of you. You don’t want to talk about yourself tonight. You want to focus on him.

A distraction. That’s all. That’s what you try to tell yourself.

The other chair, woven blue and white, is where Bucky comes to rest just like always. You suspect that it was the cheapest one in the store, because it creaks and groans and you always think it’s going to break when he sits in it, but it never does. It’s also taller than yours, so you call him old man every now and then for it because that’s just hilarious.

It’s not flirting. It’s not.

Not even when you’ve nearly fallen into his lap on more than one occasion thanks to drinking beforehand.

“Well,” he starts hesitantly, pausing to consider his answer, “I made it back.”

His tone is soft – distant. Not a good mission, then.

“I’m glad you made it back,” you offer, giving him what you hope is a hopeful smile. It feels fake, but the intention behind it is real.

He studies your face for a moment or two, before he averts his eyes. “You’re probably the only one. I had to do some things on the mission that I—” He cuts himself off, then, and pulls the pack of Lucky Strikes out of his pocket to fiddle with. A crutch. “I don’t like to use my strength when I don’t have to. Makes people nervous.”

He’s told you about it before. By ‘people’ he means ‘agents’. Other agents. The ones he was working with, no doubt. As if his arm isn’t reminder enough, sometimes if he doesn’t hold back – well, they start to treat him a little differently after that. It’s a reminder that he’s not fully human.

You can empathize. “It’s a little shocking at first,” you remind him gently, “but you do get used to it. I did. It just takes some time.”

Of course, you also married a super soldier, so there’s that. You can’t really gauge what’s ‘normal’ anymore.

That’s when he cracks open the pack of cigarettes – half full, which means he must have been smoking on the mission, too, something he doesn’t usually do – and when he meets your eyes, the dark, anxious look there turns your stomach to knots.

“Are you?” he asks, voice low and laced with an emotion you just can’t place – or maybe you’re too afraid to acknowledge that you can, and very easily feel the same way. “I could break you in thirty ways before you could even tell me to stop.”

Your brain halts like a record scratch when the clear implication of his words sends a jolt straight to your core. Not just because it’s true, the threat, but because of the dangerous way he’s staring at you, coupled with the casual authority in his voice.

He could hurt you so easily, but you know he wouldn’t. Not you.

He could do other things, too – something a lot less violent and a lot more pleasurable – but you don’t let yourself consider that. You can’t. Even if it’s what he’s implying.

Is it what he’s implying?

You’re married. He knows that.

There’s a long pause while you try to gather your thoughts, until you finally manage as evenly as you can, “Are you trying to scare me?”

Your voice is still a little hoarse despite how much you willed it not to be. He did scare you a little – not that you’d ever admit it, because he excited you a hell of a lot more, and you hate that, too. But you love it even more.

Your question makes his shoulders slump, just slightly, just enough to let you know that that’s exactly what it was – that Bucky was lashing out, in his own way. That he’s the one who’s scared. That he’s trying to push you away.

Why?

“I’m not afraid of you, Bucky,” you reassure him, because you aren’t. You could never be. Not like that. What you’re afraid of is so much worse than that – because it involves him and you, and you can’t make yourself stop wanting more of this. More of him. More of what he threatened to do to you – the underlying meaning you hope to god you’re not imagining, but you should never, ever want.

It’s wrong.

“You should be,” he responds, quiet, rolling the cigarette he’s half pulled out of the pack in between his fingers like he’s debating whether to light it, but he’s trying his hardest not to this time. “You shouldn’t be up here with me.”

The ball drops.

The truth that the two of you have been dancing around for months finally comes out, and you laugh – you laugh, because otherwise you’ll cry. “What are you talking about?”

“Darlin’, you’re—” he starts, and then lets out a frustrated sigh and shoves the cigarette right back in, shoves the pack shut too for good measure. Blue eyes burn into yours. “You know why.”

“We’re friends, Bucky,” you emphasize, lightly, but deep within your chest you can feel the anger, the anxiety start to burn and meld together into something entirely unrecognizable. It’s the tiniest ember now, but it won’t be if this keeps up. You know you’re married. You know that. You don’t need the reminder. “We’re just talking. What’s the problem?”

“Come on, sweetheart.” He’s calm, too calm, and it bothers you. “Don’t play dumb. You’re too smart for that.”

It’s just pretend. It’s not real. You’re happily married with Steve. You’re happy.

Right?

“That’s all it is,” you argue. “I’m married. You said so yourself. Steve and I are happily married.”

Saying it out loud is just another cold, brutal reminder that you aren’t. Just like the façade you’re forced to wear.

“Yeah? You’re happy?” Bucky asks, pulling himself to his feet – and you suddenly realize how tall he is when he’s towering over you like this. You’re not scared, no, you love it. And that makes it worse, the way he makes your heart race like this. “Then there’s gotta be a reason why you haven’t told him about our little talks.”

Because they’re more than that. That’s the reason.

“Well, why haven’t you?” you shoot back, finally getting to your feet, too, feeling your face flush with anger. “You haven’t told him either. Why’s that, huh?”

Tense silence falls over the two of you as you glare at each other, the only light illuminating your features coming from the full moon. It’s a beautiful night, clear and chilly and bright, and you originally had hopes of maybe stargazing with him like you’ve done so many times before.

Not tonight.

He’s pushing you away. He wants to push you away. You know he is, it’s obvious – he tried one approach, and when that didn’t work, he went for the thing he knew would invoke a reaction. The thing that would hurt the most.

Steve. Your marriage. Your happiness, or lack thereof.

No matter how many times you try to tell that to the rational side of your brain, you just can’t handle it. It’s another rejection from someone you cared about – someone you felt yourself growing a potentially unhealthy attachment to – and he just had to hurt you like all the rest. He wanted to hurt you. He wanted to see you suffer.

You can’t stand him.

So you shrug off his jacket and shove it at him. “Take your fucking jacket,” you bite out. “You want me gone? Well, I’m going. Hope you’re happy.”

The way he takes it from you catches you off guard, blue eyes wide with hurt and surprise – but you don’t give him another second of your time. Instead you spin around on your heel and stomp your way back to the access door.

You’re not well enough for this. You’re depressed. You’re broken. You’re lonely.

And now, the only person who understands has thrown you away – discarded you like you’re nothing. Maybe because you are. You’re worthless.

Your fingertips just brush against the handle when you’re tugged back by the wrist, and then his arms are around you, his chest pressing into your back.

He’s warm.

It’s wrong.

But it feels right, and you hate how easily you melt into his touch, into the feeling of his lips at your ear.

“I don’t want you to go,” he whispers, and you’re done for.

The heat from your anger warps into something else – something that burns you up in a different way, and you swallow thickly at the feeling of his arms so snug around your waist. “What do you want, then?”

It’s barely audible, your question -- but he hears it just fine. Soft lips drag from your ear to your pulse, and you shiver, lulling your head back onto his shoulder.

“You tell me,” Bucky breathes against your skin. “I need to know what you want.”

The two of you are playing a dangerous game, and the stakes are only getting higher. You both have a lot to lose, but you’re the one taking the higher risk. Not him.

“I want—” His teeth gently nip at your neck and you can’t help yourself. “I want you—”

And then your back is pressed into the closed door, cold metal biting through your sweats but you don’t even notice, too focused on the feeling of his lips on yours. They’re soft and ever-so-slightly chapped, and his stubble scratches just a little, pleasantly, just enough to hurt in the best way.

It’s hot, too hot, god, you can’t handle the heat of his body against yours—

“Bucky,” you gasp against his lips, sliding your arms around his neck, fingers carding through his hair to pull him closer. You can taste with the barest bite of mint from his gum, along with the slightest hint of cigarette smoke, and you realize—

He must have been up here for awhile.

Overthinking. Wondering what to do. Lost in thoughts of you, perhaps.

The idea of it sends a rush of delirium through you, and you open your mouth just enough to let his tongue explore – or dominate, which you soon find you like very much when Bucky does it to you. His flesh hand cups the side of your face as he kisses the breath out of you, and his vibranium one snugly presses into your lower back – purposely, you soon find, because suddenly your knees go weak and your arms tighten around his neck to catch yourself from falling.

A breathy laugh escapes you. “Oh, wow. That’s never happened before.”

“First time for everything,” he teases, kissing your forehead as he steadies you back on both feet – and it’s then that the realness of the situation seems to sink in.

You’ve just cheated on your husband.

He’s just kissed his best friend’s wife.

There’s a prolonged silence as the two of you look at each other, watching, wondering, waiting, and then—

“We have to tell him,” you say, a little uneasily. “Just… not yet. Figure this out first.”

You can feel the desperation to see where this leads, no matter what a bad idea it is.

Bucky swallows. It’s clear that the prospect of lying to Steve bothers Bucky just as much as it bothers you, but you know he feels that same desperation when he suggests, “And if it turns out to be nothing, then…”

“Yeah. No harm, no foul.”

You won’t tell him. Because if it’s nothing, then it’s not worth worrying about.

Even if it’s wrong.

Right?

two

and a moodboard I made because why not

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes

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statusquoergo · 4 years ago

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do you ever wonder about what mike's arrest would have been like, angst and story wise, if mike and harvey had been together at that point in time? because i do. like all the time haha. i saw a post on here talking about that once and i haven't stopped thinking about it since!!

Gallo wouldn't have made it to the end of the season alive, that's for sure. Nobody puts the love of Harvey Specter's life in danger, pal, you can bet on that much.

No, okay, with the usual caveat of "let's pretend Suits has a little self-awareness and can carry out the emotional repercussions of a heavy plotline for more than five minutes," it sure would've been... Well, I think it would be very similar in some ways, and very different in others. As it is, Harvey dedicates himself body and soul to getting Mike out of prison, and them being together obviously wouldn't change that. Maybe he would've done even more, somehow, although I'm struggling to think of, like, how that could possibly have happened.

Let's back up a little bit, to the events of the trial.

Now, being that the show spent remarkably little time during the second half of Season 5 focusing on Mike and Rachel as a couple, I don't think much would necessarily change prior to the aborted wedding in the finale. Mike and Harvey are at odds over Mike's defensive strategy, but that's mainly because they want to protect each other, so being a couple would only intensify that response.

The first place there's really room to showcase a different narrative is when Rachel gets mad at Mike for defending that man in court rather than spending time with her. Being that Harvey is, by and large, more empathetic towards Mike's need to prove himself and his desire to help people in need, I think he might be frustrated that Mike wasn't taking perhaps one of his last moments of freedom to spend time with Harvey, but he would also understand where Mike is coming from. That is, Mike has had this amazing experience over the past five years and worked so hard all this time to use his fairly accidental power to help people who would not normally be helped by someone in his position, and now the life he's built for himself is about to be ripped away, but he's stumbled on this one last chance to help someone else who's in the midst of being fucked over by the system, and he's going to take it, because he has to. Because he's Mike, and that's what Mike does.

So where does that leave us? With a great opportunity for Harvey and Mike to have an actual heart-to-heart that comes less from a place of anger, as their glass-throwing fisticuffs in the next episode, and more from a place of hurt—not Harvey's hurt feelings that Mike isn't spending time with him, or Mike hurting over his potentially impending imprisonment, but them both hurting for each other for what's going to happen if Mike goes to prison. From an angst perspective, this is a wonderful opportunity for a really soul-baring scene from the two of them, especially if Mike is starting to feel the hopelessness that prompts him to accept Gibbs's deal, and Harvey might or might not see the writing on the wall but refuses to accept it without fighting to the last breath.

Anyway, they missed out a little bit there.

As I said before, Harvey canonically devotes himself wholeheartedly to getting Mike out of prison, so I don't know that a lot would necessarily change in the overall scheme of things once he's there, but there are specific events that could be very interesting to handle differently. First of all, Harvey and the warden drugging Mike to give him a few hours with Rachel. The plan is stupid, the plan has always been stupid, and now that plan isn't going to happen, so that's good, but also Harvey still needs Mike to accept Cahill's deal, so how's he going to do that?

More emotive speeches!

No seriously think about it, if Harvey and Mike are a couple and the only thing keeping Mike from getting out of his sentence early is his refusal to turn on his cellmate who he's known for all of five minutes (hyperbole, but not much), what kind of impassioned conversation do you think Harvey and Mike might have arguing over that? There can still be backdoor shenanigans with the warden, even, if Harvey wants to secure them a conversation someplace where they won't be recorded so they can really release their inhibitions. I'm actually not talking about a sexual encounter, but Harvey in particular is, as we know, very guarded with his emotions, and Mike might've learned by that point not to be so cavalier about saying or doing whatever he pleases wherever and whenever it occurs to him, so getting them into a completely private space could be very...freeing, to use a slightly misguided word in these circumstances. More angst, is what I'm saying, this is a great opportunity for another really deep, vulnerable, angst-ful scene.

And that's all very well and good from a plot-alteration standpoint, but how about emotionally? Though I don't know that Harvey's actions would change much if he and Mike were in a relationship as opposed to merely...dangerously codependent, I could see his mental state fraying more than it does in canon. Not to bring this all back around to his mother, but let's bring this back around to his mother: It's heinously unfair to say Harvey would feel abandoned by Mike going to prison, so I'd like to think that if Harvey does feel that way at any point, he recognizes it and shuts it down pretty quickly. He's not the most emotionally astute guy around, sure, but he's not a total idiot.

But what I do think there's room for is the collision of Harvey's mantra that "Everybody leaves," and his somewhat more hidden resignation that "I drive everyone away." Mike is in prison, because Harvey couldn't save him. Because Harvey wasn't fast enough at the courthouse. Because Harvey wasn't a good enough lawyer. Because Harvey couldn't convince Mike to let him take the fall for them both. Mike is in prison for Harvey. If they're a couple, I'd love to see this played out more thoroughly with some more attention given to some of the actual reasons Harvey is moving heaven and earth to get Mike out, aside from just "He's Mike and we're attached at the hip," or even in this alternate universe, "He's my boyfriend and I love him." No, let's get down in there and talk about what the parameters of this situation are doing to Harvey, who never talks about his feelings or examines his own emotional state. He's gotta start coming apart at the seams, to say the least, and what do you think Mike's response would be to that during their way-too-frequent-to-be-legal visitations? Nothing good, I'm sure of that, especially on top of the hardship of living in prison. Harvey is hurting, Mike is hurting, their hurting is hurting each other, everyone is miserable and there's not a whole lot to be done about it. So what do we do? Fight harder, of course! Ugh, I hope Harvey doesn't do anything too unhinged...

Well, anyway, I certainly think there's room to explore that idea and I'm sure I haven't exhausted the possibilities here, but it was fun to think about! Thanks for bringing this up!

#marvey #season 6 #anonymous

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parentsnevertoldus · 4 years ago

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PMDD AND AUTISM: SENSORY OVERLOAD BY LAURA MULLEN

From SeeHerThrive

October 01, 2018

I’m Laura, a 34 year old, neurodiverse mother of two beautiful neurodiverse girls and wife to a wonderful neurodiverse man. I have struggled with PMDD, Post-partum Depression and Psychosis, and Menstrual Psychosis in my life. I’m passionate about learning and advocating for others who are suffering menstrual related disorders and advocating for the autistic/neurodiverse population. I talk openly about my own experiences through out my life, including my suicide attempts due to my menstrual related disorders.

I have two passions in life, which both relate to myself and my kids: autism and menstrual mood disorders.

I’ve been part of the Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder scene longer than I have been part of the autism scene, but both felt like home immediately. We talk about finding our tribes, our homes, with people who immediately understand us without questioning what we are going through, without invalidating our thoughts and feelings. Imagine my surprise when upon finding my autism crowd that many struggled with PMDD or other menstrual/hormone related disorders too. See, in the neurotypical world, PMDD is little known and talked about. However, in my autism support group, it’s not uncommon to see it in discussions.

I’m not formally diagnosed autistic. I self-identify and after a few years of research (which started because of my daughter’s diagnosis) quickly became a special interest of my own when I started to relate so much myself.

Women and AFAB individuals often experience autism differently than male/AMAB counterparts. We are often discounted or ignored because we are more social, and we tend to mask our struggles.

Women as a whole are expected to mask their struggles in life, neurodiverse or not.

Classic theories of emotion posit that awareness of one's internal bodily states (interoception) is a key component of emotional experience (Jamil Zaki, 2012).There is talk in some autistic groups I participate in of PMDD or hormonal mood disorders being more prevalent in those that are autistic. This leads me to believe that this sensitivity to hormone fluctuation may be part of the interoceptive sense. When a person has a sensory disorder, we think most commonly of touch, auditory, taste, sight, and smells. Sometimes vestibular and proprioceptive sense is included.

What is rarely discussed in sensory disorders is interoception sensory issues/processing and just how it can affect a person and what it can actually mean for mental/emotional health when its processing is disordered. Yes, for a sensory avoidant person such as myself who shies away from bright light because it hurts or loud noisy areas because those too are painful and overwhelming, my interoception sense is also avoidant and extra sensitive to overwhelm.

But what is interoceptive sense and why in the world would there be a connection to PMDD?

For a long, medical definition of interoception you can read more here. For a simpler definition I am borrowing a passage from www.inspiredtreehouse.com:

Interoception refers to our perception of what is going on inside our bodies and is responsible for feelings of hunger, thirst, sickness, pain, having to go to the bathroom, tiredness, temperature, itch, and other internal sensations. What’s even more interesting about interoception is that it goes deeper than physical sensations because – as with all of our sensory systems – when our brains receive these internal signals, we interpret, attend to, and analyze them. So interoception is also associated with our sense of well-being, mood, and emotional regulation. (Heffron, 2017)

We know that the interoception sense is often part of a sensory processing disorder. We also know that under stress or overwhelm that our interoception is affected, often greatly. Think of our heart rate increasing during a panic attack or irritable bowel issues due to anxiety. And these also affect our emotions, maybe our heart rate is faster than normal, so we become anxious, creating a more rapid heart rate.

”Influential theories suggest emotional feeling states arise from physiological changes from within the body.” (Hugo D Critchley, 2017). Now, we know that PMDD has a physiological response system. The rise and fall of hormones within the body triggers a physical response from several systems in our body, not just ovaries and uterus, but deep within our gut, adrenergic systems, our cardiovascular system, and our brain.

Compare the response of a sudden surge of progesterone in the late luteal phase to that of an individual with sensory processing disorder being overwhelmed by a sudden shove into a noisy gymnasium, with bright lights, many bodies, smells and a cacophony of sounds. Said individual would likely go into either shutdown or meltdown mode, as they were unprepared for such an assault on their system and may even have difficulty regulating their emotions; in fact their temper may become frayed quickly, they may find themselves having a panic attacks, anxiety may overwhelm them, their body may start producing pain signals to the overloaded senses, they may even collapse under the weight of it all.

A person without the sensory issue may find this environment exhilarating. I would certainly be huddled in a corner until I felt that I could safely slip away unnoticed. Or, I would start to snap at those around me because of a desperate need to get away.

During the monthly cycle, my sensory system would be overwhelmed by the rise and fall of hormones and I felt completely out of control, emotionally.

Because I was out of control. My sensory processing could not keep up with both the physical and emotional toll of what my body was going through. I see so many sad stories of young girls starting menses and the emotional outbursts and meltdowns make absolute sense if you think of hormones as overwhelming a sensory system that just cannot handle it. Any homeostasis change in our environment is difficult to cope with, especially drastic hormone fluctuations during the menstrual cycle.

It’s not that there is anything abnormal about the menstrual cycle itself, but rather how our body processes the sensations and systems that cause a rise and fall outside of the comfort zone.

I believe that this can explain why women are affected by PMDD and how it all works. We found out in the last couple of years that there is a genetic link to PMDD. We also know that it is a sensitivity to hormone fluctuations, not the hormones themselves. Putting two and two together is what led me to this thought process, that it is part of the sensory systems and a processing disorder that causes a severe response, or meltdown, to our hormonal cycle. Obviously, not every woman who experiences PMDD or PME or other menstrual related disorders is autistic or has a sensory processing disorder; however, many are highly sensitive, both physically and emotionally.

Sources

Heffron, C. (2017, February 27). What is Interoception. Retrieved from The Inspired Treehouse: https://theinspiredtreehouse.com/what-is-interoception/

Hugo D Critchley, S. N. (2017, October). Interoception and emotion. Retrieved from Science Direct: https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2352250X17300106

Jamil Zaki, J. I. (2012, 05 12). Overlapping activity in anterior insula during interoception and emotional experience. Retrieved from Science Direct: https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S1053811912005009

#autism #mental health #periods #queeriods #menstrual cycle #menstruation #sex education #neurodivergent #neurodiverse #neurodiversity #sex ed #queer sex ed #anatomy #physiology #women #nb #trans #gender #queer sex education

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rwbyremnants · 3 years ago

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WARNING: This chapter contains use of a couple of racist terms for Italian-Americans and Chinese-Americans by a particularly bigoted character; no offense is intended toward the readers and the words used do not reflect the views of the author, but rather the historically accurate attitudes of the 1950s era in the USA. Please be advised that you may wish to skip this chapter if you prefer to avoid terms like those.

Well I knew writing would take up most of last month... sorry about that. I'm gonna try to do better about posting from now on. Hope you guys are having a fun hot girl summer~

=Chapter 38

Before long, Kali did come by to wake them up, and was almost alarmed that the girls were already up and chattering with each other. Though they quieted quickly at being commanded to get ready for school, knowing doing anything else would probably get them in even hotter water than before.

But Kali's eyes remained shrewd on Blake the entire morning, and seemed to be reading Weiss like a book. She knew. That would have surprised her before the past month of insanity, but by now she fully appreciated that Kali Belladonna was nobody's fool. She just had to hope the woman would leave the situation up to them instead of butting in.

And she did… sort of.

“Weiss,” she said as they moved toward Blake's motorcycle to head to class. She stayed back.

“Yes, Kali?”

“I trust you… slept well.” Her eyes were still discerning, stabbing into her as if she had x-ray vision.

“I did. Thank you for asking.” When the silence was growing stale, Weiss prayed that her cheeks weren’t pinkening as she asked, “Was there something else?

Kali shook her head, a half-smile hitched into place. “No. Just be careful. As you've been learning, this world of ours… has a lot of hidden pitfalls. Don't make a mistake that you'll wind up regretting. But I'm probably worried about nothing, right? You're a smart girl. Just don't forget to be smart.”

With those ominous parting words, Blake's mother went back inside and Weiss went back to Blake herself.

“What was that about?” she asked while handing over her spare helmet.

“Oh, nothing, I suppose. But I think your mother was trying to warn me not to make out with you.”

“Mm.” Only after their helmets were on and they were both seated on the bike did she burst out, “WHAT?!”

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

That day at school was very strange for Weiss. As if she had woken up on the wrong side of the bed - which, in a manner of speaking, she did.

As had become usual, Yang spent a lot of time making eyes at her in the hallway, finding excuses to touch her. They didn’t have actual classes together, but the rest of the day found her slipping a hand down below the hem of her skirt and teasing her thighs before drawing it away, making sure nobody would notice. That was normal - though it had lessened during certain points where one or neither of them were in the mood, or were in the hospital. After their fun on the lakeshore, Yang was back at the top of her game, and it was almost more relief than exhilarating.

Now, however… it wasn’t just Yang. Though she didn’t get nearly so bold, Blake was also winking at her occasionally, finding an excuse to whisper something into her ear that probably could have been said out loud without anyone caring. She never did it in front of Yang, but it still happened. Weiss didn’t respond as favourably to her, but neither could she seem to completely ignore this new attention.

She felt like a cheap floozy. It wasn’t fair to herself, and she knew it mentally, but her emotions were another story. So what if Blake let off a little steam? Technically, she didn’t even help her directly; just encouraged her to take care of herself. But she knew her more prudish friends might not see it that way, even if it was all that had transpired.

After classes, Yang took her to their spot at the abandoned depot. They did kiss for a little while, but it wasn’t quite the same; Weiss felt that morning hanging over her like a dark cloud, threatening to crack open and pour down on the whole situation.

“I’m sorry.”

To Weiss’s surprise, she hadn’t been the one to say it. She pulled back to ask, “For what?”

“There’s just so much happening, y’know? With your dad, and…” Yang sighed and reached up to caress over Weiss’s neck. “It’s dumb, but I keep thinking about Ruby and Qrow.”

“No, it’s not dumb. But what have you been thinking about them?”

“That it’s all my fault we got so… so- I mean, I shoulda known they didn’t hate me. Seems pretty obvious now. But I let myself get all wrapped up in my mom’s anger, and…”

Her girlfriend looked so stricken that Weiss couldn’t help leaning up to kiss her forehead. “You didn’t know. Weren’t you a little girl when this all happened? It is dumb to expect a child to understand what’s going on when she’s already dealing with losing her mom. Or step-mom.”

“Yeah.” She nodded very faintly at first, then a little stronger. “You’re right. I only wish I knew then what I know now, I guess.”

“Mmhmm. Was there something else? You still seem…”

“Well, yeah, there are a couple of things. Like your dad, and you and your mom having to shack up with Mrs. B., and Cinder still not being back in class… it’s just so much. Feels like we can’t catch a break lately.”

Guilt fluttered in her stomach. And here she had been about to add to Yang’s worries by asking about that “free pass” to try making out with a few other girls. As if she even needed to, really! “I’m sorry. So much of that is my fault, in a way. Your life just got more complicated when I came along.”

“Complicated in good ways, too,” she said with a half-smile. But Weiss didn’t return it, so she tilted her head a little. “Hey.”

“Huh?”

“Something’s off with you. Did you and Blake have a fight? She’s been acting weird, too. Pretty much… all day. And I saw you two whispering a lot.” Weiss didn’t even have to answer; the way she looked away biting her lip was enough. “Nnnnnot a fight. Got it.”

“Yang-”

“It’s okay, everything’s boss. I’m hep.” But she didn’t look it. Weiss didn’t think she had ever seen Yang so confused and out of sorts before. She wasn’t angry, or scared; just highly confused and maybe a little sad.

“This isn’t what you think,” she tried, knowing that only made it sound worse. “Blake… she just has been really lonely lately. Nothing happened between us, exactly. But I did…” She felt like she would be sick. “I did help her a little.” Her face was burning, definitely, and maybe even her ears and neck. “Mostly I just watched… and told her she didn’t have to stop. Th-that was all.”

Yang forced a smile that only hurt both of them. “Didn’t I just say I’m fine? And… I never said you had to pin me, and I haven’t pinned you. Neither of us is wearing handcuffs, neither of us is committed. You can do whatever you want with her.”

“But I don’t! I want to be with you, Yang! She just… like I said, she’s been so lonely, and I helped her out a tiny bit. That all. And trust me, I’m not the one she wants to be with - but I can’t go into detail.” Yang didn’t answer. “Do you trust me?”

She still didn’t answer - right away. But when she glanced up and saw Weiss looking as if she had just been shot, she relented. “Of course I trust you! Sorry, I'm sorry, Princess. I just… haven't had to think about…” She swallowed hard and reached up to grasp Weiss's shoulders hard. “I've never had a steady girl before. Ever. So this is all brand new! But I think… maybe I really would be alright if you and Blake-”

Weiss's hand came up and pressed very gently into Yang's mouth. “Don't say that right now. Okay? Just, um, just think about it for a while and get back to me later. You have a lot on your plate, and… I didn't even know how to bring this up to you. It seems cruel when you're already dealing with so much. But it's way less important to me than making sure you and I are hunky dory.”

Before Yang even nodded, she was already kissing the fingertips. Weiss felt her knees go weak and was glad for the old couch they were seated on. The lips kneaded more and more against her fingers until they ran up to take the middle one inside, tongue swirling around it teasingly. It didn't completely distract her from their conversation… but went a long way toward doing so.

“We're hunky dory all the time,” the Dragon finally told her without a hint of hesitation. “And… I know how we feel about each other. I've just never had something I could lose like this before.”

“The only way you'll lose me is if you don't want me around anymore. That's it. Even if things get rough, and my father tries to take me away, and a million other girls want to turn my head, I promise I will find my way back to you. Bet on it, Xiao Long.”

Nothing could have kept the two apart after that.

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

A little while later and they were heading back to the Belladonna house, physically sated even if they were still a little emotionally frayed. Once they parked and started to dismount Yang's motorcycle, she reached out to stall Weiss from heading up to the house.

“This thing that Blake's dealing with… whatever it's about. Or whoever. Should I tease her to make it seem less big, or is it too big even for teasing? Just don't want to make the wrong move here.”

Weiss had to fight down a surge of panic. “Nooooo, no, don't bring that up, at all! Please? You're her best friend and she would be really embarrassed if you found out from somebody else. And if you hint that you know part of it, she might accidentally say the rest and then we’ll all feel awful.”

“Right, okay: I don't know anything. I'll be cool.” A little grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “But I'm glad you're looking out for her, even if it's frustrating not knowing what the hell is going on. She's a good friend.”

Privately, Weiss cringed on Blake's behalf at that last line. And because they were slightly dancing around the notion of opening their relationship up to outside parties. But there was no time to lament such things - especially with Yang standing right there, focused on the situation.

The instant Blake looked up from setting the dining room table and saw the two of them there, her face went through a few quick transformations. Anger, annoyance, sadness, embarrassment. Jealousy in spades. But there was a more pure form of longing there, as well. And that quickly, it all vanished, replaced with an honest gratitude to see her two friends.

“Hey, girls. Mom says it’s almost ready - cacciatore tonight.”

“Great!” Yang glanced at Weiss, her eyes full of an intense question: ‘What is going on with her?!’ Clearly, now that she knew to look for it, she had seen the same transformations Weiss had. But she kept the question in her eyes only, and even that faded away before she turned back to Blake. “Um… so… what’s new?”

Weiss wanted to groan, but it would have been a dead giveaway. Blake blinked and said, “Huh?”

“Seems like I haven’t talked to you much lately is all.”

“Nothing, really. I mean, my news is the same news as your news. By now, you know about Weiss’s dad, right?”

“Yeah! Ain’t that kooky?!”

The rest of the dinner was taken up with chatting about Weiss’s father, and other Dragons goings-on. Kali turned out to have one or two ideas for a new base of operations, even if they weren’t currently workable; she had been ruminating on the problem. The solution just might take time.

“Blake, finish your beets. They’re good for you.”

“Mom, I’m enjoying the chicken,” she sighed weakly. “Don’t ruin it with those red tiddlywinks.”

Weiss may have been the only one to catch the knowing glint in Kali’s eyes as she said in the same casual, matronly tone, “You looked a bit flushed this morning. I’m worried about your blood pressure.”

Instantly, Blake was choking on the bit of beet she had reluctantly nibbled. Yang was quick to go pound her on the back, even though Kali was there nearly as quickly. Weiss was at the far end of the table with her mother, so though they both rose to their feet that was as far as they got before Blake was breathing normally again.

“You aren’t supposed to breathe them!” Kali was chuckling gently, still rubbing up and down her daughter’s back. “Calm down, I only said you looked like you were a bit… strained.”

“MOM!” Blake gagged in annoyance. Everyone laughed, and she looked even more mortified.

“Alright, alright,” Weiss finally said with a wave of her hand. “Lay off her.”

“You laughed, too, Princess!”

Yang smirked and folded her arms over her chest. “Hey, I thought I was the only one that got to call her that.”

“Since when?” Weiss asked.

“Since forever!” When both Blake and Weiss looked at her curiously, Yang laughed again, going back to her chair. “I'm kidding; I don't actually mind, you know.”

“Oh…” Plopping back down, Weiss picked up her fork again. “Good. But don't worry, I still like hearing it from you the best.”

This time, the retching sounds from Blake were feigned, but her mother still turned back to her as if it were a real crisis. That started the laughter again, especially from Willow who saw much of her own parenting reflected in the other mother - even if she had taken an extended leave of absence, thanks to her husband and hundreds of bottles of wine.

Following dinner and dessert, they were relaxing in the living room in front of the TV when they heard a car pull into the drive. “I’m not expecting anyone,” Kali said.

“Me, either.” Blake glanced around at everyone else, then back to her mother. “Is Salem back? Already?”

It certainly wasn’t Salem. When they gathered on the porch to see what was going on, they found themselves staring at none other than Jacques Schnee, leaning on a diamond-topped cane that he had certainly never needed before with his hair and mustache a little too perfect. He was standing in front of an actual squad car, with two actual policemen in the front.

“Porco cane!” Kali hissed under her breath, eyes narrowed. But she made no other sudden movement.

“So this is where you two have squirreled yourselves away,” he sighed in a disinterested voice. “How very… pedestrian. Is it even up to code? I wonder if I could have it condemned…”

“What do you want here, Jacques?” Willow said in as even a tone as she could manage. It wasn’t fiery, and it wasn’t firm. She was terrified that he had found them - as was Weiss. Though she was content to stay in the background of the encounter for as long as possible.

“Why, honey, I thought that would be obvious. I wish to reunite my family.” His smile was genial, like he thought he was Santa Claus. “Whitley misses the both of you.”

While she was trying to come up with a reply for that, Weiss found her voice. “We have a family. Right here.”

“Oh, is that what you call this? Such a random collection of rabble - a couple of black-haired dago greasers and some chink girl? That passes for family to you now? My, my… how the mighty have fallen.”

Kali nearly lost it. In fact, she took a single step forward, but Blake managed to hold her back at the last second. The gentle pressure on her arms reminded her of their situation, of the cop car waiting just behind the enemy, and she brought her temper back under control.

“You see?” he laughed harshly, gesturing with a hand. “Animals that can scarcely control themselves. Come home, Willow. We’ll sort this out later.”

By now, the Schnee matriarch’s anger was starting to overtake her fear, even if marginally. “Come home? So… s-so you can spank me as if I were a spoiled little girl? We have had this discussion, Jacques. I will never sleep under the same roof as you again.”

He only wasted a few seconds digesting her words, glaring daggers at the woman he had claimed to love when he married her. Then he grinned darkly. “Never say never, my dear.” His fingers snapped toward the car, and one of the officers exited to stand next to him. “Fetch the bitch.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Yang drawled out, cracking her knuckles. “She ain’t done anything wrong. You can’t just go sticking people in handcuffs for no reason.”

“Ah, but they can, and they will. Who’s going to stop us? You? If you resist, we will claim that you were shot in ‘self defense’ - and who will the judge believe?” His hand pressed into the center of his chest. “A respected pillar of this community, running for the office of mayor? Or an unfaithful wife who runs away from her problems and into the waiting arms of a handful of thugs? None of you have a leg to stand on.”

“You’re right,” Kali announced, eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. “But first, you would all have to make it back to the station in one piece.”

Then her gun was aimed at Jacques. Weiss hadn’t even noticed her produce it - and neither officer had theirs out yet. The one already out of the car went for his piece-

BANG! His hat went flying from atop his head, spinning off over the car and toward the ditch that lay between the Belladonna’s front yard and the street.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she said in a dangerous tone. “I actually don’t want to kill a police officer. But that doesn’t mean I won’t if given no alternative.”

“You are committing a serious error in judgement, miss,” the officer said, speaking for the first time. “We could have you locked up on counts of-”

“Spare me. What you are doing is immoral and illegal, even if no one else ever finds out about it. And you will have to live with that for the rest of your life. Now…” Her eyebrow rose as she lowered the barrel, just enough to be noticeable from a distance. “Do you want to spend the rest of that life being able to make love to your wife, or not?”

That definitely got him to gulp, and he raised his hands up over his head. By this time, Blake reappeared - when had she left?! - and had another pistol aimed at the two men, sliding along to the end of the porch. Jacques rolled his eyes skyward.

“You expect me to believe this pipsqueak knows how to use that? We ought to run you all in for harbouring too many dangerous weapons and putting them into the hands of children.”

“I’m not as good as my mom,” Blake admitted easily. “I might miss the cop and hit you instead. Now, take out that piece nice and slow - two fingers. That’s it… toss it on the grass. Cock it before you do and I’ll take you off here and now.”

She hated to admit it, but Weiss was impressed. The Belladonnas didn’t mess around. Once he had disposed of the gun, she nodded sideways at Yang, who dropped down and crawled over to pick it up by the trigger guard with her pinky. Once backed out of firing range of the two women packing heat, she stood again, holding the gun the same way.

“Isn’t she a great shot, too?” Jacques teased irritably.

“I don’t believe in guns,” Yang snapped. “I’d rather have a clean, honest fight any day. The other guy - he can toss us his gun, too. And the keys.”

They obeyed. Jacques looked hopping mad, but he didn’t protest as Yang caught two guns with the same pinky, then circled around the squad car with a wide berth before she unlocked the trunk. At this point, Jacques tensed as if he was going to try something stupid, but Blake cocked her gun and he went still.

“You wouldn’t. You might hit the blonde.”

“We’ve all been shot before,” Yang answered for her. “Or stabbed. But you know all about that, right?” She locked the trunk again with the guns inside, then circled around to the passenger’s side. “Pop that glove box, will ya?” He did, and she tossed the bullets inside. “Good boy.”

“Now,” Kali announced as Yang rejoined the others, tossing the keys in through the driver’s side window. “You’re going to get back into that car, and vacate my property. And don’t bother seeing if this firearm is licensed; it is. I have a legal right to bear arms under the constitution. You don’t want anyone to know what you were doing here any more than we wanted it to happen, so you won’t push this matter. Get back in that car and go away. And if you ever set foot on my property again without a warrant, or an actual legitimate police reason, I won’t be so welcoming.”

“Listen to them!” Jacques snarled. “As if they have the right of w-”

“And if you ever come here again, you will meet your death, future Mayor,” she snarled, and Weiss felt her blood run cold at the level of fury she had reached - especially considering she was smiling, fierce and vicious. “I told you that you shouldn’t thank me. But I doubt you even remember that now.”

His white eyebrows twitched together. “Remember what?”

“GO.”

“What about my hat?” the officer asked.

“You’ll get a new one.”

That seemed to be that. However, Jacques couldn’t seem to resist a parting comment. “You’ll regret this, Willow. Mark my words. You’ll rue the day you ever crossed me. I made you, and I can unmake you. Watch your back.” Then he sneered at Weiss. “That goes for you, too, Junior Hooker.”

Yang pounded one fist into her open palm to emphasise that they were wearing out their welcome yet further. They sped away.

“I can’t believe that,” Willow breathed in shock. “What he called my Weiss… his daughter…”

But Weiss could barely spare any thought for that. She was still shaking from having heard a gun go off so close to her ears, and aimed in the general direction of a family member - no matter how terrible he turned out to be. It had taken a lot of concentration to keep from wetting herself again. Maybe she had some kind of bladder problem. Passing a hand over her eyes, she turned to blink at the others, seeing her shock only truly reflected in her mother’s face.

“You’re not a hooker,” Blake provided instantly, and Yang nodded firmly. Kali merely looked drained from the confrontation, but satisfied with the results.

“I… I know I’m not.”

“Yang,” Kali finally said with a sigh, “would you… be a dear and fetch that hat for us? We’ll need to burn the evidence that they were ever here, and I fired at an officer of the law. Then we need to hide Blake’s piece again; just because my gun is licensed doesn’t mean the other one is.”

They got to work. As they went about trying to erase all indication that their pleasant evening had been interrupted, Weiss reflected that her father had accomplished exactly what he meant to do: he had brought a family closer together. Now, all five of them acted and moved as one, making sure to occasionally touch each other on the shoulders or flash a smile of reassurance.

Her real family was stronger than any illusion of one.

#princess and the dragons #freezerburn fanfic #rwby fanfiction #rwbyremnants #racism tw

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 5 years ago

Text

Non-Sequential [Ch. 23]

Pairing: Pre-Serum Steve Rogers/Steve Rogers x Reader

One night, Steve Rogers met a beautiful dame named Y/N. He hadn’t intended on letting her get away. But fate had other ideas. Y/N appeared and disappeared in his life so hauntingly that Steve started to wonder if she was an angel meant to watch over him.

Word Count: 2,200

Chapter 22

“Hello?” Y/N answered as she glanced behind at Bucky’s hut. There was a part of her that didn’t fully believe Steve was on the other end of the phone call. After all, she had nothing but silence from him when she first got to Wakanda.

“Y/N? Oh, thank God.” Steve immediately sighed in relief.

“Hi, Steve.” Hearing his voice eased in a way she wasn’t expecting.

“Shuri got me a message. Are you alright?”

‘Shuri got him a message,’ as in she told Steve she had traveled again.

“I’m fine,” Y/N muttered. Yes, physically she was fine. But emotionally and mentally she was still shaken.

There was a beat of silence.

“Want to talk about it?” He asked carefully.

Y/N sighed. Did she actually want to tell him?

“How about when you get back?” She offered and her face twisted into a wince even though she knew no one could see it.

“I can live with that,” he answered.

She blinked. “When will that be?”

“Couple a days. I promise.”

Y/N nodded her head and then realized Steve couldn’t see her. “Where are you?”

“I – I’m sorry, Y/N. I can’t tell you. It’s best if you don’t know anything. The line’s supposed to be secure, but I just – I want to keep you out of my mess.”

“I get it,” she muttered, barely audible.

Steve sighed on the other end. “I’ll be back soon, Y/N. I promise.”

Y/N nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see it.

There was a moment of silence on the call

“You’re not OK, are you?” Steve challenged.

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears and her bottom lip trembled. “No,” she blurted out.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I should be there.” Even though she couldn’t see him, Y/N knew his head was hanging with disappointment and guilt. “Damn it. I need–I should be there,” he repeated.

“It’s OK, Steve. I’m-I’m with Bucky.”

Then she wondered if that would even give him comfort.

“That’s-That’s good,” Steve answered.

He knew Bucky would look after her. Hell, he was looking after when Steve had been acting like a complete and utter fool.

But there was also a weird, ugly feeling in the pit of his stomach. He refused to analyze it or even acknowledge it. But it was still there. And he hated it.

“Y/N,” even the way he said her name was filled with disappointment, “I gotta go.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed back, trying not to let her emotions all slip out at once and worry him even more. “Do you want to talk to Bucky?” After all, it was his phone that Steve called.

“No,” Steve answered too quickly, too bitingly. “No,” he said again, softer this time, correcting himself. “I’ll talk to him when I get back.”

“Umm…OK.” Y/N was confused by his reaction.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I-I love you too, Steve.”

——————————

Steve kept his promise, returning in the middle of the night just 36 hours after he got off the phone with Y/N.

He was put into an immediate panic when he returned to his room to find that Y/N was not sleeping soundly in his bed. He became even more panicked when she was nowhere to be found in her own personal suite either.

Eventually, Steve ran into a royal guard in the hallway.

“Y/N,” He blurted out like some crazy person. “Shuri told me she would contact me any time Y/N traveled while I was gone. I can’t find her anywhere, but Shuri didn’t tell me.”

The guard seemed confused, but patiently listened. Of course not everyone in the palace knew Y/N or Steve, or the personal and complicated situation that Steve was trying to explain.

“I-I am sorry, Captain Rogers, but I do not know what you speak of. I can wake Princess Shuri or King T’Challa if you–”

“No. No, please, there’s no need for that,” Steve quickly shut that down. But he ran a hand throw his shaggy hair, making it clear that his distress was still strong.

“It is the other guest you are looking for?” The guard asked softly.

Steve nodded.

“Perhaps you will find her at the White Wolf’s home.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “White Wolf?”

The guard nodded. “Your friend. Sergeant Barnes.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. First, out of stupidity. Of course she was with Bucky. Why hadn’t he immediately gone there instead of bringing poor guards into his anxiety? Second, that terrible and ugly feeling found its way back into his gut.

“Thank you,” he told the guard before rushing out of the palace.

Steve made it to the outskirts, where Bucky’s hut resided, in record time.

Without thinking about the ungodly hour, Steve’s fist tapped on the door of Bucky’s hut.

He didn’t hear movement on the other side, which wouldn’t be surprising since Bucky moved like a snake, unable to shake his assassin training.

The door started unlocking.

Steve expected to find Bucky disheveled with sleepy eyes. But it was clear that super soldier hadn’t been sleeping when Steve knocked on his door.

“Steve, you’re back,” Bucky commented with a lightness.

“Is Y/N here?” Steve asked, not meaning to skip the pleasantries and sound rude.

The question made Bucky shift his weight. “Yeah. Yeah, she’s here.” Then he opened the door wider and gestured for him to come in.

Steve quickly looked for Y/N to be awake somewhere in the hut. Instead, he found her fast asleep… in Bucky’s bed.

Bucky immediately saw what the situation could be misinterpreted as and cleared his throat. “She hasn’t been sleeping well… so she’s been here.” His voice was quiet, making sure he didn’t wake Y/N. Steve ignored Bucky, his eyes never leaving Y/N. He slowly walked forward until he was at the edge of the bed. Upon closer look, Steve realized that she was wearing one of his own t-shirts. One of the few he had since being on the run, which mean it was fraying and littered with holes here and there.

Steve gave a soft smile, finally relieved to see for himself that she was in the present, that she was – for the most part – ok.

He reached forward and brushed hair out of her face, placing it gently behind her ear.

Even in her sleep, Y/N sensed him. She sighed dreamily from just a whisper of his touch.

Steve then leaned back and finally turned his attention back to Bucky.

“Can we talk?” Then he looked at the door. “Outside,” he clarified.

Bucky winced even though Steve’s tone couldn’t have been more tranquil.

Both men gave one last glance at Y/N before shuffling out.

Bucky walked a few paces behind Steve, who didn’t stop walking until they were under the giant marula tree that was planted 50 yards from his hut.

Bucky waited patiently for Steve to speak first. But he seemed too lost in his head to begin.

Steve’s hands were on his hips as he stared into the darkness that surrounded them.

“You kissed her.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “No, Steve, nothing happened. I wouldn’t–I’d never do that. To either of you. I swear she’s just been sleeping here. She didn’t want to be alone.”

Steve finally looked him in the eye. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“The day you fell from the train,” Steve continued. “You kissed her. She tried to get you to stay. Tried to do anything that would stop you from getting on that train. And you kissed her.”

Bucky was blindsided. “She-She told you about that?”

“Was she not supposed to?” Steve challenged with a fire in his eyes.

Bucky had seen it in Steve’s eyes before, but it had never been directed at him. Not even when they fought and he’d tried to kill him as the Winter Soldier.

“No. I mean, yes! Shit.” He shook his head at the fumbling of his words. “What I’m trying to say is that she has the right to tell you anything she wants.” Bucky cringed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You were always the one to get the girls,” Steve thought aloud. Then he even smiled. “I made a joke of it when she first told me. She thought I’d hate her. Pretty sure she was convinced it would be the thing that broke us up.”

“I almost didn’t think anything of it. Back then, you were in love with another girl every week. Every time, no matter what, you were convinced they were the one.” Steve’s jaw clenched as he turned to Bucky again. “But then, without fail, you’d be on to the next girl as if the last one never even existed.”

Bucky wait for him to continue. He was smart enough to know that this wasn’t his time to talk. So he just had to stand there and take it.

“It didn’t bother me. I never planned to even bring it up.” Steve sighed. “But then I realized how you treated Y/N the opposite of all them. She wasn’t just the flavor of the week. She had stood the test of time. But it’s not time, is it?” Steve waited a moment. He had to find the courage to finally say what had been eating away at him. “You’re in love with her.”

Bucky’s face was pained. There were no words. He couldn’t lie and tell Steve was wrong. But he was also too much of a coward to admit to the truth.

But he owed his best friend something.

“Steve…Steve, I’m sorry.” He felt sick.

But Bucky was met with silence.

“Steve, please do something,” he begged.

“Do what?” He demanded.

“Hit me! Cuss me out! Tell me that you hate me!”

Steve took a step forward. “Hit you? Hate you?” Even saying the words aloud didn’t make it easier for his mind to wrap around them. How could he ever do either of those things? “You think I brought this up because I want to hurt you?”

“It’s what I deserve,” Bucky mumbled.

Steve shook his head. “The most ridiculous part is that I can’t even blame you. Because I know you love everything about her that I love.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen, Steve. I tried not – damnit! Do you know what it feels like to be in love with your best friend’s girl? I hate myself for it. I never wanted you to know. I tried my god damned hardest to keep it a secret.”

“Haven't you learned by now that you and I can’t keep secrets from each other?”

Bucky chuckled darkly at the comment. He ran his hand through his hair. “Well, if you’re not going to punch me… why did you bring it up then?”

“I don’t know.” Steve lowered his head. “I guess…I guess my jealousy finally made me snap.”

“Jealousy?” Bucky repeated with bewilderment. “Did you forget that you’re the one who already won the girl?”

“I messed up, Buck. I pushed her away. Left her here all alone. She almost died and I wasn’t there for her. But you were. And when I’m gone, you’re the one she goes to.” He sighed. “And as much as I hate to admit it, I still feel like that scrawny kid who was invisible to women. The women that were always falling for you.” He eyed Bucky with sadness. “What’s stopping Y/N from doing the same?”

“The fact that she’s in love with you, Steve.” Bucky answered immediately.

Before Steve could answer, the door of the hut opened.

Both men’s head whipped in the direction of the sound.

Y/N tiptoed out with a blanket wrapped around her.

Her eyes squinted, trying to adjust to the darkness. But even in the Wakandan night, she recognized Steve’s silhouette.

“Steve?” She gasped.

Then she was running to him.

He tried to meet her, taking quick steps to shorten the distance.

Then she flung herself into his arms. Steve gripped her tightly, lifting her off of her feet. Her face was buried into his shoulder as he rubbed her back in comfort.

They stayed like that for a moment of two.

Bucky had no choice but to witness their love.

When Steve finally set her down, Y/N took in the scene she’d interrupted.

“What’s going on?” She whispered worriedly. “What’s happened?”

Bucky looked to Steve, letting him navigate the situation.

“Nothing. Everything’s fine. I just came to take you back to the palace with me.” He kissed her lips. “I missed you,” he sighed.

“OK…” Y/N gave him a shy smile, believing his words.

Steve held her hand and started leading her back up the hill.

Y/N only got a few steps before she paused. Steve looked at her questioningly. Then she turned and hurried back to Bucky.

Steve stood and watched as he heard Y/N whisper a ‘thank you’ and give him a warm hug. Bucky made eye contact with him as he met her embrace.

No, there was no way Bucky could’ve stopped himself from falling in love with Y/N.

She made that damn near impossible.

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

CHAPTER 24

I don’t know how it happened, maybe it was the long weekend or whatever, but I found myself both motivated and inspired. Honestly, it might’ve been because I watched the new Little Women and Jo beat some sense into me lol.

For the 3 people still reading this, I’d love to hear from you.

#non-sequential #non-sequential chapter 23 #pre serum steve rogers #pre-serum!steve rogers #pre serum!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers series #non-sequential series #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers reader insert #marvel fic #marvel reader insert #invisible anonymous monsters #invisibleanonymousmonsters #pre-serum!steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes

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enavance · 3 years ago

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hi i’m here to once again start a discussion / meta about a song that i relate to cherry. on this episode, we’re pulling apart falling in reverse’s popular monster. some of the lyrics are hit or miss because you know obviously this is based on ronnie’s own experiences, but some of the lyrics are really suited to cherry and i’ll bold the relevant lines as i go or omit things as needed.

also holy shit this is like over 1600 words, not including the lyrics of course, and . . . congratulations if u read this jkbdfbkvd

i wake up every morning with my head up in a daze i'm not sure if i should say this, fuck, i'll say it anyway everybody tries to tell me that i'm goin' through a phase i don't know if it's a phase, i just wanna feel okay, yeah i battle with depression, but the question still remains is this post-traumatic stressin' or am i suppressin' rage? and my doctor tries to tell me that i'm going through a phase yeah, it's not a fuckin' phase, i just wanna feel okay

okay, yeah, i struggle with this bullshit every day and it's probably 'cause my demons simultaneously rage it obliterates me, disintegrates me, annihilates me

cherry has always been hot - tempered since she was younger, but now as she’s grown and grown into her role as the warrior of light and coupled with all of the things she has endured from the beginning of her journey to where she is now. she lived a relatively peaceful life until imperial garlean forces invaded her village and uprooted her life and destroyed everything she once knew and forced her to make anew. cherry struggles with severe depression and ptsd, and much of that contributes to her trauma response and why she’s so quick to lash out in a form of a defense mechanism.

'cause i'm about to break down i'm searchin' for a way out i'm a liar, i'm a cheater, i'm a non-believer i'm a popular, popular monster i break down falling into love now with falling apart i'm a popular, popular monster

with everything cherry goes through, it’s a wonder she hasn’t snapped completely yet, but she has come so, so, so close so many times. she is self - destructive in her coping methods, whether intentionally or not. sometimes she realizes and notices her harmful coping methods, sometimes she doesn’t, but her mindset is that if she’s not hurting anyone else, it’s fine.

however, what she doesn’t realize is that her distance and cold shouldering and keeping people at arms length is hurtful because people are just trying to be there for her, but she won’t allow them to due to her debilitating fear of allowing anyone to come near her, physically or emotionally, and risk them forming an attachment to her and vice versa.

she doesn’t want someone to feel hurt or pain in losing her and having to mourn her. cherry is a serial escapist in that she will disappear for months at a time and wander off looking for the most dangerous jobs, not only because she needs the money and thrives off of the adrenaline and that she has an inherently reckless nature, but it’s that deep - rooted self - destructiveness.

i think i'm going nowhere like a rat trapped in a maze every wall that i knock down is just a wall that i'll replace i'm in a race against myself, i try to keep a steady pace how the fuck will i escape if i never close my case? oh my god, i keep on stressin', every second that i waste is another second sooner to a blessing i won't take

cherry doesn’t see herself as a hero. to a degree, she understands that it’s not her choice whether or not she is seen as a hero. other people will call her one regardless based on her accomplishments and achievements and decorated contributions to the preservation of eorzea and the shard as a whole. as vain as she is, and as much as she boasts of her strength as a warrior, which she takes quite a bit of pride in, she’s surprisingly somewhat humble when it comes to being seen as a hero that people look to for light in the darkness and idolize. she just sees nothing special in it because of how many people still die, how many things are still lost and destroyed. her own pessimism stops her from feeling positively towards any association with being a hero. she doesn’t want to be celebrated or praised, but she won’t be mad if someone compliments her skills and says she’s strong.

cherry is an extremely guarded person and this is something i discuss at length with her keeping extremely tall and thick walls up to protect herself and the people around her due to her life experiences and the trauma she has been through from before ARR to where she is now post - SHB. she’s afraid of letting anyone in. she’s afraid of caring about people, despite the fact that she does because deep down she is caring and kind and soft and she just can’t help herself. she tries to convince herself that she’s not as close to some people as she thinks, but she is and it would kill her to lose anyone else. and deep down, cherry knows that it’s much the same for her friends as well, that it’s too late, that they do care about her and someone will be there to mourn and grieve her and she hates that. this is why she flinches at softness, any soft gesture or touch or kindness, even more so when it comes to romantic avenues. she will run and run and run until she’s sure you’ve given up on pursuing her. much of this is also tied into the fact that caring about someone is a weakness to a fault because an enemy can sniff that out and use that against her. they could take someone that she cares about and use them as leverage or kill them or hurt them to get to her and she is so deeply afraid of that most of all.

cherry refuses help constantly. she shoulders everything and is the first to volunteer to do anything dangerous. she makes her own recklessly stupid and dangerous plans and rushes in headfirst without much thought. she is stubborn and will insist on doing everything herself, even the most menial tasks. she doesn’t want to look weak, not that she is or that anyone even thinks that of her, but she doesn’t want it to appear to anyone that she has any weaknesses because she doesn’t want them to be turned against her. she refuses help that would otherwise be blessings to make her life easier.

okay, motherfucker, now you got my attention i need to change a couple things 'cause somethin' is missing and what if i were to lie? tell you everything is fine every single fucking day i get closer to the grave i am terrified, i fell asleep at the wheel again crashed my car just to feel again it obliterates me, disintegrates me, annihilates me

cherry is as honest as they come. perhaps too honest, sometimes. however, when it comes to her own wellbeing, she will lie to fool others into thinking that she’s fine so that they don’t worry about her. she doesn’t want to be worried or fussed over, and most of all, she doesn’t want to add to anyone else’s stress or make them waste their time with her. cherry doesn’t take very good care of herself, physically or emotionally or mentally. she barrels into danger without thought, is impulsive, extremely reckless, and she doesn’t talk about her feelings to anyone or discuss the traumatic events that happened to her with anyone. i think the only people she may have opened up to are haurchefant, maybe thancred on occasion, ardbert because she’s fine talking to him because her logic is “ who is he going to tell ? no one else can see him, ” maybe aymeric but never wholly in detail, and maybe estinien. cherry is terrified of opening up to people. she doesn’t care if people see her as being awful or anything, but she’s afraid of being seen as vulnerable and having all of those parts of her open and raw.

she’s not actively suicidal or anything or ever thinking about dying. in fact, she’s deathly afraid of dying because of the people who care about her and because the fate of the world rests on her shoulders. she doesn’t want anyone to ever feel the pain she did losing her loved ones. she doesn’t want them to mourn her. she doesn’t want to risk the dying of this star just because there’s so much at stake and so many people and the world depending on her success and her being alive.

still, despite that, despite knowing that and that being an enormous fear of hers, that doesn’t stop her from being reckless. she is extremely self - destructive and impulsive and doesn’t think too much, if at all, before committing to something, even if it’s an extremely bad idea. she does do harmful and self - destructive things just to feel things, hence her being somewhat of an adrenaline addict and chasing danger and diving headfirst into fights or battles and facing off with dangerous people, even if outnumbered. she revels in danger and the feeling of adrenaline rushes and actively being battered and bruised in a fight. she probably would crash a car, honestly, just to feel something that is beyond the despondence and depression that she’s come to know post - shb.

yeah, here we go again, motherfucker, oh we're sick and tired of wondering praying to a god that you don't believe you're searching for the truth in the lost and found so the question i ask is, yeah, where the fuck is your god now?

and by the end of shb, knowing the things that she knows of hydaelyn and zodiark, she’s extremely jaded and even more pessimistic than she was to begin with. in the beginning, she didn’t know what she was coming into, when joining the fray with the scions and learning of her own abilities with the echo and hydaelyn’s will and her involvement. as time passes and hydaelyn’s absence becomes more noticeable, she begins to feel abandoned, and she wonders if hydaelyn is simply content to allow the shard to die and with it, its people.

even upon learning of the mother crystal’s weakness in strength, learning the truth of everything, the forming of the worlds and hydaelyn and zodiark being primals, she begins to heavily distrust hydaelyn and wonders if everything had been a lie. what else had hydaelyn hidden from her ? what else was a lie ? cherry has never been religious, not really, and she wonders if the gods are really out there. hydaelyn certainly isn’t the god they all thought she was — she is a primal. they have placed their faith and worship in a primal who disappeared and left them in darkness and silence.

cherry is left in a pretty fragile state come the end of shb. she has lost so much more, and she feels as though she managed to accomplish nothing despite everything that she has had a hand in doing. there is always something else, always something more, and she feels as though it’s never going to end and she is exhausted. she will never tire of helping people, not truly, but she feels such an emptiness within her and i really think that losing anyone else important to her, specifically people like thancred, the twins, estinien, aymeric, she is really going to spiral harder than ever before and i really don’t know how cherry would come out of it in one piece.

#hc.#long post -#uh ask to tag ?#self harm -#kind of ????#suicide mention -#just in case #shb spoilers -#u get 500 cookies if u manage to read through this kdjfbvd #i didnt mean for this to be this long but like idk!#this song really speaks to me about cherry #this is actually quite an important hc djkbfvfd #i'll post her playlist someday if i ever finish it #not that it'll ever be finish #it'll always be a continuous wip but u know

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miqojak · 4 years ago

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💍, 📓, ⚖️, and 🤕!

💍 Does your OC have a specific item that is priceless to them but may (or may not) be completely worthless to someone else? Is there a story behind this item or is it just because they like it so much? I’ve had this ask before, and every time I get it, I wrack my brain. I still don’t think there’s any one item she values above the rest. She’s materialistic, sure, but if her house burned down...she’d save her sketchbook? In the end, she was raised in a nomadic tribe as a kit, and stuff is just stuff. You can’t always take everything with you - junk bogs you down. She likes her stuff...but the only item of incredible import to her is really her sketchbook, as it's more of an extension of self, than an item. 📓 Write a typical diary/journal page by your OC! (or if you’d rather not, describe their journal. Do they keep one, why?) Jak doesn’t keep a journal! She has only really started learning to read/write this last year, and is finally starting to be halfway decent at it (much to her chagrin). Her version of a ‘journal’ is her sketchbook! She has picture perfect recall (when she puts the effort into wanting to remember a thing), when it comes to her sketches, and it’s...a good way to sort of show how she sees things differently, or how she processes the world. She’s visual - words are fleeting and unimportant, ultimately, to her. She’d probably find the notion of a diary/journal stupid - then ANYONE could just read your inner mind?? She doesn’t even readily allow just anyone to see her art, either, for that reason. As for what’s in it...strange depictions from her mind. Lots of jackal themes, lots of death themes.. Lots of sketches of people important to her - which is really only one person, now. She tore out and burned all the art of her ex’s, because she wants them out of her life for good...and that was as close to burning them alive as she could get. :P ⚖️ What is the biggest crime your OC has committed? Are they a thief, a cheat, a liar? What is the smallest, most petty crime they’ve committed? Or do they not do crime at all? Jak is indeed a thief, and aspires to be the best thief; a cat burglar of renown. She’ll cheat/manipulate without batting an eyelash, but she does not outright lie...ever, really. If she had to, she would. But she finds it uncouth and lazy. Anyone can make up some bo-shite, but it takes finesse to manipulate words and weave the truth into something it isn’t...without outright lying. The most petty crime...I mean, she was a pickpocket for a long time, but if I had to rank ‘most petty’ and took ‘petty’ to mean being petty AND it’s a small crime...she loves to do B&E’s. Yes, you know the Dane Cook skit. She loves breaking into random people’s homes and trashing their shit - or, just...rearranging things, move them a little. She gets off on knowing that she’s creating chaos - that, when those people get home...they will no longer feel safe in their own ‘den’, as she would term it. Knowing that these people won’t be able to rest easy, that they will be looking over their shoulders and asking questions for weeks to come, maybe moons? It really gets her. She loves that shit. She’s in control - she’s making ripples in a pond that will spread, and spread.

Most heinous crime...thus far is probably straight up murder. Last year, she had a hard time adjusting to the DRK soul crystal, and well...we all saw the canonical Fray ask for blood as payment, with the WoL (well, if you’ve made a DRK you have). Now imagine someone even more deeply emotionally disturbed than the WoL getting a Fray; she struggled to control these deep and volatile emotions that the power stems from, because she tends to refuse to face her emotions and cope in a healthy manner, so she lost control a ‘few’ times. In fact, Starlight before this recent one? She just...murdered a couple in their home and draped what was left of them on their Starlight tree. She’s gruesome, when the time for careful control has passed. 🤕 What is the worst injury your OC has ever suffered? Do they have any scars or lasting physical reminders of it? Do they get sick often or have any lasting medical conditions?

Well, theoretically the worst injuries are from her backstory - her time in a Garlean war camp/prison/detainment facility/concentration camp, whatever you want to term it, they tested a lot of medical finds on the captives therein, and torture was regularly part of life. She has a lot of mental hang-ups due to that, but I’ll say that since I’ve been writing her, the worst injury she’s had was getting caught in a 3v1 in an alleyway trying to protect someone else...and she took a flaming sword to the back that split her from the inside of her left shoulder/neck, down to just the top of her right buttock. Extensive healing got her back from a pretty bad place, but she has a nasty scar down the length of her back, now, and she’s kind of annoyed about it. She can’t put a full-back tattoo there, now, unless she incorporates the scar!

That said, the scar still gives her trouble at times, but she doesn’t bring it up with anyone, really. But it was a big wound, and hastily healed, so there’s absolutely times she has muscle spasms, or it aches. I’ve wondered about writing something about it, in fact! She doesn’t like being touched, but she’s debating a masseuse to help her handle this angry scar on her back...

#thanks for asking!#crime cat #she loves some petty crime #also some BIG crime #all crime is good crime #injuries

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chroniclackofselfpreservation · 4 years ago

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Creatures of the Night

Chapter 30 - the afterburn of childhood wounds

Back to the Beginning < Previous chapter / Next chapter >

AO3

Masterlist

(TW: mild panic, memories of past abuse, pain, verbal abuse)

(The title of the chapter comes from "Often I Pray" by Michael Sowder.)

Daveigh didn’t waste any time the next morning, practically shaking Patton awake at the first signs of light on the horizon—much to Patton’s displeasure.

“What is it?” he asked, sitting up, immediately awake and concerned.

“I know it’s early, but I couldn’t wait,” Daveigh said, unable to hide her unabashed grin as she rummaged around in the dark. Patton heard the rustle of stiff fabric as Daveigh retied her skirt around her waist, and out of pure instinct, Patton fixed his gaze on the doorway. It seemed everyone on the island had little sense of a need for privacy. Daveigh and Mikhail wore simple skirts made of a durable, off-white fabric—Daveigh wearing a wrapping of similar material around her chest, but nothing more. It wasn’t that Patton thought they were being unseemly, it was just… a bit of an adjustment for him when Daveigh had announced it was time for bed, discarded her skirt, and walked casually across the hut to her woven mat, plopping down and promptly falling asleep.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Living on a deserted island for as long has they probably had, privacy was likely a luxury they’d learned to live without. He’d just have to learn as well, it seemed. He still wore the clothing he’d shown up in—jeans, a t-shirt reading “famILY" across the front, and his favorite cardigan. The fabric was worn from the harsh salt water and was incredibly dirty, but he couldn’t bring himself to discard them. Not yet.

Patton looked over at Logan, sleeping on his side, curled tightly in on himself. He looked uncomfortable, and perhaps a bit cold. He certainly wasn’t as used to sleeping on the ground as Patton was. He still wore his old clothes as well, jeans and the deep blue polo shirt he usually wore to work. His glasses were gone—which Patton was still getting used to. He didn’t mind, of course... but he’d liked Logan’s glasses. They framed his face in such a nice way…

“Come on,” Daveigh said, dressed and stepping out into the cool morning. “You want to learn how to astral project, don’t you?”

Patton joined her, pulling his cardigan sleeves down over his hands and bunching the fraying fabric in his fists. “Lead the way.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The sun didn’t take long to rise and warm Patton’s back comfortingly. Daveigh had taken him to a section of the beach far from Eudora’s cave and with much softer sand. They sat across from each other, Patton fidgeting his fingers through the sand at his feet.

“Okay, first of all: this event in the past you projected into. You knew someone there? Personally?”

“Yeah, his name is Virgil.”

“And you’re in love with him, yes?”

Patton choked. “I—what? Why would—I mean…”

“I’m in love with Amaryllis, so there’s a chance your powers could have picked up on that, but then why that event?” she said casually, as if she were solving a math problem and not ousting Patton’s deepest feelings. “If it had only been my influence, you likely would have seen something from our time together—but you saw Virgil. Am I right?”

Patton flushed so hard he was surprised he didn’t start giving off steam. “Yes.”

Daveigh clapped her hands together, “Great, that solves that mystery for us. Oracles can do more than just witness the future, like sibyls do. We have a connection to time and space itself. When we form emotional connections with people, especially strong ones, our powers react to that and can become directionalized if you aren’t paying enough attention to what you’re doing,” she explained.

Patton’s brow knit. “What?”

“Your abilities are directly affected by your emotions, and therefore your connection to others. Have you ever had a dream about someone you didn’t know?”

Patton thought back. The only dreams he’d had that weren’t about himself were Merri and Roman—not counting the time-travel escapade last night, of course. “No, I don’t think so.”

“That’s because you don’t know how to control them,” she explained, lifting a finger. “Our powers are designed as self-preservation tools. Whenever an emotionally charged event in the future looms closer, your powers kick in to warn you about it—but they only pertain to yourself or those you care about because, according to your powers, anything else happening in the world doesn’t matter. You have to learn to broaden your perspective.”

“And that will help me stop the dreams?” Patton asked.

Daveigh hesitated. “Stop them? Why would you want to stop them?”

“I mean, not right now, but… eventually, yeah.” Patton wrapped his arms around his knees, the morning sunlight making the left half of his face prickle with warmth. “I don’t like seeing the horrible things that are going to happen to my friends,” he whispered. He glanced over at her. “Do you?”

Daveigh looked absolutely heartbroken. She turned away from him, facing the ocean. “When I opened your mind the first day I met you,” she began, voice soft with shame, “I’d never felt so many mental barriers in my life. I didn’t see anything—that isn’t how our powers work—but watching what reliving those memories did to you…”

Patton tensed. He remembered the feeling of liquid fire coursing through him, every wall he’d ever constructed torn asunder. Memories let loose to wreak havoc as they pleased. He shivered. “That wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know.”

“It was my fault, Patton. I should have asked, and I know I’ve apologized about a hundred times already, but I’ll do it again. Excitement isn’t an excuse.”

Patton swallowed. “Thank you.”

Daveigh took a breath. “Your powers will always be a part of you, Patton. Repressing them will only make them more unruly and unpredictable, but… you’ve really never had a happy prediction before?”

“Not that I can remember,” he admitted.

Daveigh ran a hand across her smooth scalp. “I wish my mentor were here. She’d know how to help you without hurting you so much.”

Patton shifted, unfurling himself from his semi-fetal position. His powers weren’t going away. The sooner he could accept that and learn to control them, the sooner he’d be able to help his friends. “I want your help, Daveigh. I don’t care if it hurts.”

“But—”

“I’m going to help save my friends. All of them. I can’t do that as I am right now,” he said, his resolve building as he spoke, slowly but surely. “I’ve lived with pain before. I will gladly do it for the people I love.”

Daveigh smiled at him. “Okay, but you have to promise to let me know when you need a break, okay? We don’t want another panic attack.”

“Right,” Patton said, smiling back.

“Okay, first we’re going to just have you astral project out of your body, right here on the beach. Sit with you legs crossed,” she instructed, “and place your hands—yes, like that. Okay, now close your eyes and concentrate.”

“On what?” Patton asked, feeling slightly foolish sitting there with his eyes closed.

“You can start with your breathing. Feel your environment around you. Eventually, you’ll feel yourself disconnect from your body.”

Patton opened his eyes. “What?”

Daveigh raised a placating hand. “It’s okay. You’ll be perfectly safe. I promise.”

Patton chewed the inside of his cheek skeptically as he closed his eyes again. “So basically you want me to force myself to dissociate?”

“No. The opposite, actually.” Daveigh said. “Focus on your breathing, and I’ll explain.”

Patton nodded.

“Dissociation is a result of panic and anxiety. It forces the self to retreat deep inside the mind to escape what is happening around it. Astral projection is sending the self outside the mind to perceive things that the body cannot. The two are mutually exclusive. If you begin to feel too much fear while projecting, your body will drag you back in an effort to protect you. In extreme cases, you can rebound in the opposite direction and end up dissociated.”

This is going to be harder than I thought, then, Patton thought, dutifully focusing on his breathing. Daveigh stopped talking, but he could still hear her breathing softly beside him.

Patton wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been sitting there when suddenly, something shifted. Sounds became clearer and more precise. Instead of just waves washing up and down the beach, he heard the rustle of sand against the push and pull, the trickle of every droplet as waves crested and tumbled over themselves; the wind as it brushed across the beach, picking up an entourage of minuscule particles, parading after it joyously. The sun warming him. Vibrating through him.

Patton felt himself tip forward, as if falling asleep, and he jerked up, blinking in the light.

Daveigh looked over at him, smiling. “Well done.”

“What?” Patton looked down and saw himself sitting where he had a moment ago, but his body was slumped forward, completely limp. He was overlapping his own body in a strange, almost terrifying way. Patton bit down on the fear, remembering Daveigh’s warning. Slowly, he stood and stepped away from his body. Daveigh repositioned it—him?—so that his body lay on its back on the beach. It was odd, still feeling the sun on his face, the warm sand beneath his back, while standing a few paces away.

Looking down at his current state, Patton found himself similar to how he’d appeared with Amaryllis. Shimmering. Angel-like. A little transparent, but not enough that he felt like a ghost.

“I did it!” he breathed, feeling his own voice vibrate through his new astral body like he stood inside an enormous church bell. “Whoa, that’s weird. Helloooo?” he said, testing it out. Daveigh watched him gleefully. “This didn’t happen last time,” he noted.

Daveigh nodded. “You weren’t in control last time, and your mind did its best to keep you feeling safe.”

Patton started. He could hear her twice, from both his own ears and those of his body. He shook his head and Daveigh laughed. That, too, freaked his brain out. “We never completely detach from our bodies, no matter how far we go. You’ll always be able to hear, feel, and smell if you concentrate hard enough.”

Patton held a hand out, studying it. He could still touch his own skin, though it felt smoother; he didn’t pass through his palm like he was made of mist, but looking down, he found he wasn’t making an imprint in the sand beneath his feet.

“Can I touch you when I’m like this?” he asked, reaching out tentatively. Daveigh obliged and swiped her hand right through his arm.

“Unfortunately, no. There are very few things we can interact with while in the astral plane,” she said, standing.

But her body remained where it was, sitting calmly on the sand.

Patton smirked. “How come you get to sit all nicely while I look like someone hit me over the head?”

Daveigh winked. “Core muscles.”

“Really?”

She laughed. “No. When you’ve done this for a while, you’ll be able to astral project and control your physical body at the same time. See?” she said, and Patton jumped when Daveigh’s body turned, opened its eyes, and waved at him before returning to its meditative seat.

“That’s kinda creepy,” he chuckled, looking at his own body warily, waiting for it to spring up and do something ridiculous. “So, it’s like you’re in two places at once?”

Daveigh shook her head, gesturing for him to follow her down the beach, away from their bodies. Patton followed, smothering his nerves in his trust of her.

“It’s more like aiming a crossbow with both eyes open,” she said. Patton gave her a confused look. “No? Let’s see… it’s like reading while you walk. You aren’t putting all of your focus on where you’re going, but just enough not to run into anything. Does that make sense? Typically, you can’t speak or make too complex of facial expressions without really concentrating, but I could get up and do simple tasks while my astral self was elsewhere. That’s a little advanced, though. Let’s just start with putting some distance between you and your body.”

They strode down the beach calmly, Patton simply trying to get used to the sensation of it all. He could feel the ground beneath his feet, but he didn’t sink into the sand or leave footprints. He saw a breeze pulling on the palm trees, and could feel it faintly across his body behind him, but his astral form didn’t react to it, his hair lying still.

Curious, he wandered over to the water and let the tide rush over his feet and ankles. The water went right through him, undisturbed. He did feel the temperature difference though, his feet going cold, but remaining dry. Daveigh stepped up next to him.

“We don’t need to breathe in this form,” she said. “We don’t float, either.”

Patton stopped, realizing that he was, in fact, not breathing. He could feel his body breathing of course, but his shimmering, translucent chest didn’t rise or fall with breath. He started. “You mean we could walk underwater?”

She nodded, smiling. “It's quite the experience. Maybe another time. I think it might prove a little too overwhelming for you to handle on your first time. It can be quite disconcerting.”

“My feet are cold,” he mentioned, wiggling his incorporeal toes.

“We can feel temperature, to an extent,” she said, continuing down the beach.

He followed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we can’t be injured, we don’t have physical bodies right now, but that doesn’t mean extreme heat or cold wouldn’t be painful,” she explained.

Patton opened his mouth to ask another question, but something flickered in his periphery and he stopped, turning. Daveigh slowed to a stop ahead of him, watchful but unsurprised.

“What was—” Patton started, when something else flashed just out of his field of view and he whirled again.

“Remember what I said about the difference between projection and dissociation?”

“Yeah, but I don’t—”

“Patton,” Merri whispered so close to his ear he could practically feel her breath. Patton yelped and stumbled back a few steps, but nothing was there. Just him and Daveigh standing on the beach.

Daveigh watched him carefully. “I said that astral projection makes the self aware of things that the body is not, that includes being aware of your own mindscape.”

Patton’s breath came quicker now. He felt like he was being watched on all sides. “You mean my memories,” he said. “They’re all here?”

“To an extent,” she said. “You will not relive them as vividly as you would a flashback, but fleeting glimpses of them will appear. Smells, sounds, people, objects. They aren’t real, Patton,” she admonished. “You must remember that.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, unable to keep from glancing around the beach. Patton lifted a hand to the ear he’d heard Merri in. He could have sworn she was right there. More images tugged on his attention from the corner of his eye, and it took a significant effort not to turn and look. Daveigh put a hand on his shoulder, and he relished the solid contact.

“Patton-cake, are you ready to go?” Dot called from only a little ways away, her voice several years younger than he’d last heard her. Patton felt his eyes misting and took a shaking breath. He could hear her closing a sandwich baggie and folding down the top of the brown paper sack his lunches were always in for school. Now, it seemed, it wasn’t only the bad memories that would be hard for him to handle.

“Is it… will it always be like this?” he asked, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You’ll never completely get rid of them, but you can muffle them. It takes a lot of training, though,” she said. “There are many factors at play. How far you are from your body, how emotional you are, what emotions you’re feeling exactly, how concentrated you are. Your mental state affects how you experience the astral plane.”

Patton stiffened as his own broken screams pierced the air from behind him, but before he could even think about turning around, he flew away from Daveigh, like someone had yanked him backward on a leash. The world went black for a split second and Patton gasped, sitting up in his body once more.

He felt heavy, like he’d donned a lead-filled track suit. Patton had only projected for a couple of minutes, but feeling his lungs expanding in his chest, the blood pumping through his entire body… it all felt brand new and a bit foreign.

His screams were seared into his mind.

Patton felt nauseous and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Daveigh rubbed his back gently. “The feeling will pass after a few moments.”

He stiffened. “Can you not touch me right now, please?” he breathed, fighting for calm. She retracted her hand immediately.

“Of course. I should have asked. Forgive me.”

“It’s fine, just… give me a minute.”

Daveigh sat silently next to him while he collected himself, carefully organizing his mind back to where it had been. He realized he couldn’t live like this forever, not dealing with his past. Of course, he knew. But not right now. Not on an island in the middle of nowhere, not knowing if Roman or Virgil were still alive. That would have to wait.

* * * * * * * * * *

Virgil stared in disbelief at the cluster of trees where the portal to Wakeby had once been. Behind him, Dorian corralled Remus from accosting a tree nymph with that strange expression that could have been fondness but surely wasn’t because immortal snake-demons weren’t fond of anything, and Roman watched in slack-jawed amazement as a swarm of multicolored pixies passed by overhead.

“This place is amazing!” Roman said. “Hey, Dorian, is it always this warm?”

“Yes,” the demon replied. “Though there is a rainy season that lasts about a month.”

“I don’t understand,” Virgil breathed. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Roman approached from behind. “Virgil, what’s wro—”

Pain erupted behind Virgil’s eyes and he gasped, swaying. His ears rang and his head swam. Virgil knew that pain. Ursula was trying to enter his mind. No doubt she could sense that he’d returned to their homeland. Through watering eyes, Virgil saw Roman about to reach out and steady him.

“No!” he cried, scrambling away from Roman, careful to keep Ursula from hearing his words. he fell back to a seat on the ground, backing up against a tree. “Don’t touch me. She’ll know.”

“What?”

“It’s Ursula,” he managed, forcing controlled breaths in through his nose and out through clenched teeth She was breaking through. “She’ll sense your powers if—if you touch—”

You are getting harder and harder to contact, kitty, she tutted inside his mind. Care to explain—

“Virgil, let me help—”

—what you’re doing in the Witchlands? I don’t—

“—what do you need me to do?”

—remember giving you permission to abandon the prince.

“Shut up! Just stop talking!” Virgil cried, clutching his head. He couldn’t focus on both of them at once, especially when they were talking over one another. Roman shut his mouth immediately, stepping back. Dorian watched curiously from afar, then leaned over and muttered something in Roman’s ear.

How dare you speak to me like that, Ursula snapped, her presence pressing down even harder. Still it wasn’t the worst Virgil had experienced from her. It didn’t make sense for her to be holding back, and she’d said it was getting harder for her to reach him… it was probably just the Witchlands itself. Ursula being banished must be affecting their connection.

If you’ve brought the prince there to cultivate his powers, there won’t be a single corner on in the universe where you can hide from me, she hissed. Virgil could feel her attempting to see through his eyes. He panicked. If she saw Roman—if she knew Dorian was working with them… it would all be over. You’ll wish I killed you, you worthless—

I ran away! Virgil thought back frantically.

The throbbing lessened somewhat. What?

Virgil stopped bridling his fear, letting it wash through him, making sure Ursula could sense it. They didn’t want me anymore, so I ran away. I figured coming here, I’d be less of a burden to you.

How’d you get inside?

I kept the charm.

All these years? Ursula snorted. You always were a coward. I should have known.

He saw Roman begin to argue under his breath with Dorian, gesturing at Virgil. He probably wanted the demon to aide him in dealing with the dragon witch. Thankfully, Dorian understood what was going on far better than Roman did, and Virgil didn’t have to convince him not to. He shook his head, staring at Virgil, and for once Virgil didn’t feel pinned to the floor by it. It was almost comforting, knowing that someone that powerful was on his side.

Fine, if you’re too much of a child to do your job, stay in the Witchlands. Less of a chance you’ll get in my way, she sighed. How’s the curse holding up? Our prince is still in one piece?

Yes, he’s fine, last I saw, Virgil reported, replacing the fear with defeat, hopefully feeding into Ursula’s sense of still having control.

You know, she said carefully, I remember the prince mentioning a promise he had with Bloodwyrm to kill me in exchange for his freedom last we met. Any idea what that’s about?

Virgil’s mind raced. She was testing him—prodding at his story to see if it held together under pressure. It was unlikely that he wouldn’t have known about it, but he couldn’t let her get too suspicious. There was a contract Roman convinced the demon to enter into, but it expired when you defeated him. The curse is still intact.

Very well, she conceded, and it took an immense effort just to keep relief from flooding his mind. Enjoy your little vacation, coward. However, if Bloodwyrm disposes of my prince sooner than later, I’ll expect you back here. I’m going to need something to keep him occupied.

Dread trickled down Virgil’s throat at the thought. Of course.

And with that, the dragon witch withdrew.

#panic #tw panic #memories of past abuse #past abuse #tw past abuse #pain #tw pain #pain tw #verbal abuse #tw verbal abuse #COTN

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