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minato-division03 · 2 years ago

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Reiaki Suzubayashi

“Rock bottom will teach you lessons that mountain tops never will.”

Etymology

Reiaki means "beautiful, lovely" (麗) (rei) and "clear, crystal" (晶) (aki)

Suzubayashi means "bell" (鈴) (suzu) and "grove, woods, forest" (林) (hayashi)

Character Information

Kanji: 鈴林麗晶

Romaji: Suzubayashi Reiaki

MC Name: Black Cat

Gender: female

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 24

Birthday: June 14

Star sign: Gemini

Blood type: B

Occupation: SFX artist

Division: Minato

Team: R.I.P Märchen

Height: 166 cm (5’5) / 171 cm with heels (5’7)

Weight: 47 kg (104 lb.)

Hair color: platinum blonde, sunset orange

Eye color: plum purple

V/A: Yumi Uchiyama

Rap voice: SeeA (Pink Fantasy)

Stage actor: Jennie Kim (Blackpink)

Appearance

Reiaki is a slim woman with cat-like plum-colored eyes and noticeably sharp canines. She has a straight fringe and shoulder-length platinum-blonde (dyed) hair. A portion of her fringe and half of the underside of her hair had been dyed a sunset-orange color. While the rest of her hair is worn straight, she styles her hair in a half ponytail that’s been lightly curled and has two tufts of hair that frame her face and are also curled just slightly. Due to her choice of attire and tattoos, she tends to come across as intimidating.

As a worker in the beauty community, she wears mostly black. She dons a black distressed t-shirt dress with white and red prints, cinched with a white industrial belt. On top, she wears an oversized denim jacket which loosely slips off her shoulders. She completes her look with a black choker, a silver toggle necklace with a coin charm, a silver link chain necklace with its clasp worn in the front, and black above-knee boots with a silver block heel. She sports multiple piercings: on her left eyebrow, double lobes on both ears, lower helix on her right ear, upper helix on both ears, and a navel piercing.

She has a total of sixteen tattoos: a ghost above her right elbow, an eldritch-looking hand bound by rope on the side of her right elbow, a witch’s hat on her right bicep, dark forest of tall trees circling around her right wrist, a bubbling cauldron paired with a witch’s broom on her left bicep, a snake circling around a sword on her left hand, a scarecrow with a jack-o-lantern for a head on her left forearm, barbed wire formed into a heart on her right shoulder, a second larger ghost down her right hip, a cracked skull with feathered wings on her upper left thigh, a black cat donning a skeleton-like mask on her left ankle, a kneeling skeleton holding a mass of black feathers on her right shoulder blade, two skeleton hands holding onto either side of a wishbone, a "HA HA HA" on the back of her right hand, a jack-o-lantern face on her left middle finger, and a sword on her left middle finger.

When away from cameras and the public, she wears a pale green cropped hoodie with the face of Disney's Oogie Boogie's face printed on the front, paired with black shorts hanging loosely around her hips.

Personality

Despite her tough appearance, Reiaki is portrayed as a kind, charismatic, and cheerful (borderline childish) socialite who is persistent and is always determined to help her friends or those she cares about. She understands them well and is willing to accept them for who they are, no matter what their flaws may be.

Reiaki, with her people-pleaser tendencies, is always prepared to go out of her way to help those who need it. She's quite the loudmouth, but if she knows her opinions are unwanted or people won't agree with her, she'll shut up.

Despite her impulsiveness, she has shown that she is capable of remaining calm in stressful environments and utilizing her quick thinking to get out of there— mostly due to the fact that she grew up in a wealthy family and had to learn how to fend off tycoons who could've had ill intent.

Abilities

Her rap ability, Horror Story, allows her to induce fear on her opponents. The more frightening her horror stories are, the stronger the impact on her opponents. In rap battles, her verses tell the tale of a short horror story.

Trivia

Reiaki has cross dominance (she writes and applies makeup with her right hand, and does everything else with her left).

She likes cherries, piano, kickboxing, and horror movies while she dislikes being alone and people who are controlling.

Her favorite food is spicy fried tofu while her least favorite foods are eggplants.

When Miku was an idol, Reiaki was her SFX artist for music videos.

She is alright at keeping secrets, but she’s terrible with surprises because she gets too excited and tends to blurt everything out.

She creates all of her horror effects herself. Her prosthesis was crafted by herself, she makes her own fake blood, and much more.

In Memories of the Damned — Track 2, it is revealed that her now-ex-boyfriend, Rikuto Todou, had been incredibly abusive towards her and even became responsible for the murder of her entire family.

#hypnosis mic #hypnosis mic oc #hypmic #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic arb #hypmic arb #minato division #r.i.p märchen #reiaki suzubayashi #character profile

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dogstarblues · 1 year ago

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Bingo the Bulldyke Lore:

1. Bingo is illiterate but speaks five languages

2. he's Gazed Into The Abyss and he's fine

3. when asked what he did in his free time he said "eatin and fuckin"

4. cannot sign his own name. bites his thumb and uses a bloody thumbprint instead

5. Bingo doesn't wear a shirt or bras. Tits out or Vest Only

6. "And who hasn't had their mind probed?"

7. Bingo is terrible at communicating outside of flirting, being cocky and bluffing, or telepathically communicating with teammates

8. Bingo is impulsive but decjsive

9. Bingo was a nun of an Order that worshipped a madness-inducing Powerful Spirit and considers his madness a gift

10. Bingo has a prosthetic hand. It can record his voice and also contact other people like a phone but only if he holds his hand in the shape of a phone

11. When he hits a target (he is an archer [kestrel]) he will occasionally say "Bingo ;)"

12. "Being covered in goo is a Saturday for me :)"

13. Bingo used to pray in total darkness. he's totally comfortable without light

14. Bingo used to take care of bees

15. Bingo now experiences derealization under stress in addition to his Gift of hallucinations and being hyperaware

16. [Edit] He chants prayers to his spirit of madness using throat singing

17. [second Edit] Bingo can draw with charcoal

#songs for the dusk #dogstar speaking #bingo the bulldyke

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alabasterandpitch · 1 year ago

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EDIT: Jesus this really got away from me, might try to rewrite/trim this down I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and I think it's definitely a key ingredient in the fucked up soup of emotions this game evoked in me. Obviously fucked up child-murder aside, I found I really related to Andrew in a lot of ways, to an extent that kind of shocked me a bit as I was playing the game. Which I think (hope?) was the point really.

I've read an unhealthy number of fan essays about this game lately, and I'm not going to try and write something up to that par of literary analysis right here. This is more to help me process shit.

One point I've seen noted in a few essays is the way the game uses juxtaposition to contrast over-the-top drama and extreme taboos like cannibalism and incest, against far more realistic and authentically crafted elements, like the codependence of the siblings' relationship, or the consequences of childhood trauma and emotional neglect.

I'm literally just starting down a giant rabbit-hole of life questioning and self examination vis-a-vis childhood trauma now, so when I first played through the game, I found myself going through all the familiar motions of minimizing and invalidating some of my own trauma: 'Oh shut up you never had it that bad' 'It really wasnt THAT big a deal' 'Your situation is totally different. Why would you feel that? Don't be dumb.'

Then this line hit me like a fuckin punch to the gut. (Recap: "Andrew was such an easy kid")

I heard this near-verbatim from my own mother when she finally apologized for years of emotional neglect growing up.

It never even entered my mind growing up, or in all the years since, to contemplate whether that could be considered traumatic

I was always 'the easy kid' growing up. I was always the quiet one, the bookish, sensitive kid who never asked for anything or made any fuss or anything really as far as my parents tell me. Pretty much all the way through high-school I was the easy-to-raise kid who did well in school with minimal supervision. I loved reading and science and generally learning about the world, and I was never all that concerned with conventional social norms.

All well and good so far, and my oddities such as they are didn't really cause me a whole lot of active issues in and of themselves. Enter the House of ADHD. Once my brother started to struggle a few years into school and was diagnosed ADHD (and my father subsequently realized he also had ADHD) things took a bit of a turn for the chaotic. Generally this usually involved a coin toss of what screaming-match there would be over dinner and homework that evening, but it was honestly it was anyone's guess what flavour of fucked I would come home to in a house full of ADHD dysregulation. It's worth noting my brother and father are 100% both the Impulsive-Hyperactive type, and it was always these impulsive, structure-resistant qualities that I found so aggravating and stress-inducing.

I've always been an emotionally sensitive person (possibly an ASD thing??) so I basically just soak up the emotional vibes of the household like a sponge, and years of coming home from shitty high school life every day to a whole other round of chaos-fuelled rage and screaming and undeserved lashing-out wreaked absolute havoc on my mental health in ways I'm still trying to unpack.

Even when I was a toddler, my parents would be yelling at my brother for something and I'D be the one to start crying for no reason. Honestly thinking back I think I felt a LOT more anxiety focused on my parents and general household conflict than my peers seemed to. It always amazed me how other people could just...not feel abject terror at the thought of your parents angry and yelling at you. It's only now occurring to me as I explore the possibility of ASD that these extreme emotional responses probably weren't normal to the extent that I felt.

Anyway, around high school I first started struggling (or consciously struggling anyway) with mental health, mostly just garden variety depression and anxiety, or so I thought at the time. It's a bit silly in retrospect, but it took another 10 or 15 years before I would start to seriously consider whether I was neurodivergent in some way as well. Despite the strong genetic links I never seriously considered the possibility that I might have ADHD as well, mostly on the basis of how I tended to see myself as the polar opposite of my disorganized, often-dysregulated father and brother.

Even as we've gotten older, my brother has pointed out numerous qualities that fit the bill for ADHD, but I'd never really given it any serious consideration until I started looking more closely at the Inattentive subtype, which is me to a tee. The fact that my family has dubbed me 'the absent minded professor' since about age 6 should probably have been more of a tip-off there. Speaking of the stereotypical 'little professor', I've also begun to seriously question the possibility of ASD as well, and the various AuDHD testimonies I've been reading have been making a ridiculous amount of sense to me vis a vis my own life experiences, and my relationship with my family's ADHD.

Like I mentioned, the impulsive, structure-resistent aspects of my family's Impulsive ADHD was always part of what aggravated me the most; my brain craved routine and structure and knowing what was going to happen. I operate on plans and schedules and it was tremendously aggravating and anxiety-inducing for me constantly having to revise and adjust my own mental plans to accommodate for whatever meltdown was occurring in the house that day. That structured, routine-oriented part of my brain is definitely part of what got me looking into ASD

Between the two of them, my father and brother's personalities are like a gaseous state of matter; they expand to consume any free space, attention and emotional bandwidth available in the room. After enough times being talked over, screamed down or lashed out at for trying to help and offer some insight, I eventually caught on that trying to mediate these conflicts and come to some compromise or happy meeting was a pointless endeavour. At some point I think I just kind of stopped trying to fight for any attention at all and just kept my head down and mouth shut during dinner. Most of the time I'd just hide away in my room with internet friends or out around the neighborhood if I was particularly fed up with it. Thinking back, it seems like most of life in our household back then revolved around managing my brother's ADHD as he made it through high school.

My mother took on the lion's share of the work here, being perhaps the only neurotypical one in the house. My father, despite being a teacher and quite intelligent, is also very set in his ways and not particularly interested in making any changes to manage his ADHD, having only discovered it late in life. Pair this with his tendency to butt heads with my brother, and that was a volatile mixture at the best of times, him trying to corral my brother into doing math homework? Instant disaster. So obviously, my mother stepped in there.

At this point I was pretty much left to my own devices 99% of the time. Of course I was still absolutely miserable and struggling with depression and anxiety at the time, but I didn't even know how to go about talking about that, much less have the confidence and self-assurance to bring it up to my parents. Keeping in mind also this is probably 15 years ago now in an isolated part of rural Canada. Awareness and discussion of mental health issues was far less prevalent then than it is today, and that absolutely affected my ability to broach these difficult topics as an angsty teenager who was already beginning to feel neglected.

Compared to the seemingly cataclysmic screaming-matches erupting every other night, none of my problems seemed important enough to bother with. Especially given that my family was already so preoccupied dealing with my brother's mental health issues. After a while of this, it sank in pretty quick and I internalized the idea that nobody was going to help me with those feelings and that as far as dealing with my emotional shit, I was basically on my own.

This has already gotten WAY longer than I ever intended it to be so I'm gonna cut it here. Gods help whatever poor soul chooses to read this mess. I started out meaning to make some relevant commentary on TCOAL from my own experiences, but I think accidentally did the reverse

I like to imagine Ms Graves "Andrew was such an easy kid" is like, specifically referring to little boy Andrew who was nonverbal, made absolutely zero noise, communicated nothing, and constantly forgot to eat, and instead just autistically stared at the wall, or tv, for hours at a time without moving

And Ms Graves was so uneducated and dumb at the time that she thought that's how kids were

#the coffin of andy and leyley #tcoaal #andrew graves #mental health #mental illness #trauma #ADHD #ASD #neurodivergent

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millennialzadr · 5 years ago

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THIS SHIT IS NOT A JOKE TO ME

PLEASE STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!

#invader zim #blood #eyestrain #SO THIS WAS INSPIRED BY A DOPEASS EDIT ON IG #LINK IN REPLIES #its not only excellent but also devolves into a total acid trip #and really captures how manic and unhinged zim really is #AND I LOVE IT #I LOVE BALLS TO THE WALL INSANE SHIT #i was also thinking about how viciously zim would react if #he were ever triggered by someone trying to attack him #he is a child soldier who's whole society is notoriously violent #AND he's neurodivergent/defective #which makes it so much harder to handle stress and control his emotions #the theme here is easily and impulsively tearing someone completely apart #both out of rage over being attacked and intense ptsd induced fear #aaaaaaa!! i love unhinged characters so much #and it was about time i drew something edgy #it was SO fun #also pls go follow zimnastic on ig or youtube his edits are the BEST #my art #my post #zim #negative #blood tw

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adivinoperdido · 3 years ago

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Headcanon: Bruno Madrigal is Autistic and has several anxiety disorders (chiefly, OCD).

Preface: let’s just preemptively confront some of the snags that I know will come up in response to this headcanon.

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Myths:

--The autism spectrum is specifically and solely applicable white males in the late 20th and early 21st century. Bruno is “just weird, don’t overthink it.”

--Neurodivergency (developmental disorders like autism and ADHD, personality disorders, PTSD, etc) is “over-diagnosed.”

--OCD is all about being germaphobic and overly cleanly, defines the person who suffers from the disorder, and is comical evidence that the sufferer is just a neurotic “wimp.”

--Bruno is only “weird” because of spending a decade in total isolation surrounded by rodents.

--PTSD, also thrown into the mix here, is only for rape victims and combat veterans.

Social and Scientific Truths:

--Being on the spectrum is possible for anyone, any gender or race, in any time period. The increase in cases in recent decades is the result of better tools and paradigms for understanding neurodiversity, not because of a change in the way children are raised, nor because of vaccines (please gtf off my blog if you believe that. Seriously).

--Being on the spectrum is not a death sentence, nor does it make the person “less human.”

--Having any of the aforementioned disorders is difficult and taxing for the person and for the person’s immediate social circle, but can be lived with, with therapy, compassion, and adaptability.

--OCD, an anxiety disorder, is about having intrusive, often stress-inducing, thoughts or impulses, and controlling your emotional response with rigid, compulsive, often ritualistic behaviors. Sometimes the person comes to believe that the environment must be monitored to remain in a set of specific conditions, to be “safe” from the thing feared. It is not limited to medical fears nor is it evidence of lack of courage or character.

--Autism and OCD are highly comorbid (meaning they often occur together, and symptoms overlap).

--PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) can often aggravate the symptoms of autism and other anxiety disorders. It can occur as the result of any sufficiently extreme or chronic negative event.

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Why do I believe Bruno is autistic and has OCD?

--On OCD: Bruno’s superstition is not just an endearing quirk. It’s the product of a lifetime of possessing a “gift” he never asked for and was repeatedly ordered to access against his will (and we all understand by now why Abuela Alma felt like she “had to” give to the community using her family’s powers, so this isn’t an indictment of her). It’s a way to cope with long-term negative events that felt outside of Bruno’s ability to control.

Examples:

--everything must be where it belongs in his (seemingly chaotic) hidey-hole. He immediately knows where, for instance, the little tableaux vivante telenova sets for the rats are. And he refuses to change his “seat at the table,” creating a painted plate behind the kitchen wall--partly an understandable response from anyone, but also rigid in its parameters. --He is avoidant of situations that make him uncomfortable, to the point that he risks the failure of Mirabel’s mission, because the idea of leaving his controlled and “safe” environment of habit, inside the walls, is too anxiety-inducing. Essentially, he is eliminating variables that could produce results he can’t predict and control (This behavior is comorbid with autism). --He eats the same food for every meal (arepas from Julieta’s kitchen) when he could easily nab anything else in the kitchen that was readily available. (This behavior is comorbid with autism).

-- He keeps his hair the same length, and wears the same ruana, shirt, pants and sandals every day for a decade (this could be in keeping with the Disney aesthetic where everyone has their own signature “costume,” but if you look closely at Bruno’s attire, his ruana is threadbare, falling apart, yet he never takes it off, no matter the weather or social scenario, even after he reunites with the family). (This behavior is comorbid with autism). --He engages in compulsive behaviors to alleviate his (demonstrably real and possible, but not always probable) fears that something awful will result from his prophecies and the act of making others aware of them: throwing salt and sugar over his shoulder, hopping to avoid cracks in the floor, chanting protective incantations, knocking on wooden surfaces a highly prescribed number of times (I think five? But I’d have to double check), holding his breath and crossing his fingers. Interestingly, ritual behaviors like this often take the specific form of the person’s culture and belief systems. In Bruno’s case, latinx and Catholic, undoubtedly with some Colombian folk legends thrown into the mix. --”Magical thinking” (believing in a correspondence between events that is actually coincidental) is a part of severe OCD. Bruno begins to believe, with repeated reinforcement from his family and the townspeople, that his prophecies actually do cause bad things to happen to the people they’re about.

--On Autism: Bruno may seem insensitive but he doesn’t lack empathy (in fact, he might be hyper-empathic, which is common to many people on the spectrum), compassion, or intelligence, and yet, he repeatedly shows difficulty recognizing his own feelings, and expressing those feelings to others. Examples:

--He is extraordinarily awkward with Mirabel ( “you’re very sweaty!” while rescuing her; “bye” the moment they’ve met, telling her she should go but having no valid reason to suggest it). He clearly recognizes social expectations (a mistake people often make is to infantalize people with autism as if they’re as clueless as children, but this is not the case), but has trouble executing them.

-- Closely connected, he has no verbal filtering system or internal monologue. Many fans have pointed out this endearing quirk, and they’re right: it’s likely that most of his “doomful prophecies” are actually just him making insightful but unflattering observations about the obvious probability of everyday events. For instance, the man who gains weight probably eats liberally; the priest was already balding and old; the woman’s goldfish was probably looking sick. Bruno cares about all of these people but also doesn’t reflect on social etiquette or on the sensitive timing of his observations, because it does not naturally occur to him to do so. Put colloquially, he “can’t read a room.”

--He is often highly affected emotionally by ambient "vibes.” He gets quickly overwhelmed in crowds by all the emotions and noise (overstimulation of the five senses is very typical of a person on the autism spectrum) and chooses to place himself on the outskirts of any crowd, even after his positive reconciliation with his family.

--He behaves erratically and unpredictably, but clearly not to cause trouble, so much as out of a hope of pleasing his family by mirroring their neurotypical behaviors (dancing and singing, but at odd and abrupt times, such as in the middle of the song “All of You”). This is an autistic coping mechanism known as “masking.” IN FACT, Bruno’s delight in “acting,” in putting on costumes and using silly voices to make family laugh or smile, is highly indicative that he’s found masking to be a successful way of “fitting in” where he is otherwise awkward, his entire life (”I used to say my real Gift was ‘acting,’” he says, laughing in playful self-deprecation). Yeah, he’s a theater kid, but that might be part of why!

This is by no means a comprehensive list, but I am so pleased to see what I think is a very balanced and successful representation of someone who is neuro-atypical.

#Bruno Madrigal #meta #headcanons #encanto

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ickletheficklepickle · 4 years ago

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Here are My thoughts on tonight’s 911 Fox and 911 Lone Star Below the cut.

First and Foremost- I would like to thank 911 Fox for giving me a break and not giving me an emotional break down in tonight’s episode. I could’ve done without the hearth palpitations and stress pacing-BUT I will choose that over angst. Lone Star decided to choose angst-albeit briefly but they also chose the stress pacing. But we will get into that later. Let me break this down for you. The top three-okay five moments in 911 Fox 1) Athena telling the ex, was he the EX? Anyways telling him, “Shut your mouth and shut your window”. And the man looked so chastised and immediately complied, like “Yes ma’am don’t have to tell me twice.”

2) Mama Athena to Buck, “Don’t even think about it Buck”. I just, I knew she was going to come outta nowhere, I was even like BUCK! Mama Athena will not be happy. I mean, Buck is taking cues from Bobby. So like Father like Son haha. 3) A little Josh Begins AND Josh being a TOTAL BAMF! Looking at him, getting shit done, standing up and mapping out the vicinity in his head. And going back and forth like a boss. Josh MOTHERFUCKING GETTING SHIT DOWN Russo 4) The interrogation scene. For Buck was hilarious. And Taylor’s was just, great in general. Taylor and Buck this episode were both great. I just now would like them to be best friends, where they get into trouble together. 5) Okay, who the hell does Buck think he is, looking so damn good this whole entire episode. Seriously. Like. Wardrobe department you were on your game today. And his hair. Just. The jacket in the beginning he needs to wear that again, the button up he was wearing. And who the fuck just watches TV at home dressed up like that. TELL ME BUCK! One more because I can’t count. And I just thought of this one. And number five doesn’t even count as a moment, more like a entirety of it all. 6) I love when Hen and Athena get together and have life meaningful conversations. I just do. 911 Lone Star SO you have chosen angst. Well the beginning was angst. I really felt bad for Marjan but at the same time, the lady was grieving. She lost her husband, the love of her life. Sometimes when we are grieving, we do impulsive things, reckless things, we lose site of things (Take the Buckely Parents for Example). I think putting Marjan on blast like that, was like “OH no! But you don’t know her” Again, she lost her husband, she that video moments before the rescue, so what else is she supposed to thing. She saw that video before Marjan went down and then the rescue happened and she lost her husband. But it was such a good moment when Marjan was like, “I don’t want anyone to know FireFox was here.” Almost like a character growth moment. So, let’s move on. To the stress inducing, part shall we. I only have one thing to say. Well several things to say. Because I kept repeating it multiple times. OWEN STRAND WHY YOU GOTTA BE AN IDIOT! WHY! OWEN NO! I MEAN, COME ONE OWEN! WHY! CLEARLY YOU SHOULD WORRY BECAUSE HE’S A DUMBASS! I JUST (FACE PALM) WHY YOU GOTTA BRING BILLY INTO THIS! YOU JUST, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?! So, after seeing the Promo. I am so calling it. What if Billy is the arsonist?!? He knew right off the gate that Owen would download the app, because they are almost a lot alike. And he is putting the blame on Owen. Just a theory. I mean, look what happened-for Billy the cancer came back. And here is Owen, in his house telling him about how he just got back from surgery-in regards to his lung cancer. I’m sure Billy is mad.

#911 fox #911 lone star #911 spoilers #911 lone star spoilers #spoilers #ickle excursions #viewing commentary #ickle rants

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alexandraisyes · 5 months ago

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AH SHIT I WAS SO CAUGHT UP IN HATING MONTY I FORGOT THE LAST QUESTION

I like to keep their canon disabilities, so I try to be really conscientious of those when I do head canons but I do have a few. (I see a lot of people hc'ing the ASPD characters with autism and erasing their ASPD to replace it with autism and I get so pissed off like bro tell me you know nothing about ASPD without telling me you know nothing about ASPD. You can't say they're still ASPD if they have autism, that's not how that works. Don't be accidentally ableist guys, I get really fucking tired of seeing it, do your research please, I literally yap about my feel-bad disorder all the time like I AM A RESOURCE YOU CAN REFERENCE)

Anyways, I'll just list em now 😩

Sun: Autism, Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder, GAD, PTSD, Stress-induced hallucinations, Cluttering (Speech Disorder), Astigmatism

Moon: ADHD, Slightly Sociopathic, PTSD, Low-Grade Schizoaffective Disorder, Scopophobia, Nearsighted as FUCK (cannot see without glasses)

Nexus: ADHD, Stress-induced hallucinations, Inferiority Complex, PTSD, Reactive Attachment Disorder

Lunar: ADHD, PTSD, Slighty Narcopathic, Peter Pan Complex, Arthritic Joint Pain + Sensory Numbness (hands and fingers)

Eclipse: ASPD, ADHD, OCD, GAD, Dysthymia, PTSD, Scopophobia, Eisoptrophobia, Phantom Pains

Earth: PTSD, Autism, Social Anxiety Disorder, Mild Pyromania (Impulse Disorder), Severe back pain flare-ups, Caretaker Complex

Ruin: ASPD, ADHD, PTSD, Bipolar Disorder (Type Two), Sadistic Personality Disorder, Chronic Phantom Pain

Solar: Slightly Sociopathic, PTSD, Social Anxiety Disorder, Chronic Pain

Flare: ASPD, ADHD, Purely Obsessive OCD

Killcode: OCD, Hypermobility

Bloodmoon: ADHD, Auditory Processing Disorder, Sadistic Personality Disorder, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, PTSD, Hypermobility

God they're all traumatized

Also y'all could totally send me asks as to why I have some of these this post got long

What was your favourite arc in SAMS? (so far as of July 27)

Top 5 favourite characters, and top 5 most hated characters (at this point all my questions are SAMS related help)

I swear i saw it form you- but i might be mistaken- sooooooo

mental/physical disabilities hc for SAMS characters???

- 💥

Omg it's the aspd anon again hi aspd anon :teehee:

God that's tricky ough ummmm. . . there's so many good ones.

However, considering how much I'm rotting about their relationship lately and the potential for toxic codependency between them that would have started at the beginning, it's currently the Lunar and Eclipse arc. Which, I know, is WAYYYY far back in the lore but they itch my brain so well. I think about them so much lately (the past what two days? lol what is time). So much missed potential for dual-sided reliance, they are supposed to be a mirror of sun and moon after all.

Favorites: Solar Flare (duh), Lunar, Sun, Bloodmoon, and Puppet (I know she's technically MGAFS but shhh)

Least favorites: Monty monty monty monty monty I fucking hate him

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just-a-creep-babe · 5 years ago

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Matchup!

Commissioned by @creepy-carrion, thank youu! I hope you enjoy emh & tt if you give em a shot ;))

Also the nsfw part is a bit short, so I made the sfw longer, hope that’s ok!

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

I match you with: Jay Merrick

Jay’s not the most experienced with relationships tbh

It’s not that he doesn’t want or appreciate them, he just,,,, hasn’t had many

So his life gets 5x harder when he realizes he’s developed The Feels™️ for you

He constantly stumbles over his words, being a big, flustered doofus when he’s trying to hold a normal conversation with you

It’s like he loses control of his mouth and his words and his personality and his actions

And he’s just constantly mentally hitting himself for not being as suave~ as he wishes he could be to woo you

You’re just,, so kind and caring and funny and interesting and really attractive and cute and god how he’d love to hold your hand and kiss your forehead and call you his and

Every time you make him laugh, or give him an understanding/patient nod when he’s fumbling for words, it just makes his chest,, feel really warm?

And he’s filled with this light, bubbly sensation, like he’s on cloud 9, and there’s just something that’s got him fundamentally addicted—hooked on your presence

He loves listening to you talk about your interests tbh

Just hearing how enthusiastic & passionate you are about random shit lets him take his mind off things & makes everything seem alright, yknow?

When you start dating, he becomes even more enamored with your cute lil ramblings

Sometimes he gets a lil freaked out thinking he might be overbearing & clingy, so he tries giving you lots of space to make up for it

Which is when he comes to appreciate your unfiltered honesty the most, since he knows he could just ask if he’s being too much

He still panics a bit about it tho, since he knows you sometimes need to be alone to recharge & he doesn’t wanna be responsible for exhausting you

Boi’s also a bit more on the tentative side when it comes to being verbally affectionate

He sometimes struggles with expressing himself, so he likes giving you lil gifts & trinkets to show how much he loves & appreciates you

As soon as he learns about your adoration for hyenas, he’ll go through hell & back searching for any hyena-related items to give to you

Anything to keep winning over your affection

He’s not really sure why it’s gotta be hyenas in particular they’re so damn hard to find

But he finds it pretty adorable ngl

Like he can’t help but chuckle at the though & he finds himself really really liking hyenas too now cause they remind him of you??

He just loves how your eyes light up with that big grin when he shows you what he got—it makes the whole search for them so very worth it

If he knows he’ll be staying at a certain location for an extended amount of time, he’ll even scour the webs & order online to surprise you

Speaking of, because of his paranoia, he finds it very hard to settle down in one place for too long

So routines aren’t much of an issue

It’s not always hectic, where you constantly have to pack up & move away in fear of being kidnapped or stabbed in your sleep

But there’s certainly enough action to keep you from getting bored

He knows you tend to get anxious from time to time, so he might force himself to stick to certain plans so you know what’s going on & it’s not always a surprise

He tries to do anything he can to reduce anxiety-inducing stuff to a minimum, but that can be a lil hard, considering the situation he’s in and that he’s dragged you along in whoops

But again, words aren’t his forte, so he’s more the type to wrap you in a blanket with snacks & some random geek movie to cuddle to when things get too much

Honestly, anything you need, he’ll give to you

Hates seeing you upset—you’re his ball of sunshine; he wants to keep you bright & happy

The insomnia means he’s also addicted to coffee

And while he’s perfectly fine with the cheap nasty kind, he goes out of his way to get that good stuff 👌just for you to enjoy

He’s always careful to bring along plenty of paper & writing/drawing supplies because whenever he’s stressed, watching you draw and write helps relieve his nerves

He’s tried giving art a shot a couple of times but it’s really not his calling, so he just likes watching you instead

Also Jay says fuck gender roles so he’ll never ask you to be more feminine

As long as you’re alright with him not performing up to hyper masculinity, it’s all a-okay 👌

He’s pretty impulsive & prolly falls somewhere on the adhd/add spectrum (or maybe it’s mild autism?) so the two of you keep really good vibes together

There’s that mutual understanding and desire to help through rough patches, yknow?

Y’all could either be an insanely scary hyper focused duo or a totally chaotic dummy duo

He really appreciates your input so fucking much when it comes to dealing with #lyfe, you have no idea

Even when you have arguments just because of general tensions with the situation, he’s usually p good at reaching out & apologizing when all is said and done

He just doesn’t wanna lose you ;-;

Your his light in the darkness tbh, and he often wonder where he’d be without you probably dead lol

NSFW

Oh boy

So as I’ve mentioned, he’s not very experienced with this kind of stuff

So he would definitely need you to take initiative at first

Once he gets more comfortable with intimacy, only then does he eventually gain the confidence to take over

He’s really not much of a dom, but he honestly can’t deny how excited he gets when you moan so submissively beneath him

It encourages him to move his hips faster into yours, holding your hands above your head while he buries his face into the crook of your neck

Honestly, even if he sometimes isn’t sure what to do when domming, he really likes seeing you so obedient at the whim of his command

He does develop a taste for it, but he sometimes still enjoys it when you take more of a power bottom-kinda role

He’s a pretty Soft Boy™️ so he leans more on he lovemaking side of things instead of no-strings-attached kind of fucking

But every now & then, his frustrations about the Operator reach a peak and he gets really aggressive and controlling

Either way, his aftercare is 👌👌

He’ll wanna know how he did & if you enjoyed yourself, all the way wrapping his arms around you and cuddling or sometimes asking to be the little spoon

He’s pretty gentle with his touches & likes lavishing you with plenty of kissies, his hands nearly worshiping your form as he goes along

He loves hearing you praise him while he works into you tbh

He’s pretty vanilla ngl, but is willing to try a couple of things out if you’d like

He has cameras everywhere, so it’s highly possible he’s accidentally left one on while the two of you were having your fun & now he’s unintentionally got a sex tape??

He’d wanna keep it & rewatch it

But he’d honestly feel too bad about it & he’d have to come clean

Doesn’t have the highest sex drive, but cuddles are pretty much always in high demand

He feels the safest when he’s with you, and if anything were to happen to you, he’d go to the ends of the earth to bring you back uwu

#slenderverse #marble hornets #jay merrick #matchup #marble hornets matchup #mh #mh jay merrick #slenderverse smut #smut #lemon #commissions #fanfic commission #writing commission

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lavendersoft · 5 years ago

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Until I met you.

-Street fighter!Jimin x Reader

1/?

Synopsis: While on a date for their 2nd anniversary, Jimin loses Yoongi while being attacked in an alleyway by a robber. Yoongi sacrificed himself for his lover and Jimin could never forgive himself for not being able to do the same. The survivor’s guilt ate away at him over the months and it definitely didn’t help that he saw Yoongi’s face everywhere. In mirrors, dreams, large crowds, on trains, and even when he closed his eyes. Although, Jimin found a way to cope. He began a rigorous training schedule. Boxing, self-defense classes, Tae Kwon Do, he even started street fighting and got caught up with bad people. Anything and everything. His hands would bleed, his muscles would ache, his bones would break. Jimin was offered multiple full scholarships to prestigious martial arts schools for his talent, all of which Jimin turned down. He didn’t want to make a career out of this, he just didn’t want to be haunted by his dead fiancé. The only time Yoongi won’t haunt every moment of Jimin’s life was when he’s training, as if Yoongi is saying “I won’t rest, nor will I let you rest, until you’re stronger.” Jimin will never lose anyone that he loves again.

Everything felt like a downward spiral,

until he met you.

Warnings: (There’s a lot- and it’s kinda dark, be warned) PTSD, implied schizophrenia (sorta? take that with a grain of salt), PTSD induced delusions/hallucinations, depression, paranoia, night terrors, character death, major angst, unhealthy coping mechanisms, masochism(?), alcoholism, minor gore, mention of drug abuse, mention of blood, mention of asylums, profanity, Jimin goes through one hell of a mental breakdown.

Author’s notes: super slow burn :/ basically, in which jimin copes with the traumatic incident of his fiancé’s brutal murder by street fighting. this story isn’t yandere but has dark themes.

The air was lifted right out of Jimin’s lungs. Tears were flowing freely, his hands were stained red, he couldn’t even see the golden engagement ring through the thick blood. He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own sobs and heartbreak.

“Please... please stay awake. They’re coming, okay? Help’s coming. Just look at me. Look at me, please.”

He’d remembered somewhere that you were supposed to put pressure on wounds this big to stop the bleeding. If only his hands could stop shaking.

Yoongi had stopped responding about two minutes prior to this but Jimin refused to accept his fate. His last words replaying in Jimin’s mind like a mantra.

“Survive. Please, live. I love you.”

Two wallets.

Two fucking wallets with about 150,000 won split between them.

That’s how much his fiancé was murdered for.

Jimin jerks awake in a cold sweat. His bruised fist clamped around his bedsheets, heart rate much higher than it should be. He rises out of the creaking bed to stretch his overly tense muscles.

He can still feel the weight of his deceased boyfriend’s limp body in his arms.

Every day starts like this.

Every morning he’s pulled from the same reoccurring nightmare, then he starts his cold shower.

He can’t even take warm showers anymore, remembering how hot Yoongi insisted on keeping the water temperature when they showered together.

It’s been nine months.

Nine months, two weeks and four days since he lost the love of his life forever.

He hasn’t even taken off the engagement ring. It’s as if it’s glued to his finger now, his hand feels empty without it.

Jimin avoids looking in the mirror at all costs. In fact, he’s gotten rid of most of them in his home. The ones he couldn’t get rid of, he smashed with his bare hands in a fit of rage. The scars on his hands are proof.

How could he look at himself knowing how weak he was?

He scoffs.

Back then... how could I bare to tolerate myself back then? I was so flimsy and weak. Could barely open a fucking jar by myself. Absolutely pathetic.

Jimin’s heart has gotten callous. He is easily provoked and irrational. The takes unnecessary risks and is impulsive.

His therapist said it was “self-sabotage” or something.

Just two weeks ago, Jimin bleached his hair a striking blond, almost white- which burned most of his scalp- just because. And before that, on the nine-month anniversary of his lover’s passing, he went to get a tattoo on a whim. Just because he felt like it. He drinks alcohol for breakfast and has recently taken up smoking. The smell of cigarettes remind him of Yoongi, who also used to smoke.

Jimin liked pain. It was invigorating. He likes feeling things. Feeling has become a rarity, a privilege, a novelty.

Although irritable and easily angered, Jimin is not an unkind person. He gives to charity and volunteers at animal shelters. These things have also made him feel again, because he can feel Yoongi there, the real Yoongi. Yoongi was a huge advocate for human kindness. He used to say it was never justifiable to be a hateful person for no reason at all.

Jimin clings to this principal.

But it’s hard. It’s so hard to act happy when he’s so broken inside. He almost wishes he could just-

“Don’t you dare use me as an excuse to be a miserable person.” Yoongi’s voice rings out from behind him. Jimin screws his eyes shut and covers his ears.

“Go away.”

This person- this being- wasn’t Yoongi, that much he knew. If anything, it was a demon. A poltergeist that feeds off Jimin’s suffering. Yoongi would never do that.

This is why everyone around Jimin thinks he’s the sweetest, loveliest, most endearing man they’ve ever met. If only they knew about the unyielding hellfire that burns his very core.

“Good morning, Mrs. Jeon!” Jimin’s sweet voice cuts through the morning air.

He was on his way to his best friend Jungkook’s house to meet before Tae Kwon Do training. The Jeon family owns a martial arts studio and they’ve been training together for months now.

“Oh, good morning Jimin! How are you today?” The nice woman is always so cheerful, Jimin respects that.

“I’m wonderful, thank you. Have you heard from Jungkook? He’s supposed to meet me here.” Jimin hurry’s to catch up with the woman in front of him and takes her groceries off of her arms to carry.

“Yes, actually. He was running a tad late this morning since his class ended late. He should be here soon. Would you mind bringing those up for me?” She gestured to the apartment right above the studio, where the family lives.

“Not at all.”

When Jungkook finally arrives, he brings with him thirty-two excuses as to why he was late.

“I lost my phone.”

“My car ran out of gas.”

“My girlfriend broke up with me.”

Jimin chuckles as he suits up his training gear.

“Dude, if all of those things are true, you really need to get your life together.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Jimin’s heart stops when the cold, low growl sounds from behind him again.

“You’re far from qualified to be giving life advice.”

Jimin hides his frown when the oblivious Jungkook punches him on the shoulder playfully.

“Haha! Shut up, dude! Let’s go.” He chides, padding off to the ring.

Jimin’s falters a bit behind, throwing a quick but cautious glance at the bloody image of Yoongi that glares back at him.

“Pathetic.”

“Seriously, dude! You’re way too talented at this to not make some money off of it.”

Jungkook’s been trying to get Jimin to take the scholarship he was offered by a scout that visited their studio not too long ago.

“I don’t know, man. This was just supposed to be a hobby remember?”

Jimin knew better. This was much more than a hobby. It was his anchor. It was his stress reliever. It was keeping him sane.

“Come on. We both know better than that. I see the way your face changes to stone when you fight. You have something. Something real. You could make it in the business!”

“You sound like a mafia boss.”

Jimin smiles as he eats the last of his ramen.

“Ya. I’m serious. If not a professional fighter then at least a coach. I mean, I’m doing it because I wanna be a cop but,” Jungkook sips from his energy drink. “Do you really just want to be a dancer?”

Jimin sighs. Yes. That was his dream before everything happened. He still clings to the idea. Before nine months ago, the idea had seemed just within reach. He’d applied for so many dance and art schools, even getting into a couple.

But after everything, he’d given up. He stopped dancing. He hates music. Even if he tried, his skills wouldn’t be anywhere near the place they were.

He’d totally abandoned his dream.

“Yes. I do.” He lies.

Jungkook shrugs, “Well, if anything, it’s made you a better fighter. Your moves are so fluid, it’s amazing.”

“Careful, you’re getting a crush.” Jimin jabs at him with a chopstick.

“Ugh. Please,” the younger rolls his eyes, “like I could ever. Plus, my girlfriend probably wouldn’t like that very much.”

“Oh? I thought you two ‘broke up’, no?”

“Nah. I love her too much.” Jimin finds it cute that Jungkook actually loves his girlfriend. Before, he was a player, only using girls for sex or free food.

“Don’t use girls like toys, Jungkook.” Yoongi would always keep Jungkook in place when he broke another heart.

“Well, this ones on you. Since you lost. Again.” Jimin’s giggle makes Jungkook pout.

“One of these days, I’m gonna beat you, Park Jimin.” Jungkook pouts.

“One of these days.” Jimin reiterates.

Jimin says goodbye to his friend and pushes through the restaurant door. He misses the worried look Jungkook gives him when he turns his back.

The raindrops hit the top of the hood of Jimin’s jacket as he walks down the busy street. He hates being too alone these days. Jungkook really helps keep Jimin grounded, he’s one of the only people that don’t totally annoy him now. He reminds Jimin of all the times Yoongi, Jungkook, Tae, Namjoon, Jin, Hoseok, and himself would hang out as teens and young adults. Just fooling around without any worry. No cares or responsibilities, young love, parties. That was their lives.

Until nine months ago.

The grief of losing one of the group was detrimental. It seemed like no one was recovering properly, except maybe Jungkook. That’s why Jimin cohered himself to Jungkook, he seemed to be the most stable out of them all.

Namjoon and Tae both landed themselves in jail on multiple occasions for a plethora of reasons.

Hoseok checked himself into a mental asylum for a while. Last Jimin heard, he was abusing drugs of some sort.

And Jin moved across the country, said he wanted to start fresh. But really, he was just doing what Jin did best- running away.

None of them kept contact, except for Jungkook.

The entire carefree, wild group of friends had dissipated into nothing.

He feels his eyebrows furrow into a stern look.

They all left.

“They all left you.” His jaw clenches at the familiar, yet slightly inhuman voice. “They never cared about you. And Jungkook will leave you one day, too. No one is forever.”

Jimin’s turns down an alleyway and stops about halfway through, tears gathered in his eyes.

“No one is forever, but at least they keep moving forward. You’re just stuck.”

Yeah, Jimin truly hates being alone.

The not-so-subtle red neon sign flickers with the bright name of the “club.”

The large metal door makes a shallow sound when Jimin’s taps on it three times. A man wearing all black with sunglasses answers, “Passwo- oh, Jimin-ah. Come on in.”

Jimin nods once to the tall bodyguard as he passes him. The man towers over Jimin in height but the energy around the two doesn’t match. The man takes a small, nervous step back when Jimin starts forward.

Jimin hates how skittish everyone is in this little hole in the wall.

The biggest underground fighting ring in Korea was right next door to Jimin’s apartment, who would have thought. How convenient.

Heads bow as he passes. No one makes eye contact. Some mumble respectful greetings while putting honorifics next to his name, no matter what age or status they have.

He’s basically a king here.

But he doesn’t want the throne.

Jimin’s peers into the crowd and sure enough, sights his dead lover. He just wants this damn demon to leave him alone.

Yoongi never bothers him while he’s fighting or training. It’s like he goes dormant or something. That’s why Jimin keeps doing it. Well, that and because he wants to be strong. Stronger than he’s ever been.

And he is. He’s undefeated in this hellhole. He sort of blanks out when he fights anyone that’s not Jungkook. That’s how he earned the appropriate nickname “Demon”, for good reason. He’s heard from others that’s he’s terrifying when he’s in the ring. Although no one but his manager and couple other higher-ups dare to call him that, and he barely even tolerates that.

The last newcomer that called him that learned through a crushed windpipe to not.

He only does this to pay the bills. Everyone here knows that. It pisses some people off. For some, this was their entire life, what they were raised to do. Born to be fighting machines.

So, naturally, some don’t like Jimin. Especially those who he’s fought and won against. But Jimin couldn’t care less about what these people think about him.

“Manager-nim,” Jimin addresses an older man, somewhere in his forties, “I need you to schedule another Gold for me.”

See, the underground business is one built on ranking.

In the underground street fighting business, fights were categorized by prize earning and rank of the fighters. Gold rank fights could only be scheduled by- and usually for- the highest members, the Elites. The grand prize for a win was seven hundred million won. Only the greatest of the greatest won the prize and thus, earning an elite status (if not an elite already).

Jimin’s won it twice.

“Ya, getting pretty greedy now, are we? You just won it a couple months ago, Kid. Where’d that money go?”

“It’s gone.”

The suited man scoffs, “You need a better budgeting plan, Demon.” Jimin fights the urge to uppercut him.

“Can you do it or not?” Jimin’s patience is already wearing thin and he’s been here for a whole five minutes.

“You know, contrary to what you might believe, I’m not a money machine. The money you win when you fight comes from somewhere. Not only that, I’m not the only Elite that gets to decide. We take a vote.”

“Well vote.”

“Aish.” He growls, “You’re something else. People here are gonna start to think I favor you, and that’s dangerous for the both of us.” He pauses to look Jimin in the eyes, “You know, you have all of the qualifications to make the Elite status. Why don't you do the initiation-”

“Let me know when you have an answer.” Jimin’s made his feelings on the subject clear already. He has no intention of making this a permanent thing. This isn't a lifestyle, this isn't his job. It’s just a way to relieve his stress and make some cash.

With that, Jimin takes his leave, disappearing into the same direction from which he came. He’s truly a mysterious phenomenon.

Jungkook: hey do u wanna meet me and Jiyoo tonight for dinner?

Jimin peers down at his phone in confusion.

Jimin: uh third-wheeling really isn’t my thing lol

Jungkook: no, no we have someone we want you to meet. she’s Jiyoo’s sister and she’s just come home from college.

Jimin groans. This isn’t the first time Jungkook’s tried to set him up since Yoongi passed. He appreciates the sentiment but Jimin doesn’t think he’ll ever love someone like that again. It’s too much to ask for.

Jimin: idk man i’m pretty tired from training today. i think i’m gonna pass.

Jungkook: pretty please?

Ugh.

Jimin shoves a pillow over his face in frustration. He’s never been able to tell the kid no. And besides that- Jimin can feel the beady eyes of the shadowy figure in the corner. No, he doesn’t really want to stay here.

Jimin: fine.

—

The restaurant is filled with all sorts of people. From children to the elderly. Jimin gazes from person to person trying to decipher what kind of person they are. He tries to hinder the negative thoughts from entering his mind about them.

Jungkook’s always late. Always. When Jungkook says “5:30” he really means “6:00.” You’d think after almost a decade of knowing the kid, Jimin would learn.

He fidgets with the sleeves of his sweater. Why was he so nervous all of a sudden? Was it because these blind dates never end well? He thinks back to the last blind date Jungkook had set him up with.

Jimin shudders.

He can still hear the innocent girl’s cries as she fled his apartment, heartbroken.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as an arm slings around his shoulder, “Hey, man.”

Jungkook’s bright smile beams at him.

“Hey. Hi, Jiyoo.” He greets the couple as they take their seats.

“Hey, Jiminie.” Jungkook’s girlfriend was super cute, he’ll give her that.

“So..?” He’s confused time see that they came alone.

“Oh, she’s coming. My little sister is always a little late.”

Later than you both?

Jimin stops himself from the bitterness that threatens to erupt again. Not tonight. He’s going to try to be on his best behavior for his friend’s sake.

He’ll save all those pent up emotions for the fight he has scheduled tomorrow.

He vaguely registers the figure that makes its way into his peripheral vision, although he pays it no mind at first.

“Oh, Y/n! It’s good to see you again.” Jungkook seems a bit overly excited. What’s all the fuss about? It’s not like-

Oh.

Okay, so she’s, like, really pretty. So what?

“Hi, Jungkook. Nice to see you. Jiyoo!” The girl walks over to embrace her sister tightly, “Oh my God, it feels like it’s been forever.”

After they take their greetings, the woman sits down across from Jimin.

“Hello, you must be Jimin. Jungkook’s told me so much about you. I’m Y/n.”

Okay, so she has the voice of an angel, big deal.

“Um, hi- yeah, I’m Jimin.” He reaches out to take the hand she offers.

“So, Y/n’s a dancer,” Jungkook starts when the food is placed in front of them, “and she’s really good.”

“Not that good.” She blushes.

“Don’t be modest, Y/n. She’s going to a really prestigious dance school on a full scholarship!” Her sister beams.

“Oh? Which one?” Jimin presses. It’s not like he’s interested or anything. Definitely not.

“Global. Global Dance Studio.” She answers.

“Ah. I heard they were good.” Jimin knows more than he let on. That was literally his dream school.

“Yeah, but strict. The training is brutal.” She emphasizes. He knows, he had to go through the same treatment. He hates that he feels a pang of jealousy and resentment towards this person he’s just met.

“I’ve heard.” He finishes as he takes the first bite of his food.

The rest of the hour-long dinner was pretty boring, with Jiyoo and Jungkook mostly taking ahold of the conversation. Although, Jimin will admit that he couldn’t stop glancing back at the beautiful girl across from him.

And he won’t pretend that he didn’t notice her treating him the same.

He was charming and kind, as usual, but he remained on the quiet side of the conversation. Jimin knew that Jungkook could tell he wasn’t being quite as flirty as he usually is with setups like this, from the way that the younger kept trying to tie Jimin in the chit chat.

Jimin stays subtle for the rest of the date.

When the group says their goodbyes, his eyes linger on hers for longer than the rest.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/n.”

“Likewise.” She grins and Jimin feels his heart stop.

And then he leaves. Really, really fast.

That’s not good.

—

#Until I Met You #bts fanfiction #bts #park jimin #min yoongi #yoonmin #jeon jungkook #park jimin fanfic #park jimin fanfiction #jimin x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfic #jimin #yoongi #jungkook #street fighter! jimin

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bennyboyjones · 5 years ago

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The Getaway (Ben Hardy FanFic) Chapter 2

A/N: Hi! So, here is chapter two to my Ben Hardy AU Fanfic! There are currently several chapters written, which you can find on Wattpad, but I’ve decided to also upload it here as well. It might be a bit behind, but you’ll still get all the chaps eventually.

What it is: basically, a girl from a small town who is bored of her life decides to take a trip to Nice where she runs into ben, who is also running away from some shit and some romance ensues.

Word count: 4.7k

in this chapter: our main lady meets ben

WATTPAD LINK IF YOU WANT TO READ AHEAD

Spotify playlist

In case you missed it: MASTERLIST

here we go:

day one

My limbs felt heavier than the luggage I was pulling behind me as I trudged through the small airport, following the signs to the buses. I was a lot more relaxed now that I was here and knew what I needed to do and where to go.

When I stepped out of the airport and into the warm sun, I was greeted by the familiar sign: NICE, in huge red letters, stacked on top of one another a few feet away from where I was standing. I let out a sigh of relief and turned to my right, where there was a tiny ticket booth with a woman in a red cap behind the glass.

“Bonjour! Can I have two tickets for bus number seven? To Nice. Please?” I held my phone screen up to the window, knowing that this worked better last time instead of stammering for five minutes, trying to tell her where exactly I was going. She nodded her head while telling me the total. I handed over €10 and took my tickets, shoving one into my wallet and the other into my pocket. “Merci.” Admittedly, I didn’t know much French—barely any at all—but I had tried my best to learn the absolute basics in the three weeks before coming here, something I wish I had done the first time around. I knew how to ask for a cappuccino, how much something was, where the bathroom was, how to ask for several pastries, and more polite phrases such as “how are you” and “have a nice day”.

I stretched my arms out and shook them, then tied my hair into a messy bun before grabbing the handles of my luggage and walking over to the waiting area for my bus. The only other people waiting for bus #7 was a couple, probably mid-fifties, who were acting like they were on their honeymoon. I stood a few feet away from them, sat on my bigger suitcase and pulled out my phone to send a quick text to my mom letting her know I was alive.

I kept the bus route pulled up on my phone, with all the stops that would come before mine, and gripped it tightly in my hands while my eyes scanned the time table for the buses behind me. It was 12:30 now and the next bus wouldn’t come for another thirty-minutes. No one from home was awake at this hour so I had no one to talk to but I hadn’t been on social media for a while and so I turned on my data, opened up Instagram and started scrolling.

I had several direct messages, all from Liam. I rolled my eyes and opened them; every message was full of drunk ramblings: him telling me he didn’t need me, wouldn’t miss me, I was the one losing something, not him, I was making a mistake, but he still loved me and would be willing to forgive me and it went on and on for another ten messages. On impulse, I clicked on his profile and blocked him completely. I planned on posting about my trip, about the fun I planned on having and I didn’t need him storming into my direct messages every time I did so, or texting me his opinions, or commenting on any of it. Whatever we had wasn’t worth the stress anymore.

After exactly thirty-six minutes of mindless scrolling, my bus pulled up and I was the first one on. I smiled at the driver as I handed over my ticket and took a seat in the front row, right next to the doors. Last time, I got on this exact bus and when my stop came I pressed the red button but the bus never stopped and I was stuck walking forty-five minutes back the way the bus had come. That was not happening again.

I sat at the edge of my seat, holding onto my stuff so it wouldn’t roll around the bus as the driver took fast and tight turns, my body rocking back and forth with every one. My phone was in my lap and my eyes darted from the small screen that showed the stops, to the window as I watched stop after stop whizz past me.

I wrapped my legs around one of my suitcases to hold it in place and lifted my hand, poising my thumb over the red button, getting ready to push it. The second Gare de Nice Ville was announced by the lady with the mechanical voice, I slammed my thumb down on the button—twice, but the driver didn’t slow down and I could see the stop coming up through the window. There was another ding as the couple also pushed the button, panic in their eyes. I couldn’t believe that this was about to happen again. I stood up and slammed the red button three more times, the panic rising in my throat. I could feel that I was going to cry, really cry, because I was tired, and anxious, and fucking frustrated that this was happening a second time and I couldn’t understand it.

“Excuse me?” I called as I took a few steps forward in the direction of the driver. The couple was still pressing the button as my stop whipped past the window. “Excusez-moi!” I raised my voice and the driver finally turned his head to look once we were at a stop light. I didn’t know how to say, “you made me miss my stop, dickhead” in French so I settled for looking angry, raising my eyebrows and pointing to my thumb on the red button, which had not stopped pushing on it since he passed the stop. The driver didn’t say anything; he simply nodded, turned back towards the road and started driving again. I refused to sit down and stared at the back of his bald head, taking slow deep breaths in and out, afraid of losing what little composure I had left on this fucking bus.

At the next stop, he let me off and I had no idea where I was. It looked like a pavilion with a fountain in the center of the patio, shops and cafes situated around it. People were outside sipping from coffee cups and laughing, families strolling in and out of the small shops and I stood there watching it all—the people, the water shooting up from the large fountain—and felt myself take a huge breath. As frustrated and tired as I was, I was happy because I was here again. I could feel the sun beating down on my forehead, the warmth causing goosebumps up my arms before a light breeze rolled through the loose strands of my hair, fluttering my blazer behind me.

I took that moment to remind myself that I was safe, that a short walk wouldn’t kill me and that I was in fucking France for God’s sake and I shouldn’t let a bus driver’s lack of brain cells drive me to hysterics. I was never good with dealing with stress that wasn’t of my own creation; as in, I worked really well under pressure and often procrastinated projects or school work in order to induce said pressure, but when my stress came at the hands of the universe or of other people, I always nearly combusted or cried.

After pulling up Google Maps (again) and mapping out my route (a whole twenty minute walk), I pulled off my blazer and shoved it into my duffel and started on my way.

When I finally found the AirBnb I was way past out of breath and sweaty, so, so sweaty and my arms felt like they were going to fall off. I looked around at the shops next to it, Hermes and small bakery and already knew I made the right choice. I punched in the code the host had emailed me the day before and walked in. The small lobby was all beautifully tiles in blue and cream. Thankfully, there was an elevator straight across from the entry way and I wouldn’t have to figure out how to get all my stuff up three flights of stairs. I stopped in front of the wall of mail boxes to the left of the elevator and searched for mailbox #2B. It was left slightly open, just as the host said, and I reached in and pulled out the small key. I hit the “up” button of the elevator and waited until the door unlocked before opening it and stepping inside the tiny elevator. It was a short trip up and once the door unlocked again, I stepped out into the narrow hall. The apartment was the first one on the right and when I opened the door, I was happy to see it looked just as it did online.

It was a studio, with clean white walls and minimal furniture, all natural wood. There were a few pendant lights hanging from the ceiling every few feet; the full size bed was directly to the left of the door, a door leading to the small balcony directly across from the front door, on the left wall there was a small clothing rack and a book case filled with what looked like super old novels. I pulled off my duffel bag and purse, let my luggage tip over onto the floor, kicked my sneakers off and walked towards the balcony doors. Next to the doors, in a little alcove, was a very small kitchen with just a countertop, a toaster, a small stovetop, and a relatively small fridge; right off the small kitchen was the bathroom with a standing shower, toilet and washing machine.

The first thing I did was shower; airplanes and airports have an uncanny ability to make a person feel dirty and in-between that and my stress sweating I knew I smelled.

Once I was clean, I helped myself to a coffee in the kitchen and stepped out onto the balcony. I shouldn’t have been out there in a towel; there were other people out on their balconies and I was only on the third floor, not very high up and it was midday. I was sure at least some people could see me, but I didn’t care as much as I should’ve. This particular moment fit right in with my romanticization of this trip and so I was going to see it through. I stood there for a long while, sipping the coffee (because it was black as there was no milk in the fridge), leaning against the cool metal railing whose light green paint was slowly chipping, my hair being lightly dried by the small breeze that passed every few moments.

Later on, after I unpacked my luggage and managed to locate an iron, I started getting ready to go out. I curled my hair into waves before slipping on a loose, long sleeved, low-cut, white linen top and a pair of light blue cigarette trousers. In the spirit of the French, I stuck with minimal makeup, just some mascara and a bright red lip. Once I was ready, I grabbed my phone off the charger, my purse, and one of the disposables and slipped on my tan leather mules.

I walked straight ahead to the Promenade de Anglais so I could walk up and down along the water. This was my favorite thing I did the last time I was here. My first night, I walked back and forth for three hours just enjoying the chill of the wind blowing off the sea, keeping my scarf wrapped tightly around my neck with my hands deep in my pockets (it was mid-January). This evening, the feeling was so different but still so familiar. I remembered walking this exact path, passing benches, kids on skateboards, people sitting on the ledge before the promenade dropped into the beach, couples walking along the beach, the restaurants nestled on rocks, the wind traveling through my hair, the salty smell—but I wouldn’t be able to get that first time back. The feeling I had was no longer accessible and active; instead, it lived in nostalgia and imagination.

I wrote about that first time a lot; my journal was filled with poem after poem about the water, the promenade, the sounds of the waves crashing and the voices of people mingling, how I felt like such an outsider but at the same time so welcomed—how I felt so much like myself in a way I had never experienced before. Ever since then, I’ve been chasing her, the girl I was when I was here. Back in New York, I wasn’t the same and I felt as if I was always itchy in my own skin; it didn’t always feel right—the way I acted, spoke, dressed, cared about both others and myself. I wanted to get her back and I was so convinced that coming here would help me find her.

After about an hour or aimless walking I decided to take a seat on one of the many benches on the promenade that faced the beach. It was getting cooler out now, the faint breeze picking up and passing by more frequently.

I watched as a young couple ran around the rocky beach, playfully chasing one another, their mouths opened in what I imagined was laughter, but their voices were drowned out by the sound of the light blue waves coming down on the rocks. There was a longing that formed in my chest; a feeling that I was growing more and more familiar with the past year. It bloomed often, when I saw two people who looked so in love, a girl my age experiencing success, my friends running off to internships and career opportunities, families that were whole.

I pulled out the disposable and snapped a picture of them; him behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, her feet of the floor, hair blowing around like a halo, her eyes shut tight and mouth open in glee, and his head buried in her hair.

I cleared my throat, forcing the longing back down and put the camera away, exchanging it for one of my favorite books, The Bell Jar. My copy was slightly tattered and every page was covered in notes. I really needed a new one, but there was comfort in reading this same copy over and over, rereading the thoughts of an old self.

I was softly reading my book aloud when my stomach growled so loud I checked around me to see if anyone else had heard it.

I hadn’t eaten since the plane, but I also hadn’t been hungry since then because the time difference was messing with my body’s time clock. My eating schedule and sleeping schedule were going to be a bit off for the next few days until I got better adjusted. I checked the time and saw I had around thirty minutes until most of the restaurants opened for dinner service and decided to roam into the winding roads in search of somewhere to eat.

As I walked away from the sea, I kept my eyes trained upwards, locked on the buildings I passed; taking notice of the pale pinks, yellows, and oranges they were painted, the iron window sills and balconies, the soft blues and greens of their window shutters. My eyes roamed over flower shops and bakeries getting ready to close, cafes still packed with people sipping from tiny cups, cigarette smoke floating between them. Every few feet I stopped to skim a menu plastered to the outside of a restaurant, making a mental note when I could read it and found several things I liked and taking a picture of the name with my phone when the whole menu was in French so I could go back to it later.

I stopped at a small stand to buy a post card to send to my mom and brothers; “Merci,” I said as I took my change, postcard and stamp from the large man’s hand. I turned around with my head down and my shoulder hit into something hard.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I shook my head and repeated myself, “Je suis désolé.”

“Oh my god, hey!”

I squeezed my eyes shut before slowly raising my head, painting on a smile and looking at the man in front of me. I was sure the universe was out to get me; I knew Nice was small, but what were the odds of running into enthusiastic Eric—they had to be miniscule.

“Hi.”

“I can’t believe I’m running into you! This is crazy. It really is a small world, isn’t it?” He smiled and ran a hands through his thin hair.

“It must be,” I muttered.

“I know I gave you my number but are you busy right now? Are you hungry? Would you want to grab a bite?”

“Actually,” I hiked my bag further up onto my shoulder and pointed towards the entrance of a restaurant behind him, “I actually have dinner plans. I’m meeting a friend and she’s expecting me any minute.”

His smile faltered slightly, “Oh, well, enjoy!” I started to step around him before he said, “Don’t be afraid to give me a call!”

I threw a thumbs up in his direction and turned to see him still watching me. I had no other choice but to pull open the door and step into the small restaurant I had pointed out.

It was dark inside, the only light coming from the small candles sat atop every table, the overhead lights giving off only a hazy glow. I wasn’t sure if they were exactly open yet, since there was no one in sight, but door was open and the dining room looked set up for dinner.

I reached forward and rang the tiny bell that was on the host stand in front of me.

“Hello?” a man’s voice called out in a thick French accent.

“Hi!” I smiled when he came around from the corner where I assumed the bar was placed. “Are you open?”

“Yes, just still early,” he said while grabbing two menus.

“Oh, no, just one,” I held up a finger and sent him a sheepish smile. I followed him through a labyrinth of empty tables, finally stopping at one that was against the wall on the right side of the room. The man pulled my chair out for me, the dark wooden legs screeching against the deep wine tiled flooring. He placed the menu on the white tablecloth, careful to move the small candle away and collected the extra place setting. “Merci,” I said before he walked away.

I ordered a class of red wine and as I waited for my waiter to return, I heard another person enter the restaurant. Out of pure instinct, I turned my head to look but turned back quickly when I saw the man’s eyes flicker to mine. After a few short murmurs, I heard footsteps as the maître d’ led him to his table—right in front of mine. I kept my eyes trained on the menu trying so hard to keep my nosiness at bay.

“Thank you.” The accent was English, I noted.

Café Gustav turned out to be an Italian restaurant, which I didn’t mind since Italian food was my one of my favorites, but it partially felt wrong to be eating pasta my first night in France. There were so many things that looked so good and so many words I had to punch into Google Translate that, by time my waiter returned, I still wasn’t ready to order. Too embarrassed to ask for a few more minutes again, I scanned the menu quickly one more time and ordered the rigatoni truffes blanches et girolles because truffle was always a good idea.

As I gave the waiter my menu, I snuck a peek at the man in front of me and noticed his eyes glued to his menu, giving me the opportunity to take him in; he was blond, his hair long on top but short on the sides, and he was muscular, I could tell from the way his biceps were outlined through his thin white t-shirt and from the veins lacing the back of his hands. He had a nice jawline, square but slightly heart shaped, and his nose was masculine—not too big and not too small—his lips were small but pink, his cupids bow pronounced, I noticed, as his tongue slipped over them. Look up, look up, look up, I begged, wanting so badly to know what color his eyes were.

“Seems we’re a bit early aren’t we?” I jumped at the sound of his voice, my eyes snapping away from his lips to meet his—green.

My cheeks flushed and embarrassment crawled so far up my neck I felt the tops of my ears burn, “Seems so. I forgot how late people had dinner here.” I grabbed my glass and took a sip, attempting to cover my blush.

“You’ve been here before?”

“Well, not here,” I placed my hands on the table in front of me, “but here,” I started waving my hands around me, “as in Nice.”

He chuckled, “Yes, I assumed we were talking about the city.”

“Oh,” I took another quick sip of my wine and thankfully, my waiter arrived with my food and saved me from embarrassing myself further.

It smelled amazing and my mouth watered as the steam tickled my nose, but I could still feel his eyes on me and was so worried that I ate like an animal that I moved the contents of my dish around with my fork until I heard him place his order with the waiter, “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

A few moments later, another glass was placed in front of me even though I hadn’t ordered one and wasn’t finished with my first. I gave the waiter a confused look and he pointed to the Brit across from me. When I turned my eyes to him, he held up his own glass and gave me a wink before bringing his drink to his lips. I smiled and raised mine back.

I ate slowly, making sure to savor every bite and not wanting to leave before he did. He was hot and so far extremely charming and British. I wanted this flirtation to go on for as long as possible. We both ate in silence and I periodically stopped to look at him every time his eyes went to his food.

It wasn’t until the waiter took his plate away that he spoke, “You have great taste; the food and the wine were great.”

I had finished a bit before, but had ordered a third glass of wine. The restaurant was about half filled by then, the low murmur of the people around us causing him to slightly raise his voice.

“I know,” I gave him a smile and played with the stem of my glass.

“I’m Ben.”

“Josie.”

“Care to have a drink, Josie?”

I tilted my head to the side, turning his offer over in my mind. “I don’t know…” I trailed off. I didn’t know him, as hot as he was. He was confident and charming and I couldn’t tell where the confidence was stemming from. Was he confident because he saw me as an easy mark? Did I look lonely? Did I look desperate?

“One drink.”

I held up my almost empty glass, “Three is my limit,” I downed the rest, “and this was my third.”

He laughed, letting his head fall back, “A coffee then!”

I hummed as though I was considering it. I watched his face, the hope in his eyes and knew I couldn’t say no. I told myself that I would be crazy to pass up a drink with a man who looked that good, with that accent, in a place like Nice. “I think I could do coffee.”

He broke out into a smile and waved me over. I paid for my meal and slipped into the seat opposite him. He reached out and shook my hand before calling the waiter over, “Deux noissettes, s'il vous plaît.”

“You speak French.” I observed, slightly impressed by the accuracy of his accent.

“Only the basics.” He corrected, “I know how to ask for certain things and make very simple conversation, but that’s about it. I used to go to Paris for work once or twice a year so I learned a little bit to get me through.”

“Oh, what do you do?”

“Right now, nothing,” he let out a sigh and brushed a fallen blond lock out of his eyes, “I was in advertising, but it’s not really for me. I mean, I was good at it but I don’t know…” he trailed off and narrowed his eyes at me, “Sorry, you don’t want to hear this.”

“No, I do.” I assured him, “If I didn’t I wouldn’t have agreed to have coffee.”

“What do you do?” he asked once our coffees were placed in front of us.

“Nothing.” I laughed and shook my head when I saw the look on his face, “I swear I’m not making fun of you. I literally do nothing. I’m still in college so I’m a student which means I don’t really do anything.”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“Write—and maybe edit, maybe be a professor? I don’t know it’s all kind of up in the air right now.”

“Hm, the bookish type.” He took a drink from his small cup and watched me roll my eyes in his direction.

“I wouldn’t say bookish. I read, but I’m not a nerd or anything.” I thought for a moment, “At least, I don’t think I am.”

He chuckled before asking me questions about what I liked to read, why I wanted to write. I kept trying to bring him back to his “nothing,” curious as to what it was he left advertising for but he always deflected and so I dropped it; I didn’t know him well enough to push and I didn’t want to completely obliterate my chances of seeing him again—because I would like to see him again, I found myself thinking. He was sweet and he smelled good, he looked great in his t-shirt and his hair looked soft and his lips looked warm and his eyes were bright and I wanted to see him again.

I found myself disappointed when our cups were empty and the check was on the table, neither of us really able to find an excuse to stay. I could see his eyes searching for something, looking for a reason to stay and I really hoped he would find one because I couldn’t. We needed a reason because we were strangers—we weren’t friends or lovers or business partners, we were two loners who just so happened to end up across from one another. We couldn’t stay simply because we wanted to, it couldn’t be that easy.

“I guess that’s it then,” Ben said before pulling his black leather wallet out of his pocket, dropping money onto the mini tray where the check is.

“I guess it is.” I sighed as I grabbed my bag from off the back of my chair and brushed my hair out of my face.

“It was really nice meeting you,” he said as he scribbled what I assumed was his signature on the receipt.

“You too,” I smiled at him but didn’t walk away.

He slid a piece of paper over to me, his phone number slightly illegible. “We’ll both be here for a while, it would be a shame if you didn’t give me a call.”

I picked it up, “It really would be, wouldn’t it?” I folded the piece of paper neatly, careful not to rip it or smear the ink and placed it in between the pages of my book before tucking it into my bag.

He walked to stand beside me, placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, “Goodnight, Josie.”

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agape-philo-sophia · 5 years ago

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➝ Relaxation and Fluidity during these times, Learning how to slow down and achieve a relaxed state of mind is of vital importance

Especially when retraining and clearing out our subconscious mind programming. The simple truth is that when we rid our body and mind of destructive habits and useless distractions we create more balance, which naturally manifests more grace and ease in our life. Our brain and our mental body is much more effective when we have slowed down and works more optimally when we are in a relaxed state and calm atmosphere, because this is the natural state of our core spiritual essence. All forms of mental anxiety, stress, and over intellectualizing makes our mind speed up to having too many thoughts at once, and this overwhelms and clouds our Discernment, causing us to make poor impulsive decisions. To make contact and communicate with our subconscious layers, as well as our super consciousness layers, we need to go slower in order to reach a totally relaxed Meditation state and stay fluid within the energies. Energy bodies behave like waters moving in an ocean or river, if we can sense our inner energy when it meets the outer energies, we can navigate the surrounding waters by paying attention to the energy flow. We go with the flow in a state of relaxed fluidity. If we are moving too fast and not paying attention to the energy flow, we can get carried in the current of stronger forces in a sudden and unexpected tidal wave and this is when we get hurt or injured. Thus, it is important that you learn to induce a simple meditative state in yourself, where you become the observer and are incredibly relaxed, and yet you are alert, not so relaxed that you fall asleep. Obviously, this state is not for when you are doing heavy physical exertion, but in the majority of your waking life, you can be in this relaxed state of fluidity paying attention to how the energy feels around you, while doing simple tasks or at work completing responsibilities. Using single focus and staying presently focused on the task in front of you, while naturally adjusting to the energies that are making subtle changes to the environment. In the early stage of developing Meditation skill we have to sit, relax and learn to observe the thoughts passing through without having attachment to them. Once we notice the thought pattern, we let it go and bring our focus back to the now moment. The next stage is adjusting to the energies inside you and outside of you. Each of us must find the most natural state of being for our body that feels good in the energetic flow, and not let our mind interfere with that natural state of calm and equilibrium. In our natural state, our inner self will strongly align with the outer self to bring harmony and wholeness between the inner and outer. Also, we need to know how to stay as calm as possible even when under great stress in the moment. Stress causes our body to enter a heightened state of reactivity due to the release of hormones and Neurotransmitters when we're feeling overwhelmed and stressed out. So, remaining calm and slowing down, even during potentially tense situations can establish a sense of powerful stillness that will help your mind stop racing from one thought to the next. To be effective we need to establish a peaceful mind-set before concentrating on any one thing, especially when facing conflicts or challenges. General fluidity and relaxation of both the mind and body will greatly improve higher sensory perception development and build spiritual communication links, helping to bring more ease and clarity for problem solving. When a person is fluid and relaxed, their Energy Receivers are open and more receptive to guidance and creative resolutions. Listen to your body, treat your body with care and make corrections when you feel tense, by returning back to a state where your bio-rhythm feels relaxed and open. With practice you can discipline your mind and emotions from overwhelming your effectiveness in a range of social settings. The more we dis-identify from our need to control the external influences and learn to allow and accept situations we have no control over, the more quickly we can adapt and stay relaxed while addressing stressful situations. As many of us in the spiritual community are fully aware, we must move out of the Subconscious Programming and Mind Control conditioning of the 3D way of existence and be hypervigilant to constantly refocus ourselves into higher states of being. Expressing unconditional love, Compassion, gratitude, appreciation, and the Spirits of Christ, are great sources of higher states. Knowing that love, heartful presence, being in alignment with nature, and being an authentic and caring human are the simple keys to ensure our success in every way to rebuild our lightbody. May we inspire others who may come into contact with us, to know the truth in the path of unconditional love, as it is the only path of spiritual freedom! ➝ H) elp O) ther P) eople E) volve https://www.minds.com/newsfeed/1094260192825008128?referrer=MindCom --------------------------------------------------- #Knowledge #StateOfMind #Esoteric #Governance #NaturalLaw

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tocxmply-archive · 5 years ago

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BRAINWASHING & ACTIVATION WORDS

so --- the process that underlies HYDRA’s creation of the Winter Soldier. first of all, this can be described as a process of brainwashing/ mind control/ mind manipulation to the point of breaking down one’s identity and reforge it at another’s will. what we know from scientific evidence is that this process is still debatable — whether it is real or a different psychological phenomenon, what it takes to happen, consequences, etc. obviously, it is impossible to conduct research to test hypotheses in such a field — for this reason, i have researched accordingly (shoutout to @timeripe for coming along for the ride) and i have tried to build up this background as realistically and plausibly as possible.

[sources: click, click, click, click, click, click]

1. ELECTROCONVULSIVE/ ELECTROSHOCK STIMULATION (ECS)

starting at 1944 --- right after Bucky’s fall and when he was captured. ECS was growing quite popular in the psychiatry field in the 1940s, after observations that, for example, it was useful to put a person in an anesthetized state. it was also already demonstrated that the electroshock provoked retrograde amnesia, in that patients could not remember the treatments and therefore had no ill feelings toward it. knowing this, as well as the effect of a general sense of confusion left after treatment, it’s small wonder that HYDRA saw the potential this could have in producing compliant soldiers for their cause. nowadays. it is also known that memory loss and confusion are more pronounced for patients who receive a steady flow of electrical impulses and who undergo bilateral electrode placement, both of which are the Winter Soldier’s case (re: the latter, it’s not actual electrodes used on him because the machines we see in the movies are quite rudimentar tbh, but it is a protocol of bilateral stimulation). we also know that some patients have persistent memory losses, especially with bilateral ECS. therefore, it is also not difficult to envision that, with frequent and non-optimized shock sessions (if not downright done on purpose to force all these side effects), in the course of 70 years of captivity, the Winter Soldier’s memory was frequently wiped clean for the most part and that some portions of it may never be entirely recovered, even if he’s to be removed from this hazardous context (i will venture deeper into his memory + amnesia in a different meta). additionally, whereas nowadays there is no solid evidence that ECS causes brain damage, there are reports that it might result in a lack of blood flow and oxygen to the heart, heart arrhythmia, and persistent asystole.

tl;dr --- this is a procedure that, when done without regard for the patient’s integrity (which, disclaimer, is NOT what happens nowadays during perfectly safe and optimized ECS therapy sessions), is terrifying af and does not immediately produce immense trauma only because the procedure in itself, ironically, causes the person to be unable to remember it. again, a perfect mechanism to be used by HYDRA standards.

2. CLASSICAL/ PAVLOVIAN CONDITIONING

this is depicted in “Captain America: Civil War”, by the use of the infamous activation words and how they promptly revert Bucky back to the Winter Soldier mindset and, basically, turn him back to HYDRA’s puppet with zero autonomy/ agency. classical conditioning is “a learning procedure in which a biologically potent stimulus (e.g. food) is paired with a previously neutral stimulus (e.g. a bell). it also refers to the learning process that results from this pairing, through which the neutral stimulus comes to elicit a response (e.g. salivation) that is usually similar to the one elicited by the potent stimulus“. so, how does this apply to the activation words?

from what we can see at the start of CA:CW, during the flashback in 1991, the biologically potent stimulus is the ECS, as discussed in topic 1, which provokes a state where, right after the session, the Winter Soldier is 1) in a state of confusion, 2) in an anesthetized state of sorts, 3) having no recollection of what just happened, and 4) with his memory in general converted to a clean slate. all of these are ideal, in turn, to induce a state of hypnosis. in this case: “hypnosis is a state of human consciousness involving focused attention and reduced peripheral awareness and an enhanced capacity to respond to suggestion. during hypnosis, a person is said to have heightened focus and concentration. the person can concentrate intensely on a specific thought or memory, while blocking out sources of distraction. hypnotized subjects are said to show an increased response to suggestions”. again, it’s not hard to see how convenient this is when you’re trying to create the perfect soldier/weapon, who’s 100% focused on your objectives and doing your bidding only. this is the default mode of functioning of the Winter Soldier, and what is achieved via the activation words.

so, the way i see it... what happens is that, after every ECS session, a hypnosis session immediately follows. during hypnosis sessions, the Winter Soldier undergoes indoctrination on the whole HYDRA is here to save the world, we fight for freedom, everyone who opposes us needs to be removed, we’re the good guys, etc --- a message we see being clearly used in “Captain America: The Winter Soldier”, by Alexander Pierce, when Winter questions the man on the bridge --- he’s immediately reminded of how he himself changed the century, how he’s doing the right thing and this man doesn’t matter, yada yada. whenever this message does not work by itself, then a new ECS session is needed to restart the cycle; aka wipe him and start over.

during hypnosis sessions, that is also when the activation words are recited, again when the Winter Soldier’s mind is solely focused on them and nothing else. and this is how the conditioning, therefore, works: an initially neutral stimulus (activation words) is associated with other stimuli (shock sessions + hypnosis sessions) which is able to produce a desirable response (absolute compliance, zero resistance, zero questioning of orders, zero agency), so that, by itself, the neutral stimulus becomes able to elicit this same response.

let me add here that the state of cryostasis the Winter Soldier is kept in, whenever he’s not needed, is also essential for this process --- as, despite the popular “cold sleep” name, this isn’t true sleep at all. this does not allow for REM sleep to occur, which in turn does not allow for short-term learning to be properly converted into long-term memories. which, again in turn, explains the Winter Soldier’s amnesia and, as well, why the conditioning must be reinforced every time he’s awoken (i.e., the reason why he’s awoken, dragged out of the cryo chamber, shoved down for ECS + conditioning --- as we see depicted at the start of CA:CW).

a final thought: i personally don’t believe the activation words would ever be as powerful as to immediately and inexorably turn Bucky into a complete robot, after simply reciting them once, as we see done by Zemo. alternatively, what i headcanon is that, while the end result is the same, it requires longer and more effort to get there --- so that Bucky will try to resist the effect that the words are trying to provoke, and it will take a couple more times of reciting them (while he is somehow unable to block them out, for example by being physically constricted) for the brainwashing to be completely successful.

3. CONSEQUENCES

first and foremost, i love the general idea depicted at the end of “Black Panther” that recovery IS possible, even for someone who’s quite literally gone through hell and back. however, i don’t agree with the idea that the activation words can be entirely removed, so to speak --- for example, it is well demonstrated that operant conditioning responses can take as much as 10,000 attempts without any sort of reinforcement, before eventually becoming extinct (thank you B.F. Skinner). ofc there is always the excuse that this is fiction and we can make technology as badass as we want, but i’m not a fan of that --- so i go for a compromise as realistic as i can do.

we know that Shuri was able to “deprogram” Bucky quite substantially, but we aren’t explicitly told how --- only that it was achieved by the time of “Avengers: Infinity War”. we also have Bucky himself stating that he is now “a semi-stable 100-year-old man “ --- semi-stable obviously implying that he still has to deal with some sort of sequels, despite his huge and beautiful progress. and this is absolutely all right. persons who endure trauma and/or mental disorders do not magically revert back to a state where they are totally fine, no matter how excellent the therapy is, and i am very glad this much respect was given to this topic. back to Shuri’s strategy, i would say this was heavily based on a protocol of counterconditioning/ stimulus substitution and systematic desensitization. to make a long story short, the rationale was to break the association between activation words + Winter’s mindset, to make it so that the power of the activation words over Bucky is as reduced as possible, and to instead associate these activation words with desirable outcomes --- for example, a positive stimulus, such as affectionate human contact, that is offered at the same time the words are recited --- so that the words are gradually able to elicit a positive emotion, rather than complete submission.

from what we currently know, this sort of intervention has great success and, for example, was one of the earliest behavioral treatments for post-traumatic stress disorder. however, we also know that it is not a perfect technique (like none is) --- which, all things given, leads me to believe that the words have not lost their power entirely. so... whereas, for the most part, by the time of IW they have become obsolete as far as triggering the Winter Soldier mindset goes (provided Bucky is in a positive context), they can still provoke anxiety and they can still bring back a great deal of noxious memories associated with those days. so, for example, reciting these words at this point in time will not succeed in brainwashing, but it will provoke a negative/vulnerable mindset and, under certain circumstances and in certain contexts, may provoke an actual panic attack. this also applies to other triggers/stimuli (which i will discuss in another meta) but, essentially and most significantly, to the activation words --- given their relevance re: the Winter Soldier.

to conclude: in my portrayal, the events that are post-CA:CW will bring about the start of Bucky’s recovery --- which will be progressive, extended (tbh it will likely be a lifetime process), and not entirely able to revert him back to the man he was in 1944 but that will, no doubt, make a huge difference for his mental health, integrity, and stability. depending on the timeline i’m writing him on, obviously, his progress will greatly vary --- right at the end of CA:TWS, he’s dysfunctional for the most part and greatly vulnerable, whereas, by the time of IW and beyond, he still suffers from severe PTSD symptoms but has learned how to better cope with them and how to preserve his well-being.

#long post #「ᵐᵉᵗᵃ」ʷᶤᵖᵉ ʰᶤᵐ ᵃᶰᵈ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗ ᵒᵛᵉʳ #@everyone who doesn't know me from Jon's blog and doesn't know that i never shut up about my sons: i am so sorry

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do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them · 6 years ago

Text

Winter Weather

@sanderssidescelebrations (as long as it’s still the 12th in some timezones I’m not too late lol)

Prompt #11: Snowed in

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death/murder

Pairings: Prinxiety (more pre-romantic than anything)

Word Count: 2600

Summary: Of course it would be each other Roman and Virgil get stuck with when a snowstorm traps them in the cabin their friend group is supposed to be sharing and knocks the power out.

(Me? Posting two fics in one night? It’s more likely than you think.)

Read on AO3

Virgil was fiddling with the radio, trying to find a station that would actually come in and wasn’t country, when the first good song he’d managed to catch in over an hour was cut off by the grating, one might even say panic-inducing tones of an emergency alert. He startled and hit his head on the window, swearing loudly.

“A winter weather message from the National Weather Service…”

He exchanged a wide-eyed look with Roman, who really should not have been looking at anything other than where he was driving, as the voice informed them of an incoming snowstorm and the need to get off the road and indoors before it hit.

“It’s fine, we’re almost there,” Roman said more confidently than he felt. “We can make it.”

Virgil weighed his chances of winning that argument, and decided it wasn’t worth the risk of distracting the driver. “Whatever,” he sighed. “I just want it to be known that if we go off the road into a ditch and die of hypothermia trapped in this car, it was your fault.”

They did make it, if barely. Roman pulled up to the cabin their group of four would be sharing for the next couple weeks right as the snowfall started getting heavy. “You’re carrying my stuff inside,” Virgil announced, “as compensation for all the stress you just put me through.” Roman was doubly annoyed by this because now he couldn’t volunteer to do so and come out of it looking like a gentleman. While he struggled with their combined belongings, Virgil unlocked the front door and went in to look around.

It was a very nice place, even if the interior decoration wasn’t exactly what he would have chosen. The living room definitely had a big enough couch for all of them, and then some, and there was a TV mounted over the fireplace that would be perfect for the Christmas movie marathon Roman and Patton had been so excited about. The pantry was already stocked with canned foods and pasta and such. Virgil wasn’t too happy about the gas stove, especially in combination with Patton, but maybe he could be convinced to let someone less forgetful and accident-prone do the cooking.

There was a bit of a problem when it came to the bedrooms: there were only two, and only one of those had two twin-size beds instead of a single large one. The couch folded out into a bed as well, so it wasn’t really an issue, but Virgil could already see himself and Patton fighting over the pullout because neither of them wanted the other to have to deal with it. That was going to be a headache for sure.

After he’d seen the entire house, he wandered back into the living room and sat down to check his phone. There was no cell service out here, because of course, but he’d apparently missed a call from Logan while they had been in the car. He tapped the notification to listen to the voicemail he’d left. Roman, coming through the door with the last of their stuff, watched his expression go from neutral to concerned to “kill me now” in the course of about ten seconds.

“Uh… you alright there?” He dumped the things he was holding on the ground with everything else and kicked the door shut.

Virgil set his phone down and groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah totally, except that we- by which I mean you- were the only ones stupid enough to keep driving once the snow started, while Logan was a sensible person and stopped somewhere to wait it out, and now they’re not gonna get here until the roads are clear again and I’m stuck with you for however long.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with me?” Roman protested.

“Do you want an alphabetized list?”

“…You’ve been talking to Logan too much.”

“Just wait, soon I’m gonna start pulling out the five-syllable words you’ve never heard of, but are probably insulting.”

“Lovely. My services end here, so get off the couch and put your bags away.”

Virgil grunted as one of said bags was dropped on top of him when he took too long to move. “Alright, alright.”

Neither of them had exactly packed light for this trip. By the time all their things were put away- Roman, of course, immediately calling dibs on the master bedroom, while Virgil decided he might as well take the other until the rest of their group made it there- it was beginning to get dark outside, and the snow coming down thickly enough to make it hard to see wasn’t helping. It really would have been nice if there’d been a garage; Roman’s car was going to be buried at this rate. Naturally, now was the perfect time for the lights to flicker once, twice, and finally go out for good. As annoyed as he was himself, Roman had to laugh when he heard a faint “Are you fucking kidding me?” from down the hall.

“Well, so much for using the TV tonight,” he mumbled to himself. He went to leave the room and nearly crashed into Virgil, who’d come bearing flashlights.

“And you told me I wouldn’t need these,” he said smugly.

“I still don’t think you needed to bring six.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. You didn’t bring one at all.”

“Because I knew you had six of them!” Roman sighed and followed him into the kitchen. “I’m surprised you even need a flashlight. With the way you keep your room, you should be used to seeing in the dark.”

“Oh, shut up.” Virgil was much too tired and frustrated for good comebacks right now. The drive here had been long and stressful, they hadn’t had time to stop for dinner with the storm coming, and now the stupid power was out and who knew when it would return. “There are matches somewhere, right?”

The matches were located eventually, and Roman handed them to Virgil with a flourish. Virgil used them to light a few candles and then the stove burner, grumbling the whole time about how stupid it would be if he burned the whole cabin down before the other two even got there. Meanwhile, Roman looked through the pantry and what little there was in the fridge.

“Grilled cheese?” he suggested, holding up half a package of cheese slices. “I mean, we need to use this up in case the power doesn’t come back, right?”

“Ugh, don’t even say that. But yeah, sure, I don’t care.” He leaned against the cabinets and slid down to the floor.

“…I take it you want me to do the cooking?”

Virgil hummed in agreement. A second later, he remembered the gas stove, and also remembered exactly what had happened last time Roman used one. “Wait- no, nope, I’m doing it, move.”

Grilled cheese was not difficult to make. Unfortunately, Roman seemed determined to change that. “I still think we should have something else to put in it,” he mused. “Bacon or something.”

“Then it wouldn’t even be grilled cheese, that’s called a melt. And get your hand away from that candle,” Virgil snapped.

Ironically enough, Roman’s guilty start almost made him burn himself. “It’s cold!” he defended. “Though I can see how you might not have noticed, what with the icy void where your heart should be. If you don’t want me bothering you I’ll go start a fire, or am I not allowed to do that either?”

Virgil was briefly glad it was dark so Roman wouldn’t see him flinch. He hadn’t meant to start something, but it looked like it was too late to go back. “Go ahead. Bold of you to assume I care what you do as long as it’s not breaking anything.” What a blatant lie- of course he cared about him, maybe too much. He watched Roman leave to the living room in a huff and tried not to feel guilty. He’d been being obnoxious, so his reaction was totally fair, right? Besides, Roman knew he didn’t actually hate him or anything. With his overblown confidence, he’d probably just taken it as a joke, so it was fine.

Roman knelt in front of the fireplace in the dark and told himself the heat in his face was from anger and not from wanting to cry. He’d thought he was getting along better with Virgil lately, but- he really did seem to hate him, didn’t he? No, no, surely he wouldn’t have driven all the way here with him if he hated him, he was just overreacting. Like always. Letting his dumb feelings make everything more dramatic than it really was. He turned his attention to the fireplace so intensely that if there were any justice in the universe, it would have burst into flames before he’d even lit a match.

Fifteen minutes later, Virgil turned the stove off, feeling considerably calmer after some time alone in the quiet. Well, there was Roman muttering to himself in the other room, but that was more background noise than anything. He was probably working out a story plot by talking to himself again. Virgil shifted all the grilled cheese onto a plate, grabbed a couple of water bottles from the case in the pantry and went to see if he’d had any luck with the fire.

“Ro? Food’s done, how’s it going in here?” He figured they’d just go back to normal and pretend they hadn’t just been yelling at each other, like it always went- at least until he saw Roman. He was sitting in front of a small fire, but he didn’t look at all happy about his success, hunched over with his face in his hands. “…Roman?”

He looked up and tried to smile. “I, uh- don’t worry, everything’s fine, I’m just- being stupid.” His voice cracked on the last word.

Virgil cursed under his breath and put what he was holding down on the coffee table, kneeling next to Roman. “Is this- I mean, are you-” God he sucked at this. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I didn’t think… I’m just tired, okay? We’re both tired and pissed off and I didn’t mean to get like that at you.”

“It’s- it’s fine.” Impulsively, Roman tried to hug him, out of pure relief that he wasn’t really mad at him. He regretted it after approximately one second and pulled back to stare at the ground and try to recover his composure. “I, um, I shouldn’t have yelled at you either. …Truce?”

“Yeah.” He reached back for the plate and set it between them. “Grilled cheese?”

“Thanks.”

Even once they got past the post-fight awkwardness, their dinner conversation was quiet- like Virgil said, they were both tired. Roman seemed especially subdued in comparison to his usual self. He only started singing once, and even that wasn’t very loud, and Virgil found it was actually kind of soothing to listen to him when he wasn’t bursting into rooms demanding attention. By the time they were finished, part of him was considering lying down right where he was and going to sleep. The rest of him, however, remembered how cold it was and would much rather be in bed with blankets.

“I suppose there’s not much else we can do tonight,” Roman sighed, following his same train of thought a bit later.

“Would you seriously want to if there was?”

“We could’ve watched movies,” he reminded him.

“We’d both be out before the end of the first one and you know it.”

“Fine, fine.” Roman pushed himself to his feet. “Time to be getting to bed, then.”

“Mhm.” Virgil managed to overrule that one part of his brain and reluctantly stood up as well.

A short time later, Virgil was in bed, getting increasingly frustrated. He was so tired. But the mattress felt weird, and he was in a strange place without the ambient noise he was used to and kept hearing this stupid owl outside instead and it surprised him every time, and even though he stole all the blankets from the other bed in the room it was still so cold. Because, y’know, it was below freezing and the power was still out. Also, how was he supposed to know Roman was okay right now? Was he cold, too? Virgil was pretty sure he at least wouldn’t die or anything with his double blankets, but Roman didn’t have another bed in his room to steal the blankets from. What if a murderer broke in, while they were trapped in this cabin and cut off from civilization? Okay, that wasn’t a Roman-specific concern, or a realistic one, but still. Virgil really wished his brain would shut up.

When the owl nearly gave him a heart attack because he was thinking about murderers too hard, it was pretty clear the sleep he so badly wanted wasn’t going to happen under these conditions. Cursing pretty much the entire universe, Virgil got out of bed, wrapped two blankets around his shoulders and grabbed a flashlight. Maybe he’d just sit in the living room until he could get sleepy. Well… maybe he’d go sit in the living room after he checked on Roman and made sure none of his worries were going to come true.

He pushed the door open and peeked in. He’d gotten a look at the room earlier, but it seemed bigger in the dark somehow. He tried not to feel like too much of a creep going up to the bed to look at Roman. He tended to sprawl, normally, but right now he was curled up on his side. Did that mean he was cold? Well, yeah, he probably was at least a little bit cold, but-

“…Virge?”

Virgil yelped, clutching his flashlight to his chest. “Roman! This isn’t… what it looks like?”

He propped himself up and squinted sleepily. “Are you sure? ‘Cause it looks like you’re wandering around because you can’t sleep and decided to see what I was doing. Which was finally falling asleep until you started shining that light at me, thank you very much.”

He clicked it off sheepishly.

“Is there anything wrong, or…?”

Virgil shrugged. “Can’t sleep, it’s too cold and weird here. I was just gonna sit in the living room so it’s at least kinda warm.”

“Well, why don’t you stay with me?” He could feel the look Virgil gave him, even though he couldn’t see his face, and blushed. “What I mean to say- you could sit with me and talk, and it might be a little warmer… never mind, it was a silly idea, I don’t know why I thought you would want-”

Roman’s flustered rambling was cut off by Virgil climbing onto the bed and sitting next to him, legs under the covers and the rest of him wrapped in his own blankets. “Never mind,” he repeated weakly.

Virgil would have gotten a bit sleepy just from having something warm next to him, if not for the fact that the warm thing was Roman and therefore a good chunk of his brain was screaming about how close they were. Incidentally, Roman’s brain was screaming as well, but he told it to shut up and leaned into Virgil, which of course made his brain scream more.

“You were right,” Virgil mumbled. “‘s a lot better like this.”

“Oh- good,” Roman managed in response.

Now that they were settled, he actually was getting a little sleepy. “Might just stay here until the power comes back. You’re not allowed to move.”

…Well.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad situation to be in after all.

#sanders sides #sanders sides holiday month #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #this was not supposed to be as long as it ended up lmao #my post #my writing

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