#can you tell I’m back on my unhinged insomnia thoughts

[avernusreject]

Look all I’m saying is as the centuries pass after the events of bg3, I choose to believe some bard is going to make a really god awful cheesy opera or musical about the tragedy of durgetash. Forbidden lovers doomed from the start? Practically writes itself. It’s has to be so obnoxiously over the top melodramatic. It barely follows any of the actual events. Like it’s just so bad that Bane makes Gortash’s afterlife punishments even worse because of it’s existence.

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

Companions and their mental health statuses?

(Wrote this while listening to a Spotify playlist named "going absolutely fucking apeshit" anyway- I'm gonna split this up by what I think character wise...and then my experiences with these seggsy bitches in game bc boy, it's been wild)

Cait:

•Sufferer of severe trauma throughout her life.

•Shit just gets worse

•Fights for her life and has a strong love for psycho before a special someone convinced her she is worthy of being loved

•Trust issues out the wazoo..for sadly, good reasons.

•Maybe not the worst on the list, but definitely up there.

In game experience...

•GOD DAMN FALLOUT VERSION OF LYDIA- like seriously? Gtfo the doorway! I'm getting blown up!

•Hates everyone and everything except sole and breaking the law.

Curie:

•Actually not all that bad...except for secret abandonment issues.

•Usually masks it by burying herself in research.

•As far as these poor bastards go, she's probably one of the most mentally stable- which is scary.

In game experience.....

•Sweet Frenchie with asshole pets.

(I don't travel with her often 🥲)

Danse:

Pre-Blind Betrayal-

•Confirmed sufferer of PTSD

•Blames himself for the death of several team members.

•Evidence points towards un-talked about alcoholism.

•Seems to be attracted to power armour..

•Not very good but not the worst on this list..

Post-Blind Betrayal-

•Same as above but add on identity crisis times a thousand and two.

•Will literally kill himself (or let you kill him) if you don’t convince him otherwise.

In game experience....

•Fucking goes apeshit, pre or post BB

•Completely unaware of his surroundings unless it has to do with vertibirds flying over head, then it's time for guerrilla warfare. "Fate has decreed that you must die!"- he speaks, drawing a laser rifle.

•Has been caught on multiple instances doing drugs out of the drug vending machine in Nuka World despite clearly being against them.

Deacon:

•Probably one of the more mentally fucked.

•Lost his wife in front of his own eyes in a notably terrible way.

•Escapes his deep seeded pain through his elaborate schemes, justifying it by telling himself it helps his organization.

•Still feels like shit every waking minute.

•Cant really allow himself to get close to anyone because of his experiences.

In game experiences...

•Asshole

•Jumpscare king, mainly because I didn't know he changed outfits THAT often.

•Doesn't like physical affection???  Shit that actually makes sense..

•Stalker.

Gage:

•He's pretty "meh" on the sanity scale. He's ruthless, but he's entirely stable besides his attachment issues.

•Trusts too easy and hates himself for it...also tries to make himself not be that way and for the most part, it works!

•Problematic raider.

In game experience...

•Makes stupid comments at inappropriate times as though he wishes for the enemies to murder us

•Thinks that walking through walls is entirely possible and gets stuck every time I run with him

Hancock:

•The actual worst on this fine list of mentally messed up individuals.

•Self worth is just nonexistent despite being a pretty all around decent guy

•Uses drugs to cover up terrible trauma to the point of putting himself in the greatest danger just short of dying

•Oh yeah, doesn't mind death actually.

•Doesn't feel worthy of anything deep down.

in game experience...

•Shoots sole for stealing shit in the third rail

•Unhinged

•Sits for hours

Macready:

•Lost his wife in a horrific way

•Only has his son, who he is convinced is going to die sooner than later because of something he can't control

•Willing to do everything if it means caps to send to his sick child

•Doesn't really have a place to call his "home"

•Reckless and unforgiving

In game experience...

•Being nice? How dare you speak such ill language.

•Kleptomaniac

Maxson:

•Does as good as a boy his age with all of the responsibility possibly could.

•Just imagine- your dad died when you were super young. Your mother shipped your ass away. The people you loved like family died all around you. Now you're stuck in foreign land and have no fucking idea where to begin, only that you have to mobilize these fuckers you're in charge of and remain a good leader...

•Still not good enough? Okay, pile on insomnia, alcoholism, and the thought that you have no one alive that truly loves you as more than just the "elder". Oh, but you eventually got to spit out some kids somehow because you're the last of the great "Maxson" line...

•Also not exactly on the "stable" side..

In game experience...

•Stares intently down the Prydwen command deck with his hands behind his back..for hours.

•Never wants to chat :(

•Long winded and short sighted, bad combo..

Nick:

•Has to deal with not only demons that technically aren't even his, but after "reunions"- Kellogg's fucked up self haunts him. He keeps it to himself and suffers silently.

•Deals with the pain of knowing there will never be a place where is truly just himself. He's a man trapped inside of a metal cage..and yet he's not even really "that" man, is he?

•One could easily understand how he has some issues too.

In game experience...

•Cigarettes? Yes.

•Oh, Youre in a fight? Seems like a good time to tighten the bolts in my hand right about now...

•Wields a flamer like a champ.

Piper:

•Surprisingly..has the most sound mental state out of all.

•Is a little obsessive tho

•Has had to adapt to the role of sibling and parent to her younger sister, which isn't easy for anyone.

•Often delves into her work, sort of like curie, to avoid dealing with the pain of her parents no longer being there for her or nat.

In game experience..

•Hey kid, want some Nuka-Cola?

•Mayor McDonough shall die, even if it means execution by the hands of everyone else in Diamond City.

Preston:

•Has canonically admitted to considering suicide.

•Is holding onto the last threads of hope he has with a fucking death grip.

•Definitely not of the best mental state

In game experience...

•Doesn't know how to properly use furniture.

•Can hear sole coming from a mile away and is already getting the map out for the next settlement

X6-88:

•Emotions? Is that a snack?

•Seriously though, he has been "reset" so many times that sometimes-he doesn't even realize it- he doesn't even know what "he" is. Every aspect of who he is..it should be gone, he's a machine and he knows it...why does he still feel like a person?

•Short story, he hates life. He hates being held captive and being used like a damn hound to hunt down those who were smart enough to run- those of which he envied and didn't even realize he did. Hey, he's just a machine though- it's his job and he knows better than to revolt.

•Violence is the freedom he feel he has. He can kill and track in any way he wants, so long as it is successful and what the Institute deem appropriate. It's horrible, but he doesn't realize it- and at this point he doesn't care. The death of another and the way they die by his hand is just his way of expressing who he is deep down.

In game experience...

•Oi, you don't like the institue? FUCK YOU

[giorno-plays-piano]

Lovers End Part 5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, emotional abuse, threats, PTSD, minor depiction of violence, allusion to non-con, toxic reader and unhinged Bucky, death of minor characters.

Words: 1318.

Summary: Your marriage is falling apart, and you're done trying to save it when all your spineless husband does is crying at night when he thinks you can't hear him. Little do you know how horrifying Bucky can be.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

P.S. It's not me, it's magnificent @navegandoaciegas and her awesome ideas! Also inspired by TDDUP VN!

____________

Once you finished with the vacuum, you locked yourself in the bathroom with Bucky’s diary in your hands - it was the only place where you could bolt the door. Besides, he could hardly hear you crying from there.

His writing was becoming more and more chaotic: soon he had stopped keeping the dates, and all of it became some kind of never-ending essay about things he hated and feared. You could his mental health deteriorating with every page, and God, you were scared of him - and you pitied him, too. Sometimes you could spot your own name, and you cried when you read how much Bucky loved you. His feelings were gradually evolving into some kind of unhealthy obsession, but you were thankful they didn’t turn into intense hatred, considering the way you treated him up until now.

Reading about you tormenting your husband was something entirely different if you compared it with your own memories - or a lack of those - but the more you read, the more horrified with your actions you became. How did it happen? When did you turn from a supporting wife into a cruel fury ready to tear apart the only person you loved? When did you reach the point of no return? You supposed it could have been that day in December, but Bucky wasn't at fault. Not directly, at least, you thought when you considered his negligence and you working like a horse.

Maybe that terrible thing was just destined to happen to you, anyway.

Regardless, that was no the reason to treat Bucky like that. You could have left a long time ago, realizing where all this had been going, and it would still be better than living how you two lived now. Now you could see the true horror of the situation and what would inevitably happen if you didn't do anything to end it: Bucky could pull the trigger any moment now.

The only option you saw was leaving. Of course, in an ideal world you could ask him to visit doctor Romanova and make him confess he wasn't really following her instructions, help him get back on track and try to recover, but you knew this wasn't going to happen. Not when Bucky had almost suffocated you and locked you in the house. Why would he listen to you now, after everything that happened between you? He'd rather think you are doing this just to get rid of him, so you doubted he'd do what you asked him to. Now there were two ways out - leave or die.

You prefered the first one even knowing Bucky was obsessed with you. You could at least try, couldn't you? In the end, you would finish with a bullet in your head if you did nothing at all to fix all this.

You still couldn't believe it was happening to you. Weren't you a really, really good couple before? You remembered your ex-coworkers envying you when Bucky was visiting the office, a bouquet of wild flowers in his hands. He had always been kind and understanding, gentle, loving, cheerful; the best husband you had ever wanted, that very same prince you had been dreaming about. You loved him to the point of leaving your mother, the only family you had, just because you wanted to be with him. Because of that you were desinherited, but you didn't care as long as Bucky was with you.

Huh, all of a sudden you remembered the times when he was in the hot spot while you waited for him at home, every day waking up with a thought somebody would call and tell you Bucky's dead. It was your worst nightmare because of which you were afraid to go to sleep every night. You prayed for him to return safely, and the day when you received a notice of him losing his left arm, you were hysterical to the point your boss had to send you to the hospital to get help.

Oh, how happy you were the day he came back. Crippled, lost, desperate, barely able to function because of his PTSD but alive. You wanted nothing as much but for your husband to come home to you. That's why, even though the company you worked for went bankrupt and you could find nothing better but being a cashier in a local food store, you were ready to do whatever it took to help Bucky get back on his feet.

Was it too much for you? Were you too weak to go through all this for him? Apparently, you were. With months of constant hard work, insomnia because of the constant night shifts, inability to put food on the table, you forgot why were you doing all this. You forgot how much you loved him and he loved you. It all turned to ashes.

Hiding the diary beneath your bed, you did your best to wipe the tears and make yourself a bit more presentable - now you saw how terrible you looked with those dark circles beneath your eyes and wrinkles, bad skin, prominent blood vessels along the inside of your eyes because constant crying... You were a young woman, still, but you felt like your body was falling to pieces. It couldn't continue like that.

"Bucky, I have to leave." You told him once you approached your husband in the living room still sitting on the couch in front of TV with a blank expression.

However, once he heard you, his face clenched up, "Did you not hear me the first time I said it? You’re going nowhere."

Trembling, you tried to pull yourself together and even sat on the couch, your palms on your knees.

"Bucky, we're not alright. Let's admit it. Things aren't going to come back to how they were before... this. We won't get better."

You swallowed nervously, not looking at him, but Bucky fell silent, waiting for you to continue. You were sure he wasn't insane to the point he didn't understand what was happening.

"Please, let me leave. You can have the house if you want to, I won't take anything. I... I'll be sending you half of my salary until you get yourself a job."

Huh, you probably wouldn't be able to rent your own place with what was left, but maybe you convince your boss to let you sleep in the back room. Hell, even sleeping under the bridge was better than being murdered by your own husband.

When you saw him crawling towards you, you held your breath, "T-this is fair! You can have whatever you want!"

But he didn't stop, and before you could jump off the couch and ran, Bucky was already on top of you, his metal hand grabbing both yours and pining them above your head.

"I want you." He shook his head, sitting on top of you, his flesh arm caressing the curves of your body. "Maybe you're right and we can't go back. But we can do better."

"Get off, Bucky!" You desperately tried pushing him away, but all you did was fueling his desire. "GET OFF!"

"Maybe you'll love me again if I put a baby in you." He exhaled, nuzzling against the crook of your neck, and you frozen in fear and disgust, you eyes wet again despite all your efforts. "And we'll be a real family again."

"NO!"

You didn't know where that power to throw your beefy husband off you came, but you were already up, back on your unsteady legs and ready to fight him even he was going to try suffocating you or breaking your neck. You weren't going to let Bucky do... this to you.

Oh God. You wanted to never let him know of what had happened on the 14th of December, but you had no choice now.

"I've already lost my baby. I'm not doing it again."

_________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@void-hoechlin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @iheartsebandchris @ninefuckingoneone

[phantom-curve]

find the strength, find the melody pt. 7

lmfao I love how I posted an update 2 days ago like “this fic will have sporadic posts! idk when they’re coming!” and then I spent the last two days writing this. when that insomnia inspiration hits ya gotta just go with it!

this chapter went in a completely different direction than I had planned on soooo yeah...honestly not sure where this is gonna end up! the characters from my OC novel that I’m loosely basing this story around didn’t have a connection before they ran into each other so when Julie gave me this I almost cut it because I genuinely wasn’t sure where it was going. I think I’ve almost figured it out and I’m pretty sure I know how this will end. and now we all get to laugh at me together because it’s definitely gonna be more than 3-4 chapters. it might even be more than 6. Luke’s POV will have roughly the same amount of chapters I think, possibly longer because boy oh boy does he have A LOT to say (most of it about Julie). fair warning: this one has an awkward cut off because of the way I need to set up the next chapter. sorry about that.

and now something I probably should be embarrassed to admit: I don’t remember writing the part where I managed to sneak an “I’ve Got The Music” reference in so now we know for sure this show has infiltrated my brain. it’s fine, I’m fine, at least I WILL BE WHEN WE GET A S2!!!! KENNY!!!! SAVE ME HERE!!! MAKE MY UNHINGED OBSESSIONS WORTH IT!!!!!

taglist: @blue-hat-girl, @lwhoscribbles, @bluefyoto94, @5sosmukefan, @moonlightxnder, @leahthewonder​, @kat-maybe-not​, @lukewearingbeanies, @imastrugglingartist​​

It was no small miracle that Julie made it through the afternoon without Ray asking for details about her supposed ‘plan’ to play with the Sunset Curve boys. She didn’t think she would have been able to pull off spinning a story quite as well as Luke had earlier. She had expected at least a small amount of interrogating about when she had started playing again, but apparently the news that she was playing at all, let alone with other people in front of an audience, was enough for Ray to ignore all of the other plot holes involved in this scheme. He seemed to have almost forgotten the meeting with Principal Lessa entirely, humming on the drive home, kissing her forehead and turning her loose to freak out alone in her room while he sat down to work on his computer in the dining room. Julie took full advantage of the time alone to restlessly pace her room and send Flynn a 911 text. Her bestie’s contact photo lit up the phone screen 30 seconds later.

“Okay, I’m hiding in the basement girl’s bathroom, so you’ve got exactly 5 minutes before I get too grossed out to stay here.”

Julie’s chest loosened at the sound of Flynn’s comforting voice. There wasn’t anyone else in the world that loved her the way Flynn did. It was reassuring and made it easy for Julie to let loose.

“Lessa told Dad about the music program and then You-Know-Who ambushed us outside of her office and basically forced me to agree to perform with them.”

“Voldemort was at Los Feliz?!”

Flynn’s gasp was overflowing with sarcasm.

“Flynn!” Julie whined. “Be serious! Luke showed up out of nowhere again! And he did the thing again! The charming his way into getting what he wants thing! And now I have to play with his freaking band! What the hell am I supposed to do?”

There was silence for a moment. When Flynn spoke again her voice was softer, more serious.

“You don’t have to play with them, Jules. You can tell them no, and they’ll have no choice but to respect that. The only person who can make you do anything is you. But...I kinda think you might want to play with them.”

“What?! No!”

Julie’s exclamation was a second late. Flynn didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Julie sighed.

“Okay fine. There’s something about Luke that makes me want to play again. Are you happy? He gave mom’s song back to me when I thought it was lost forever. He’s the only person who’s heard me perform it, and he...no one else has ever made me feel that good about my music before.”

Julie thanked her lucky stars Flynn wasn’t in the room to see her blush. There was a long moment of contemplative silence on the other end of the line. When she spoke again, there was that extra note of take-no-shit in Flynn’s voice that made Julie sit up and really listen.

“I think you should give it a chance. Who knows, maybe this is some sort of sign from your mom. You said it was a miracle he would have even found that song in the first place. You said it felt like she was there with you when you were playing. Maybe she made sure it would find its way back to you when you were ready for it.”

Julie didn’t say anything, just worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Her heart beat a little faster in her chest. It had felt a little too perfect to be just a coincidence. The way Luke kept appearing in her life at the exact moments she needed him someone or something to help her keep moving forward. Flynn sighed.

“Look, I’m not saying it is your mom. But I’m not saying there’s not some kind of greater power out there that keeps pushing the two of you together. I think you should give it a chance. If nothing else, you can get back in the music program and we can bring Double Trouble to life in time for our Junior Showcase!”

Julie couldn’t help laughing. Her eyes felt misty, love for her best friend welling up in her heart.

“I never agreed to that name you know. But thanks, Flynn. I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Now. I gotta get the fuck out of this grimy ass bathroom. Love you, bye!”

Flynn waited for her to return the sentiment before hanging up.  Julie flopped back on her bed, letting her breath out in a loud whoosh as she hit the comforter. A glance at her phone told her she only had a couple hours until Luke and the other boys would be out of school and on their way to her house. She tried her best to ignore the way that thought made her stomach roll with a type of nervousness she would rather not name. It was easier to blame it on nerves over playing with new people rather than nerves over playing with Luke. Except...now that she actually thought about it, she had played with Luke before. Her head spun, eyes fluttering shut as she remembered the one music class she had shared with Luke last year.

She had only been a freshman, stuck in a lowly Introduction to Composition class. It was supposed to be for new songwriters. Julie had a little more experience than the rest of the class, after all she’d been kind of composing with her mom for a few years now, so when it had been time to write a duet for their final big project she had gotten paired up with the classmate whose skill level most matched hers. It was supposed to be a way for them to challenge each other and grow as writers instead of one person doing most of the work. Julie had been paired with Luke.

He’d been a grumbly sophomore, held back for failing his last semester of Intro to Comp the year before. He had been stuck there only for the second semester, forced to double up between their class and his second year Composition class. Julie hadn’t been all that excited about partnering with him. He hadn’t really seemed to care about the class at all, and even though Julie also sometimes felt like it was holding her back a little bit, she never once voiced that thought. It was a privileged mindset, and Julie was well aware that she had an advantage over her classmates since her mother was a professional songwriter. Luke, on the other hand, had made it well known that he felt like he was wasting his time just waiting to get through the semester so he could move up to the Advanced Composition class that he felt he truly belonged in. Julie could usually do no more than roll her eyes in those moments.

It was true that Luke was talented. His guitar playing was impressive, his lyrics were heartfelt and sometimes even downright poetic. Julie just didn’t think anyone deserved specific things in life because they happened to be naturally talented at something. Their songwriting experience had been...interesting to say the least. And short. It had ended abruptly when Julie’s mother had died 5 days later. In the end, they’d only worked together for two 40-minute class periods before she had been lost in the fog of grief that consumed her in the weeks following the loss of her mom.

Julie shot up in bed, eyes wide. She didn’t even fully remember what had happened with the half-finished song they had been working on. Errant notes echoed in her head, like a song that had only existed in dreams until now. She absently wondered if Luke had held onto that as well. It was no wonder she had kept that particular memory suppressed all this time. That time in her life had been particularly painful. Luke had been gentle with her though. Almost all traces of his typical arrogance gone in the two short class periods they’d had to work together. He had kept things light, steering their songwriting in the direction of a rock ballad more than a true duet. Julie hadn’t minded. She had been floating through classes by then anyway, on edge every second she was away from her mom’s bedside. It had been easier to work on something that didn’t have as many sappy emotions attached to it.

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. No wonder Luke had been so sweet with her. He must have had a front row seat to her breakdown throughout the last year. She hadn’t even realized it. Had never before seen the way he watched her from a distance, checked in on her during class. She should have. Now that she was thinking about it, trying to identify every instance, she could name a million. How had she missed it for so long? How had he gone so long without saying anything? The Luke she remembered was terrible at keeping his mouth shut. He had always been ready to speak his mind, never afraid to start a discourse. It didn’t track that he had been holding himself back. Unless...it was more about her musical ability than anything else. She remembered now; Luke had been thrilled to partner with her for the duet. He had made some remark about how her sound was the perfect complement to his. Maybe he only cared about the ways they would mesh as songwriters. She could only hope that’s what his words had meant.

She felt more secure in her footing as a musician when it came to dealing with Luke than she ever had as a simple teenaged girl. If it was just about the music she could compartmentalize better, keep herself from getting too emotionally invested. Music had always been a safe zone, neutral. She breathed in and out deeply, remembering the technique Dr. Turner had taught her to slow her breathing and recenter her mind. She could do this. It was just about the music. They would play a song together, Julie would get back into the music program, and life would move forward much in the way it had before. Except Julie would actually participate in class this time. She had the music back in her soul, she wasn’t ever going to let it go again. On her next exhale, she heard the doorbell ring. Showtime. Julie zipped down the stairs, ripping open the door before her dad had a chance to get more than three feet away from his computer. Luke, Alex and Reggie all stumbled back a step as she tumbled outside, pulling the front door shut behind her. The three teenaged boys shared a look.

“Studio. Now.”

Julie raced down the path to her mom’s studio before they could react, not even waiting to see if they followed her. If they were smart, if they truly wanted to do this, they would. She hauled the garage doors open, only turning around when she had the piano at her back. The wood felt warm and solid, almost like she had her mom as a support behind her instead of an instrument. The boys appeared seconds later, Luke leading the way. He stopped a couple feet inside of the studio, studying her with wide open earnest eyes. She let out a deep breath. Reggie spoke up before she could get a word out.

“Woah, Julie, this studio is so cool! It’s like a tiny home! A musical tiny home in a botanical garden!!”

His green eyes were wide, expression awed as he spun to take in the space that Julie and her mom had spent countless hours turning into theirs.

“How did you get chairs on the ceiling?! Are you, like, a witch and a siren?!! Man, you and your mom must have made some serious magic in here.”

Luke’s arm shot out faster than lightening to backhand Reggie’s bicep. Reggie cringed away, a soft owww! just barely audible over the loud sigh Alex let out as he buried his face in his hands. Reggie shrugged, looking back and forth between his bandmates before giving Julie a confused yet apologetic glance. What had he said wrong this time? The giggle that bubbled out of her was as unexpected as it was welcomed. Warmth blazed in her heart, memories of the time she had spent in here with her mom washing over her with a kind of hazy bliss she hadn’t ever experienced before. She gazed at Reggie, letting that same feeling of motherly love from the night before fill her up. It was all she could do not to react to Luke’s jaw dropping when she gave Reggie a soft smile.

“We did. We made so much magic in here.”

The words were gentle and filled with a kind of genuine love that overshadowed all other feelings of awkward nervousness. Alex and Luke relaxed instantly, Reggie’s face losing all traces of uncertainty as he beamed at her with a smile so large it almost looked painful. Julie couldn��t help but let herself return it, just a little bit. The silence that settled between them was more comfortable, the tense moment from earlier broken. Julie studied the boys in front of her. She hadn’t ever thought of them as friends per se. They knew each other, would say hi if they encountered one another outside the walls of the high school, but at the same time, they didn’t actually know each other. Julie’s little run in with Luke the night before had made that painfully obvious. She wasn’t really sure what to make of them.

“Are you guys actually serious about this whole Showcase scheme? Did Luke even tell you about his dumb plan?”

“Hey! That plan is genius. Even your dad agreed. He seems pretty cool.”

Julie couldn’t help the fond way she rolled her eyes. Alex was quick to reassure her that they did, in fact, know about the plan.

“Not that I actually think it’s a particularly well thought out plan.” He stated with a lingering glare at Luke’s back.

The planner in question did his best to ignore the skeptical look on Julie’s face.

“Julie, you really don’t deserve to be out of the music program.” Reggie’s voice was soft and sincere. “You have the voice of an angel. If we can help convinced Ms. Harrison and Principal Lessa to give you your spot back it will be so worth it. And even if we don’t, it’ll be worth the looks on their faces when we rock the pants off that crowd!”

Julie laughed in spite of herself, slightly reassured even as she chewed nervously on her lip. Luke took a few bouncy steps forward, pulling her attention to him completely. His eyes locked on hers and she was sure she was drowning, throat tightening at the look he was giving her.

“You got this. I wouldn’t have come up with this idea if I didn’t believe it 100%.”

Honestly, that was what scared her the most about it.

“We don’t even have anything prepared.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, unsteady and wavering. Luke took a few more steps towards her, Reggie and Alex ghosting along silently a few feet behind him. Julie didn’t even notice, so laser focused on the brunette boy in the cut-up tank top in front of her. She watched his muscles flex as he reached into his back pocket, flicking out a piece of folded up paper in a move scarily reminiscent of when he had given her mom’s song back to her. He bit his lip, head ducking a little to be closer to hers as he unfolded the worn sheets of scrappy notebook paper. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, focusing on the messy handwriting in front of her.

“I thought you would say that.”

The smile on his face was so soft and sweet it should have been illegal.

“It’s called ‘Bright’. It’s a Sunset Curve song that we never performed because it’s missing something. Look,” his bare shoulder brushed hers as he shifted to point at the notes, warmth seeping through the thin material of her t-shirt, “it’s perfect for your range. I was thinking, if we add a little bit of piano here and here,” fire blazed a path up her arm as his fingers traced along the opening notes and chorus, forearm flexing against her own, bare skin brushing in teasing licks, “it’ll be perfect.”

Julie forced herself to focus on what he was saying, eyes roving across the paper. She hummed a little under her breath, hearing what he described in her head. His eyes lit up when he saw her get it, feet springing up and down as he dipped even closer towards her and started to sing.

We will rise, through the night

You and I

We will fight to shine together

Bright forever

His voice vibrated in her chest, the sound filling her with an emotion she couldn’t fully identify. Alex and Reggie bobbed along behind him, Reggie’s fingers plucking out the baseline on an invisible guitar while Alex nodded along to an unseen beat. Julie could envision the way the song would sound with a complete band, could practically see herself fitting seamlessly into the mix with her piano and vocals. She couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips as she joined in, reading the lyrics off of the page.

And rise through the night,

You and I

We will fight to shine together

“Go up high.”

Luke cut in, fingers twirling towards the ceiling. Julie automatically made the adjustment in notes to harmonize her voice with his for the last line, holding the final syllable for a beat longer than him.

Bright forever

“Yes!”

Luke’s arm pumped up and down, bicep flexing and distracting Julie momentarily. She dropped her head shyly, trying to hide her blush. When her cheeks cooled a moment later she looked back up at the boy in front of her. His eyes were glowing, smile stretched a mile wide as he stared at her. Unconditional belief in her was practically oozing from his pores. She felt her face soften as their eyes locked, giving him her own sweet smile that was meant just for the two of them. She thanked him with a gentle murmur, heart melting as he simply bit his lower lip and nodded.

A throat cleared in the background, and Julie was snapped out of their private bubble by the sound. Her entire face felt engulfed in flames as she looked over Luke’s shoulder to see Alex and Reggie still standing a few paces behind him. Reggie’s face was bright, his sunshine temperament back in full force. Alex was a little more guarded, but he was giving her an encouraging smile and there was cautious optimism swimming in his sage green eyes as he fiddled with one of his drumsticks. She inhaled deeply and let her breath out in one smooth exhale. The same sort of peacefulness from the night before settled over her.

“Okay. Okay, so we’re doing this.”

Luke’s whoop was so loud both her and Alex jumped. Reggie raced forward with a cheer to sling one arm around Luke’s shoulders and the other around Julie’s, pulling them so close to his chest that their noses nearly touched. Julie saw the blush staining Luke’s cheeks and felt her own warm to match. Alex coughed again.

“Reg, c’mon. Let it settle for just a sec before you go all human octopus on the poor girl.”

“Oh, right! Sorry, Jules!!”

Reggie released both of them quickly. Julie flicked her gaze between the three boys, enjoying the glimpses at their band dynamic. Alex’s words had sounded a bit exasperated, but there was a fondness running through them as well. He gave a half-hearted roll of his eyes at Reggie’s abrupt movements and reached his own long arm out to pull the dark-haired boy close.

“Help me unload the van? I still don’t trust our little Lukey boy with my kit.”

“Hey! That was one time!”

Luke sounded downright offended. The dark look Alex leveled at him in response had Julie choking back a laugh with a badly disguised cough. Clearly once of whatever he did was enough. Luke pouted, arms flexing as they crossed over his chest.

“You put your foot through my bass drum, and you think that isn’t reason enough not to trust you with it ever again?”

Luke sputtered, eyes flicking to Julie and back to Alex as his ears reddened.

“I told you I didn’t see it!”

“It’s the biggest part of the kit, dumbass. Literally the hardest thing to miss.”

Alex’s voice was as unimpressed as it was dismissive. Luke threw his hands in the air as the other boys headed out of the studio, laughing amongst themselves. It was clear this was a regular argument between the two, no heat or anger left in it, only a loving sort of tease. Like the way Carlos still brought up that time she accidentally gave him a concussion double-bouncing him off of their neighbor’s trampoline when he wanted something from her. Or the way her Tía would still laugh as she remembered the time her mom had almost gotten them both arrested for a bar fight on her 21st birthday, Ray affectionately filling in the parts that she tried to leave out. Warmth bloomed in her chest. This wasn’t just a band, wasn’t just a ragtag trio of friends. These guys were brothers. This was a family. And they were letting her into that intimate circle.

The thought was both humbling and nerve-wracking. This Showcase was a big deal. It wasn’t just some school assignment. This could impact their future as a band career-wise. They were all trusting her with this, fully believing in her, or at least, fully believing in Luke’s faith in her abilities. She wasn’t sure anyone had ever believed in her like that. Not anyone that hadn’t known her since she was in diapers. Her head swam, knees feeling a bit weak. She stumbled her way over to the couch, collapsing onto it with a barely audible huff. Luke was in front of her instantly, crouched down so they were face to face. His hands twitched in his lap, but he didn’t reach for her.

“Hey. Julie. Breathe.”

She sucked in a breath, zeroing in on nothing more than his face. After a few seconds she realized he was breathing in and out slowly, just loud enough for her to hear over the jumble of thoughts running amok in her brain. She matched her own inhales and exhales to his, the room slowly coming back into focus as her head cleared. He gave her one of those soft smiles she was starting to think of as hers.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. But I wouldn’t have stopped you in school if I didn’t think you were gonna rock it. I heard you last night. I listened to you for years before last night.”

His chin dropped in embarrassment for just a second before he pulled his gaze back up to hers. Julie felt like she was on the edge of a cliff. Not for the first time she wished she knew how long this version of Luke had been lurking under the surface. It took everything in her not to let herself step off that ledge and fall.

“Music is in your soul. It’s a part of you. Not everyone is like that, but you are. Your life without music...”

He tapered off like the thought was physically painful to him, eyebrows furrowing in a slight wince.

“Living without music would be like living in a world without stars: dark and empty and uninspired. You deserve galaxies, Julie. You deserve the chance to shine exactly like the star you are, and the world deserves the chance to hear you. Please, just...have a little faith?”

She saw it then. As he gazed at her with those bottomless ocean eyes, with that special smile on his lips and sincerity bleeding through every word, she knew. Luke was like her. Luke got it. In a way that no one else except her mom ever had. That’s what this was. They were kindred spirits, two sides of the same coin. And that feeling? The wind rushing through her hair and stealing her breath away while her limbs all turned to jelly feeling? That was definitely her falling head over heels off of the cliff and into Luke Patterson completely.

“Okay.”

She breathed out, and his answering smile set off the butterflies she thought had finally left her stomach. He stood up and held a hand out to her, easily pulling her to her feet in one smooth movement.

“You know,” his smile turned rueful, “eventually you’re gonna have to answer one of my questions with something other than ‘okay’. That’s a pretty passive word, and I’m not really a passive type of person. I wanna start hearing some ‘hell yeah’s and ‘awesome’s pretty soon.”

Julie rolled her eyes, moving away from Luke to set up her keyboard. He gave her a bouncy little shrug of his shoulders, and she let the levity of his joke wash over her, releasing the last bit of nerves. She could do this. Luke believed in her. Her mom believed in her. Hell, Alex and Reggie believed in her and she barely even knew them. She could do this, just like her mom had said.

Noise from the other boys making their way up the driveway had her rushing to pull both doors to the studio open so they could haul in Alex’s drum kit. The three of them left together to grab amps and guitars, Julie finishing the rest of the set up in the garage. Before she had time to overthink things or freak out again, they were all settled into their spots and Alex was counting down for their first run through. Fingers against the keys, Julie breathed out, opened her mouth, and began to play.

[introvertguide]

Goodfellas (1990); AFI #92

The current film up for review is Scorsese’s famous crime drama, Goodfellas (1990). It is the story of Henry Hill and how he lived through the psychotic and neurotic life of a mafia member. The film was nominated for six academy awards including Best Picture and Best Director, but only took one trophy home for Best Supporting Actor (Joe Pesci). I watched the movie 3 times over the last 2 weeks and my opinion changed from one opinion to another as I watched each time and I want to discuss why. First of all, however, we need to do summarize the plot with a standard warning...

SPOILER ALERT!!!!! I HAVE ALREADY GIVEN AWAY THE PLOT IN PREVIOUS POSTS AND I AM ABOUT TO DO IT AGAIN EVEN MORE SO!!!! CHECK OUT THE MOVIE FOR YOURSELF IF YOU HAVEN’T ALREADY!!!

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The movie begins with three men checking the trunk of their car and finding that the body in the trunk was actually alive. Tommy (Joe Pesci) stabs the man multiple times and then Jimmy (Robert DeNiro) shoots him multiple times. Henry (Ray Liotta) looks on and explains his life in voice over and how the men all got to this position. 

In 1955, a young man named Henry Hill becomes enamored with the criminal life and Mafia presence in his working class Italian-American neighborhood in Brooklyn. He gets a job working for local mob boss Paul "Paulie" Cicero (Paul Sorvino) and is introduced to the entire family. Most important were associates James "Jimmy" Conway, an Irish truck hijacker, and Tommy DeVito, a fellow juvenile delinquent. Henry begins as an errand boy for Jimmy, gradually working his way up to more serious crimes. The three associates spend most of their nights in the 1960s at the Copacabana nightclub where they can impress women. Henry starts dating Karen Friedman (Lorraine Bracco), a Jewish woman who is friends with Tommy’s current date. She is initially troubled by Henry's criminal activities but is eventually seduced by his glamorous lifestyle. She marries him, despite her parents' disapproval.

We follow Henry and his rise in the mafia along with Jimmy and his growing paranoia and Tommy with his constant chip on the shoulder. In 1970, Billy Batts, a made man in the Gambino crew who was recently released from prison, repeatedly insults Tommy at a nightclub owned by Henry; Tommy and Jimmy then beat, stab and shoot him to death. The unsanctioned murder of a made man invites retribution; realizing this, Jimmy, Henry, and Tommy cover up the murder by burying the body in Upstate New York. Six months later, however, Jimmy learns that the burial site is slated for development, prompting them to exhume and relocate the decomposing corpse. At this time, Jimmy begins watching his back, Tommy feels invincible, and Henry takes on girlfriend while Karen stays at home with the kids.

Fast forward to 1974, Karen finds out about the infidelity and harasses Henry's mistress Janice and holds Henry at gunpoint. Henry moves in with Janice, but Paulie insists that he should return to Karen after collecting a debt from a gambler in Tampa with Jimmy. The mafia is all about family and there is no divorce and appearances must be kept. Things don’t go as planned because, upon returning, Jimmy and Henry are arrested after being turned in by the gambler's sister, an FBI typist, and they receive ten-year prison sentences. In order to support his family on the outside, Henry has drugs smuggled in by Karen and sells them to a fellow inmate from Pittsburgh. In 1978, Henry is paroled and expands this cocaine business against Paulie's orders, soon involving Jimmy and Tommy.

In 1979, Jimmy organizes a crew to raid the Lufthansa vault at the JFK Airport, stealing several millions in cash and jewelry. After some members purchase expensive items against Jimmy's orders and the getaway truck is found by police, he has most of the crew murdered. This part of the film is based on a true story Jimmy, in fact killed almost a dozen people in attempt to keep things silent. In his voiceover narration, as dead bodies are being discovered all over the city, Henry theorizes that Jimmy would have killed them anyway rather than share the profits of the heist. Tommy and Henry are spared by Jimmy since they had worked so close together. Also, Henry wasn’t actually involved in robbery and Tommy is going to be a made man and Jimmy wants the connection. Tommy is eventually deceived into believing he is going to be made, but he is murdered on the way to the ceremony, leaving Jimmy devastated.

By 1980, Henry has become a nervous wreck from cocaine use and insomnia. He notices that a helicopter is following him but is trying to visit with his family and deliver drugs at the same time. He sets up a drug deal with his Pittsburgh associates, but is arrested by narcotics agents and jailed. After bailing him out, Karen explains that she flushed $60,000 worth of cocaine down the toilet to prevent FBI agents from finding it during their raid, leaving them virtually penniless. Henry has nowhere to go so he returns to Paulie to ask for help and admits to dealing under the table. Feeling betrayed by Henry's drug dealing, Paulie gives him $3,200 and ends their association. Henry meets Jimmy at a diner and is asked to travel on a hit assignment, but the novelty of such a request makes him suspicious. Henry realizes that Jimmy plans to have him and Karen killed, prompting his decision to become an informant and enroll, with his family, in the witness protection program. He gives sufficient testimony to have Paulie and Jimmy arrested and convicted. Henry is grateful to be alive, but he is forced out of his gangster life and has to readjust to normal life once again; he narrates, "I'm an average nobody. I get to live the rest of my life like a schnook."

The end title cards state that Henry is still a protected witness as of 1990, but that he was arrested in 1987 in Seattle for narcotics conspiracy, receiving five years' probation. He has been clean since then. He and Karen separated in 1989 after 25 years of marriage, while Paulie died the previous year in Fort Worth Federal Prison at age 73 from respiratory illness. Jimmy is serving a 20 years to life sentence in a New York prison for murder, in which he will be paroled in 2004, when he will be 78 years old.

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Even more of an update from the end title cards, Henry Hill and Karen Hill divorced in 2001 and then Henry remarried and fathered one more child. Karen and her kids have lived in hiding and fear they will never escape possible retribution. Jimmy died in prison in 1996 before he was eligible for parole and Henry died in 2012 of cancer. With their history of explosive violence, I am kind of glad that all three of the main men (Tommy, Henry, and Jimmy) have shuffled off this mortal coil.

So I ended up watching this film three times in the last couple of weeks and I liked it less and less each time. So many people have such good things to say about the movies (including me), yet what the movie is most celebrated for is what I like the least. The first time I watched was with my housemates and they talked throughout the movie and laughed at the antics of Joe Pesci. I feel that many viewers enjoyed that crazy performance, and this was probably the reason for the Best Supporting Actor award. I am sure that capturing the volatile nature of a lunatic mafia hitman is very difficult and deserves praise.

I then watched it twice more to take notes on the different camera shots and then to compare to the real story of the Lucchese family and Lufthansa heist. I was not disappointed with the camera shots since Scorsese tends to let his actors go wild and then move the camera in interesting ways to capture the action while telling the story he wants to tell. He uses extreme close up shots and the vertigo trucking shot to represent the paranoia of Henry Hill and Jimmy Burke. He used the tracking shot to bring the audience into the world of the mafia man using the the character of Karen Hill as the “fish-out-of-water.” The choice of music was great including using the Sid Vicious rendition of the classic “My Way” popularized by Frank Sinatra. The colors were so bright in the beginning and became so bleak and washed out by the end. Fantastic cinematography and direction. 

By the last watch, I realized that I did not like Tommy DeVito (real life name Tommy DeSimone) because he made everybody around him scared. It was like having a pet feral tiger and just hoping that he never turned on you. He was not loyal at all. In actuality, he tried to rape Karen Hill while she was married to Henry. He really killed a young bartender named Spider because Jimmy was teasing him. He brutally attacked and murdered out of anger because he was completely unhinged. Just watching Joe Pesci play the part made me anxious and I wanted him to go away every time he appeared on screen. I guess this makes him a great actor, but it also doesn’t make me want to watch his movies. 

I brought this up with the Godfather movies on the list, but do Brooklyn based Italian-Americans act like these people in the movies? Constant noise in which men treat women terribly and the women go off to the kitchen and make food? I can except the loud large families and the giant shared meals, but I sure hope that the poor treatment of women and the huge lack of equality between the genders is fake or at least outdated. I have met some really nice Italian people who are nothing like the people in these films, so I believe it is a stereotype (if this is true, then Hollywood needs to stop promoting these stereotypes).

A final positive note towards the acting, I thought that Lorraine Bracco did a wonderful job as Karen Hill. She played a sheltered girl that wanted a little danger and got way more than she ever wanted. There is a scene in which she realizes that her husband is cheating and that she and her children are miserable and unprotected. She wakes up Henry with a gun in his face, but she can’t kill him because she wants that drama in her life. She is treated horribly and at one point barely walks away from a hit set up by Jimmy, yet she still stays with Henry until she is forced into the boring life of Witness Protection and she leaves him. After wading through the history of all the different characters from the movie, I actually find her story to be the most interesting.

In the end, I still want an answer for the same two questions. Does this film belong on the AFI top 100? Absolutely. It is a well made movie with a strong vision about one version of growing up in Brooklyn and how searching to realize the American dream can lead you down dark and dirty paths. Great vision by Scorsese and a well told story. Do I recommend it? Not really. I recommend doing the research on these American mobsters and get a feel for what these people were really like. I recommend checking out clips on YouTube that show the filming techniques that have become hallmarks of great directors. But don’t watch these portrayals and laugh. They are not fun or funny like they come off in the movie, these are horrible (yet interesting) people that should serve as a lesson/warning and not have their lives glamourized by Hollywood. 

[iwantutobehapppier]

Nobody Loves No One (1/?)

Pairing: Bucky x Enhanced Female Reader

Summary: You know one thing, James Buchanan Barnes was trustworthy and you weren't. When he inserts himself into your family drama and past can you show you're worthy of his trust or deign to hurt him as most of life has?

Word Count: 4,312

Warnings: Eventual Smut, night terrors, angst, verbal abuse, implied abuse, canon typical violence, and cursing. 18 and older only

A/N: This is something I’ve been working on for a while. I really hope you all enjoy it. I’m not sure how many chapters it will break up into. I am still working on the 2k requests I promise! I just really wanted to get this out there after months of working on it. I once saw a note on an AO3 story where it said “Continues to aggressively ignore canon” that's how it is here. Steve didn't go to the past, Avengers Compound rebuilt and everyone is alive. I hope you all enjoy! Reblogs and comments welcomed!

There wasn't a moment you knew him that you didn't trust him. The harsh realization that you never felt this way about anyone else, family included, made keeping him at a distance the only option but hard to follow through with. 

He noticed right away, after all, he was trained in the art of reading a situation. Honestly, you weren't trying to be subtle just trying to protect. This only made him seek you out more.

James Buchanan Barnes was trustworthy, you weren't.

You killed for fun in the past, enjoyed the hunt and more than anything lived for the warmth of your enemy’s blood spilling down your hands. Winter Soldier didn't have a choice in his killings but you did and you always made the right choice, at least when you got older.

You became an Avenger to circumvent jail time and the killing became more methodical and less for pleasure. It was to complete the mission not bask in the trail of destruction you could cause. The first time you killed someone like the old days on a mission was in front of Steve and Bucky. 

Blood from your broken nose covered your upper lip and chin. When the HYDRA agent punched you square in the jaw you screamed out, not in pain. 

With a glower, you grabbed the startled agent by the shoulders and chucked him to the ground using your superhuman strength.

You whipped your boot knife out and fell on top of them using the momentum of your fall to push the blade completely into their chest. A gleeful smile pulled at your lips, your eyes dilated in pleasure watching the light fade from the shocked face of your adversary.

Steve calls out your name, you look up to the sight of him and Bucky charging towards you.

"We heard you scream," Steve’s voice trailed off, he slowed his approach at your blood-stained teeth on display in a sadistic smile. 

Bucky continued forward, the deranged look did a lot to him but never a deterrent.

"You alright Toots?" You cocked your head to the side at the sound of his voice. The smile slipped from your face looking down in practiced shame.

"I'm fine." A hollow whisper.

Bucky stood next to you placing his metal hand under your chin forcing you to face up.

"Come on, there are more goons you can stab like a lunatic." You stood up your eyes hooded as an unhinged smile pulled at the corner of your lips.

They saw you in your most primal and pleasure-filled state, where Steve was cautious Bucky became fascinated.

He spent more time with you outside of missions, even had you watch movies during your joined insomnia fits. You learned he had a sweet tooth but only if cherry flavored or chocolate. He loved documentaries, he had watched Cosmos five times. When you introduced him to NOVA the two of you spent an entire night watching your favorites.

He told you about HYDRA late nights when the majority of the team would be away on missions, the violence and how it hurt when they'd wipe the slate clean. He only felt safe sharing in isolation, worried others could overhear even across the compound.

You joked once that it didn't matter after the data dump everyone knew. He was hurt at first but understood you were only trying to spare him the need to hide who he had been.

"Tell me somethin’ no one knows." He leaned into you on the bench at the lake dock. The stars and waning moon illuminating your furrowed brow in memory.

"I was 13 when I killed someone for the first time." The shame you had trained yourself to feel when enjoying death didn't come. Instead, you felt that smile Bucky liked to see on missions pulled at your lips.

"13 eh? What'd they do?" His eyes drifting towards you, that smile made him want to kiss you. Your lack of shame and his abundance something that drew the two of you together. A dysfunctional balance.

"Short version?” You ignored his gaze knowing he would look but never touch inappropriately. “He was touching a friend of mine in a way no adult should so I made sure he couldn't touch anyone ever again." You felt him tense as you leaned against him sharing the bench. A fleeting thought of maybe you shouldn’t have shared this chased away when his metal arm wrapped around your shoulders fingers so gentle curled around your shoulder.

"That was the first time I learned someone could bleed out. I didn't mean to kill him honestly just wanted him to stop." Your tone petulant.

A rough chuckle fell from his lips causing your body to shake as you remain against him. His arm pulled your back almost flat to his chest.

"Well Toots I'm sure ya learned real quick how to let 'em bleed without dying on ya"

You nodded your head in agreement, lesson learned indeed. You laid down, your head on his lap, a hand behind his head you toy with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Before Bucky would be embarrassed at the sudden intimacy but now he closes his eyes, an unconscious soft rumble pulled from deep in his chest past his lips. 

Touching him with such ease was a slow progression that only happened in private. Neither of you ashamed but both apprehensive to show such affection openly. You could recall a time he would remain tense when your hand would rest on top of his. The ease in which you touched him slowly opened him to reciprocate and now you often found each other in such intimate but innocent embraces. 

"You?"

"What people assume is a Nazi back in '43," there's a pause, gauging whether he could trust you as you trusted him. Like a fool he did.

"The truth is?" You implored he huffed, pushing your hair from your face he rested his metal arm on your stomach the other at the top of your head gently caressed the furrow wrinkles on your forehead.

"A guy Steve tried to stop from knifin’ this lady in an ally. He nicked Steve's arm and I lost it." Bucky took a deep breath, his metal hand on your stomach bunched up your shirt in a fist.

"I was so scared of Steve bein’ killed...I couldn’ stop myself. I only realized the guy was unconscious when Steve started yellin’ my name." Bucky swallow audible. "Saw his obit' in the paper a few days later."

"So we both didn't mean to." A short laugh escapes your lips.

"Accidental murders?" You shake your head at the idea.

"No never an accident. Always with intent even if I didn't know he'd bleed out I never regretted what I did to him." He was silent at that, you both knew he couldn't say the same there was too much unintentional and innocent blood on his hands. 

"So how'd a 13-year-old girl get rid of a body?" You grimace and turn to face the lake, his metal hand slinking up your raised shirt. The cool metal hand resting on your lower stomach. He never pushed boundaries, though you would never admit it out loud you wished he would.

"Uh, so my father's a butcher and well he had this industrial meat grinder." Bucky's brows shot up.

"Oh, please tell me you pulled a Sweeney Todd?" Bucky’s love of musicals endearing especially when you’d catch him humming or the rare chance singing under his breath.

"My father would have killed me," you paused Bucky noticed the far off look in your eyes as you took in the softening hues of the horizon. 

"I told him the next day after I put the remains in the dump.” You trailed off remembering your father’s tantrum. “He was upset don't get me wrong but I think that was the first time he was proud of me." With a bitter laugh, you sat up. Bucky pulled his hands from you with remorse, he wished he could remain in an intimate embrace forever, even if he didn't deserve such pleasures.

"But daddy issues will have to be for another night because looks like dawn is breaking." You nodded your head across the lake.

"Hmm, I like a girl with daddy issues." Bucky joked but you were fairly certain he meant it.

"I've got more than you can handle Barnes." You both stand stretching out your stagnant muscles before making way back to the compound to start another day with minimal sleep. Walking ahead you missed his last remark.

"You've got no idea how much I can handle toots."

Late one night you returned from a mission with Natasha. Parting ways you made your way to your quarters when halfway down the hall you hear soft whimpers, pausing you listen for where they could be coming from. 

An agonizing cry carries through the door to your right. Bucky. Your heart began to race as you put your hand on the door handle. If he was hurting you didn’t want him to be alone. But was it your place to encroach in his personal life like this? You two were friends, close friends, but was this a boundary you could cross?

The whimpering starts back up and before you can think further you’re entering the room. It’s dark, but you can make out Bucky’s form tossing on his bed. You place one knee on the bed leaning over him, trailing your hand up to his flesh arm gently, trying to rouse him from his inner demons.

“Bucky,” The docile tone barely carries but it's enough for him to still, with your other hand you brush his hair off his damp forehead. His brow softens and you hate the way your heart flutters in response. 

He rolls over to his side, his back to you and you remove your hand from his arm hoping this was enough to ease his demons for the night. A metal hand quickly wraps around our wrist. You try not to react, keeping yourself calm.

“Stay,” His voice is sleep ridden, the deep richness much more alluring than should be possible. He tugs your arm and you fall onto his bed. Your chest against this back.

“Please” You ache, his voice shaky and vulnerable, you wrap your arm around him, placing your palm center in his chest and rest your head on your bent arm. 

“Of course,” Is all you can muster as he burrows into you. His breath evening out quickly. 

When morning comes you aren’t sure what to expect but it certainly wasn’t this. Your fingers curl into a soft shirt as sleep began to fade, laying on your stomach your cheek pressed against warm firm muscles. Your eyes snap open and lookup.

Clear blue eyes peer down at you, Bucky halfway propped up against his headboard. The soft side smile curling on his lips makes stupid fluttering in your chest again. Oh, this was not good. Bucky’s arms curled around your back pushing you into him. Or was this perfect?

“Morning Toots,” the timbre of his voice pulls you back to reality. 

“Morning,” Slowly sitting up to one side of the bed you stretch your arms above your head looking around. It hadn’t been even 4 hours since you crawled in bed with him but it felt like you had a full night rest. Looking out the corner of your eyes you catch Bucky still watching you. 

“Thanks for last night,” A warm hand rests on your back, it's comforting in a way you can barely remember feeling in your life. 

“Of course,” you mutter feeling uncomfortable with your own emotions. Bucky raises a brow at the shift, clouds forming over his eyes insecurity at seeing and hearing about his night terrors two different things.

“I mean,” You try to recover, not wanting to hurt him with your own damage. “Of course I’d be there for you.” looking at your lap you finger the hem of your sleep wrinkled shirt. “There’s  no one I’d be there for more,” you look back at him bitting your lower lip, “Thank you Bucky.”

Something shifted, his eyes softening with an easy smile. You squeak when he pulls you back into the pillows. 

“Alright Toots,” he mutters, your head below his chin both facing upward. “Let’s watch some morning cartoons then maybe breakfast?”

You nod your head unable to utilize your voice at this intimacy. 

"I told you I'd take care of it just like I told you never to call me." Bucky paused at your cracked door, alarmed by the uncharacteristic rush of words and panic in your voice.

"They aren't gonna do shit," he knew he shouldn't be listening on what was clearly a private conversation but he could never stop himself when it came to you.

"Pops, they know if they pull anything I'll take them down and this time it won't be innocent getting hurt. They're all plenty guilty." Bucky could hear your teeth grind together spitting the words out.

Bucky could make out an older male voice saying your name with worry over the phone thanks to the serum enhancements. Worry over what was still unclear.

"They came round last night is all and gave their cryptic bullshit." Loud coughing came through on the phone  "I thought you should know. Don't let me stop you from playing the superhero."

When the cell phone beeped for end call Bucky made his way towards his room. 

He didn't see you again that day until he came to your door to see what movie you'd like to watch later. You were pulling your worn leather jacket on and the look on your face told him he wasn't going to like whatever you had to say.

"I'm sorry Buck but I gotta take care of some personal matters and I don't know how late I'll be." You pull your bottom lip between your teeth in worry. Missing time with Bucky seems like a crime considering how close you two had grown over the months.

He wanted to say I heard you on the phone don't do whatever stupid thing you might be doing alone but all he could get out was "That's alright, you want some company?"

"Nah, I think I should go it alone. Maybe next time?" You offered. Wouldn't it be nice to introduce him to your family? Pretend for a moment both of you weren't cracked pieces but instead friends with normal nuclear families.

But you didn't play pretend, not anymore.

"Be safe Toots." You left with nothing else.

He followed you if you wouldn't invite him along he'd at least keep an eye on you. Bucky knew you would only be upset if he got in the way but also knew if you needed help you weren’t someone to ask for it. Your tone on that call left him feeling uneasy about you going alone, while you didn’t need protecting Bucky couldn’t help the way he felt. 

He almost lost you right away when Steve just had to show him this cute video he found online.

"I've gotta go, man!" Bucky's knees bounced erratically as he sat at the table waiting for Steve to pull the video up on his tablet.

"Jeez, where do you even need to be?" Steve muttered navigating the tablet.

"I've got stuff going on outside this place." Steve eyed Bucky but nodded his head. 

"I can't find it right now anyway. Go on and stop acting like you've got ants in your pants." Bucky took off before Steve had even finished.

By the time he caught up, you had passed Hackensack and still heading south. Where you going into the city? He knew you were from the city but not sure where.

Keeping a safe distance you both made it to Staten Island. He shook his head taking in the sights of what used to be bustling areas of Staten Island now run down with some abandoned industrial buildings and overpopulated projects.

When you stopped in front of a butchery he knew this was the place and grabbed his trusted Betsy, useful in keeping a proper eye on you and safe. Not that you needed a lot of help with the latter. Looking across the street at the destitute multi-family building he decided that would be the most advantageous. 

You walked into the brick worn store feeling nostalgia and apprehension all at once with the dinging of the doorbell atop the door frame.

"Pops?" You called out trailing your fingers across the wrapped hanging meats. He hadn't moved the unsold meat to the walk-in yet. You remembered long-lasting bruises from beatings over not getting the meat back in the chiller before dinner.

Your name was called out from the back but it sounded strained. Your brow creased, slowly making your way to the back end of the establishment.

Taking notice of the walk-in fridge door open and the yellowed overexposed strip curtains flapping you called out for your dad once more and his response sounding strained still from inside the fridge.

Standing a few feet in front of the barely see through curtains you could make out what appeared to be your dad in a chair. If you weren't suspicious before you knew now, things weren't right.

You took one step closer to the walk-in before someone charged out, a pipe in hand. Grabbing the pipe before it could impact, you head butt the would-be assailant gaining a sick satisfaction from the sound of their skull cracking. Your enhanced strength and skeletal makeup always fun for taking out bad guys.

A forearm wrapped around your neck from behind, you managed to get one hand between the arm and your neck to keep direct pressure off. Feeling the muscle in the arm and chest now pressed against your back you knew this one would take more work.

With a macabre smile, you began to charge the two of you back to the front of the shop slamming their back into a meat display case. Once the grip loosened from the behind, you flipped him from behind by holding the back of his neck, letting him land on his ass in front of you. Without missing a beat you snap his neck and release him to crumple on the floor.

"How many more?" You grunted.

"I don't know shithead maybe 20? They went upstairs." Your father's hoarse voice called from the walk-in. As you passed by and lifted a curtain slat to make sure he was alright you noticed the worn lines along his face you were unfamiliar with. In the past decade of your life, you had avoided him as much as possible, unwilling to subject yourself to his verbal abuse.

"You gonna die on me old man?" Helping him stand you took a catalog of his wounds nothing seemed severe, appearing they only roughed him up saving the lethal force for you.

Making your way up to your father's flat just above the shop you tried to quell the fluttering in your chest at the thought of all the carnage you were about to unleash. Seeing the light underneath the door you were almost giddy with excitement. No Avengers here to see the delight you took in pain.

Rolling your shoulders back and cracking your neck you whipped out two knives and kicked the door in, sending it off its hinges and into the room. The men inside are dressed in the typical mog sleaze attire you almost roll your eyes but knew better. They charged and you retaliated. 

The sound of a window shattering followed by bodies drop you around you and high power rounds freeze your assailants in place but you fall to the floor for protection. 

They brought a sniper?!

You were stunned as the men sent to attack you had bullets flying through their skulls. With a grimace, you stood back up realizing who was behind the gun. 

"Bucky," you hissed in agitation.

Taking out a guy charging to your right from the kitchen with a quick uppercut feeling the jaw crush at impact and foot to the chest cracking ribs and sending them flying into a wall, you made your way over the pile of bodies to the shattered window.

Stilling you heard the baseboards behind you creak, ducking you whip your head back and smiled at the sound of a whizzing bullet flying through the air. The man behind you falling to the ground.

Standing up straight you lifted the holey curtain to the side looking up at the rooftop across the street. 

Under the cover of darkness, you could make out his metal hand giving a two-finger wave and his stupid handsome boyish smile. Nodding your head in thanks, you made your way back downstairs to your father, assured Bucky would be there in no time as well.

You found your father dragging a body from the front end of the shop towards the basement access leaving a trail of blood. Rolling your eyes you lifted the body up with ease then proceeded to toss it down the basement stairs.

He stared you down, keeping eye contact you raised an eyebrow challenging the old man to say a word. Before the traditional verbal sparring could start between you two the sound of boots crushing on broken glass interrupts.

Your father puts his fists up at Bucky's dark shadow leaning against the frame between the front and back of the shop. Bucky studied the body language between the two of you. Your father was a short man and the only visible familiarity the scowl you both pointed his way.

"Pops, this is a friend. That's my job right?" Your father side-eyes you, one that used to scare you as a child now reminds you how much you hated him as a kid.

"We need to call the team," Bucky made his way towards the two of you.

"No!" Your father and you echo. Bucky's brow rises in suspicion, stopping mid-step.

"Listen, Barnes,” Bucky frowned at the formality. “I don't expect you to understand but I've got old contacts that can help me take care of this." You try to keep it vague knowing he'd press you about it later if he felt it was pertinent.

"Yeah Barnes," your father's chest-puffing out and you roll your eyes at him trying to assert dominance. "They're pretty good at cleaning up these messes shithead makes."

"My mess?!” Your face written with disbelief. “ Pretty sure you made this one all on your own." He really hadn't changed over the years, never any culpability. Arguing you missed the way Bucky's eyes narrowed on your father. 

"Now shithead," Bucky’s hands curled into fists at your father’s disparaging words. "I may have caused the situation but you laid the bodies down."

The animosity in the back of your father's butchery was palpable. Just like growing up. The only new piece in the aquation being Bucky’s steely glare pointed at your father. You didn’t have it in you to wonder why he held such a hard look for a man he just met. Though your father didn’t really instill much camaraderie in strangers, let alone in his own family.

"Call them and clean up the shop old man."  Walking past your father he grabbed your upper arm, looking back at him, his eyes softened in an abnormal manner. 

"Don't be dumb," his voice full of concern caught you off guard. Not knowing how to handle this side of a man you only knew as rough you pulled your arm from his grip.

"It's all I know how to be right?" Looking at Bucky you nodded your head to follow him out the front. Missing the remorseful look of your father.

Standing in front of the store with Bucky you feel nervous. When he steps in front of you keeping eye contact you lift your head up and feel your heartbeat faster but not from the adrenaline of a fight.

His eyes locked onto the blood marring your check, his right hand comes up to wipe clean. You stop breathing for the briefest of a moment at his touch.

"You're dad's a real charmer, Toots." You chuckle shaking your head causing his hand to fall away. "I'm starting to see why you killed so young, dad like that would drive anyone to violence." 

You can't help the glare you direct at him.

"He didn't drive me to murder, not at first at least." Bucky opened his mouth to clearly inquire what that meant but you cut him off.

"I appreciate your help Buck," you rest your hand on his left shoulder squeezing gently where metal meets flesh "I really do but I've gotta do the next step on my own."

"And what's that?" Bucky wiggled his eyebrows and you sighed, it was hard to refuse those beautiful blue eyes.

"If you're gonna come with I'm afraid you'll get more red on your hands." Bucky shrugged his shoulders with a flare of dramatics your hand slipping off. 

"I'd hate to miss seeing that little crooked smile you get when you enjoy a kill." He takes a step closer, your breaths mixing. "Really gets me going." His words and smirk that slides over his face pull a gasp from you. 

"James Barnes!" Your tone hushed with an indiscernible tone, "your momma know you talk to ladies like that?"

His smile only widened, skin folding at the corner of his eyes. 

"What she don’t know won't hurt 'er." He lifted his hand gesturing towards his car. "Betsy's secure in the back waiting to see what other shenanigans you can get her into tonight." You snickered at his nickname for his m249. 

[horrorlad]

Horrorlad Reviews: The Dentist (1996)

Or at least, like, talks about it a bunch. 

Boy was I overthinking my first real Horror Lad post! It was going to be Grave Encounters, but that will have to wait, because I got insomnia and decided to rewatch a movie I hadn’t seen seen since I was 14, which wound up being the perfect opportunity to write out a post!

Let’s talk about The Dentist!

So, The Dentist is a 1996 movie starring Corbin Bernsen. It was directed by Brian Yuzna (one of the producers of Re-Animator, he also directed the 1989 body horror film Society which I haven’t seen, though a cursory image search tells me I need to add to my watch list immediately).

Anyway, The Dentist is about a teethsman who catches his wife giving some other guy a BJ and gets so grossed out about it that he has a nervous breakdown about, uh, how dirty mouths are, I guess? He loses his absolute shit (though he didn’t seem to have it all that together to begin with; this guy’s Jack Torrance is way more Kubrick than King), and we the audience get to tag along for all the wacky fun.

Full disclosure: I can’t give an unbiased review of this movie. I watched it several times in high school, then completely forgot about it for ten years, until tonight. There’s too much nostalgia wrapped up in it.

That said, upon rewatching it, I am in LOVE with the structure of it as a film. You know how, some movies, you can tell that the people behind the scenes are having a blast? This is one of those movies. The structure of the shots vary wildly, and I suspect that there was not one tripod or stabilizer on that set. The makeup and effects are fun, every actor has an opportunity to shine at least once, and the pacing is totally bonkers. I will note, however, that for a slasher movie the confirmed death count is pretty low, AND most of the murders are less dentistry-related than you might expect. Still, it’s a good time, and right now it’s available to watch for free (with commercials) on Tubi, which is pretty sweet!

Read on for the content warnings and spoilers. In the meantime, I give The Dentist 3.5 tanks of nitrous oxide (use with caution).

Content warnings and plot synopsis below the cut.

Content Warnings

Also, I don’t really know what to classify this one as, but there is a lot of “ick” factor to this movie — rotting teeth, sludge, etc. If you’re easily squicked out by that sort of stuff, I’d proceed with caution.

Dental torture (and how!) – it’s basically the whole movie, folks.

Sexual assault – multiple instances, including a character having their head forced down while giving oral sex (in a daydream), and another character being assaulted while on nitrous oxide.

Spousal abuse (physical and emotional) – again, there’s a lot of this.

Child abuse – A young child has their gums stabbed by the dentist.

Animal abuse – a dog is shot offscreen.

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

Okay, spoiler time!

Whoo boy, here we go!

I have no idea why I watched this movie so much as a teen. Probably because it was free on FearNet (remember FearNet?) and I would watch just about anything.

Watching it as an adult, my first thought is… man this is weirdly paced. My second thought is that there’s a lot more non-dental-related murders than I would have expected, but we’ll come back to that.

So, our hero(?) is a dentist, and we meet him at the beginning of a framing device, miming dentistry and offering to tell us about his story. The bulk of the movie is then a flashback about how he got to where he is, interspersed with his monologuing or whatever. We meet him and his wife (who are a straight couple in a movie and thus required to completely hate one another) on their anniversary, a fact which becomes clear while he’s in the middle of throwing a fit about his laundry.

Pictured: a totally hinged man. Nothing unhinged going on here, no sir.

At any rate, he gets all suspicious after an interaction with the pool guy, and catches his wife having an affair with the guy. He continues framing-device-monologuing about decay and the world being filthy and all that, daydreams about assaulting his wife and murdering the pool boy, etc. He follows the pool guy to the neighbor’s house, acts all weird, shoots a dog — your basic Tuesday.

Eventually, he winds up at the office, starts hallucinating, assaults a couple of patients, and finally calls an early end to the day (self care is important). We get this delightful (in a heavy-handed sort of way) scene that keeps cutting back and forth between him setting out spooky dental tools and his wife getting dressed for the big anniversary surprise he’s has planned, and that’s when things really start to go haywire.

Okay.

So like.

I get that he’s a dentist.

I get that he’s a dentist whose whole shtick is having the themed exam rooms (though why we have aaaalll these rooms for a bunch of hygienists and one dentist is a little beyond me).

But you mean to tell me that this dude’s special anniversary surprise for his wife was to show her his new, opera-themed dental exam room?

“Oh, honey… you really, really shouldn’t have…”

Like, I know he’s settled on a revenge plot by this point, but I still definitely believe that this guy was legitimately planning the entire time to show his wife his fancy new dental suite as an anniversary surprise. Not to be that guy, but no wonder she was having an affair.

Honestly though, I love this scene. I love the camera PoV shots as he shows off the dental suite, I love the excessive gesturing with his left hand. I love how the scene starts off with his point-of-view of her, and then transitions into her point-of-view of him, cut with those big beautiful teeth-yanking shots. It’s ridiculous.

And then, they get home, he has some monologuing about the pool, etc.

Next scene, it’s the next day, some cops come to ask questions about the murdered dog, his wife is out back on a pool chair with her giant sunhat covering her face (the way normal, totally-not-drugged people hang out by the pool) while the pool guy does his pool guy stuff. Eventually the cops leave, yadda yadda yadda, the pool guy scoops the wife’s tongue out of the pool, he sees how fucked up she is, the dentist murders the shit out of him. It’s beautiful.

Don’t you love it when you finish your to-do list first thing in the morning?

The end.

Wait, no, that’s not right.

Somehow, there’s still almost half a movie left.

This movie starts with this dude fighting with his wife, catching his wife cheating with the pool guy, hallucinating his wife’s nasty mouth on everyone, etc. You’d think that, with his wife tortured all to shit and the pool guy dead, the movie would have wrapped up.

I mentioned before that the pacing of the movie is weird, which it is. I mean, he has his “oop guess I’m evil now” scene on his way to work the next day, which basically means that just over half of this movie is the origin story. It could be longer, with the big climactic nonsense taking up the last quarter or so. It could be shorter, with him freaking out about his wife, losing his shit, and having a proper dental rampage. Instead, The Dentist flies in the face of conventional story structure.

But this man is a busy man. He’s a dentist, damn it.

He has to get back to work!

Things are happening fast now, let’s get condensed.

We go back to work, he pulls some malpractice shit on that lady whose dog he shot yesterday, then strangles Jessica-the-hygienist (I think that’s her job) when she calls him on it. Later, a man from the IRS comes in and uses the dentist’s shady tax junk to get free dental work which is, uh, inadvisable. IRS man, Marvin Goldblum, starts talking about our dentist’s wife (and about how unhinged shiksas are in bed, in case we somehow we didn’t piece together that he’s an awful Jewish caricature), and I’m sure the rest of his appointment goes totally normally.

Get a guy who looks at you like this.

Meanwhile, the cops are definitely onto him regarding the murder of that dog (after all, murdering dogs is THEIR turf). They go to his house, where he left the body of the pool guy he murdered just laying around outside for anyone to find (which they do). Then they go upstairs and find his wife, who is alive but so fucked up.

Back at the office, Karen-the-other-hygienist, looking for her coworker who got murdered earlier, stumbles upon the very fucked up IRS dude. We get to listen to the dentist give a little monologue about how grossed out he is that his wife put some dude’s “dirty, rotten… in her mouth!” before he injects air into a vein in Karen-the-other-hygienist’s neck to kill her.

Next up, this girl who has been waiting for two days to get her braces off gets called back. She’s adorable and chipper, so this, of course, can only go well. When’s the last time you had your dentist pull a gun on you?

Our scrappy youngster runs off, and he gives chase (we find that Mr. Goldblum’s jaw elongation procedure is going well by the way), before eventually letting her go after she promises to take very, very good care of her teeth.

After all, he’s got his next job to get to.

Let’s go teach dental students the importance of pulling out everyone’s teeth!

Yeeep, he’s a teacher! And after he shoots one of his students while hallucinating, the cops show up, resulting in the slowest chase scene any movie has ever had (I mean the dude is literally just briskly walking down the hall and he still gets away from them). Anyway, the dentist winds up in an auditorium where a woman is practicing her opera singing. The dentist is entranced by this (we know he loves opera from that scene with his wife earlier) and reaches out to the singer, but he hallucinates his wife’s hecked up face on her and drops to his knees, presumably to have the rest of his nervous breakdown. The cops… uh… well, they just kinda stand around looking disapprovingly at him while he sits on the floor. And that’s… that’s it, I guess?

“Nah, let him rest, he’s had a big day.” 

 In our final scene, we have some orderlies at his new mental institution drag him down for his regular appointment, where his wife (who I guess is a dentist now) starts drilling at his teeth. This may or may not be a hallucination. It probably doesn’t matter.

Wow. That certainly was a film.

Alright, so, I’ve been typing up my thoughts as I watch, and I think I’ve figured out what I like about this movie, that had me coming back to it over and over as a youngster. There are some movies that just look fun to film, and this is one of them. A number of the shots are really charming, for lack of a better word. There’s the anniversary scene with his wife I mentioned before, but so many others — this movie plays around with point of view, extreme close-ups, some very fun effects used to indicate the hallucinations… there’s even a sideways shot of one of the cops coming down the stairs. I seem to have a real fondness for that sort-of manic, anything-goes approach to filming. Related side note: is there a single steady shot on this whole film? I’m beginning to doubt it.

Corbin Bernsen does a great job. I mean, all the actors do, really, but he is something else. Like, I can’t think offhand of many actors who could successfully take the character “dentist in bad marriage has a nervous breakdown because his wife gives someone else a blow job and it grosses him out; goes on torturemurder spree” without overacting to the point of distraction. “What are you talking about, this dude’s hammier than Easter dinner,” you say. Now, I get the urge here, but I have to disagree; Bernsen plays a fantastic Emasculated White Guy Throwing A Fit.

That picture I posted up there, after the bit about the laundry argument? A dude who makes that face over the idea of wearing the wrong cuff links to work is at most twelve seconds away from completely losing his shit at any given moment. And the dude’s anniversary surprise for his wife was to show off his new, opera-themed dental exam room; none of this behavior seems too off the wall for that character. Granted, I haven’t seen the sequel yet, and the image searches do suggest that our dear dentist is about to use his well-cared-for teeth to chew the hell out of some scenery in The Dentist 2, but in this movie? I’m just saying it’s not an unbelievable portrayal.

Disgruntled white dudes aside, the rest of the cast seems to have a fun time too. Shout out to the receptionist literally sobbing over what a great dentist this guy is (stunning work). If nothing else, stop by for wee baby Mark Ruffalo before he was famous. It’s adorable.

LOOK AT HIM.

ALL THAT SAID, I have to state again how surprised I am by the sheer number of not-dental-related murders! Like, by my count, this guy commits a hefty amount of malpractice, but for a guy on a torturemurder spree, he sure does seem to keep his torture and his murder fairly separate. Let’s tally it:

I’m tired, let’s wrap this up. The Dentist is a fun movie about a dude who loses his shit, does some dental torture, does some murder, does ZERO dental torturemurders, and then just kinda tuckers himself out and sits down. It’s a big silly mess, and I love it.

Tortures: six

The kid at the beginning, the lady he sexually assaults (it counts), his wife (not dead), that lady whose dog he shot, Marvin the IRS guy (alive when last we see him), and the person at the dental school near the end.

Murders: three people, one dog.

The dog (shot), the pool guy (knifed), Jessica-the-hygienist (strangled), Karen-the-other-hygienist (air injected into artery), and that’s… it..? He does shoot that person at the dental school, but it doesn’t appear to be a fatal wound, and Marvin the IRS guy was alive when we saw him last.

Torturemurders: HECKIN’ ZERO.

Zero! None of the tortures are murdered, and nobody he murders is tortured! What the heck kind of slasher dentist doesn’t even kill people via dentistry? No wonder everyone looks down on him at the end.

Alright, first post written. I’m going to bed.

[elfnerdherder]

Opus Dei: Chapter 5

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Chapter 5: Foil(s)

Two weeks later brought a quarter-long photography class, as well as a history class that didn't care so long as the final by the end of the semester was a passing grade. They kept him busy, helped him get his mind focused on the long work ahead, the structure and necessity of it. Jail had given his mind the time to wander, to roam within the confines of his cell. Now, the openness, the freedom of it was staggering, and he desperately needed to fill it. He had to stay busy. He needed distractions. His was a bait that took its time to cast and be bit.

The news let the death slip under the current of more engaging stories that had a neat bow to tie on the end of them. Will resisted looking up the murder that'd coupled potently with Beverly's thesis and led to his release. What notes had the Chesapeake Ripper trailed along there?

He reasoned one painting was enough. One photo. He didn't look up the first murder.

Insomnia led to studying Jael and Sisera in the darkness of his groaning home. If it was Hannibal--the longer he looked, the more sure of it he was-- it was a fitting sort of painting to have been the victim's last to paint before death. Will should have asked Jack for a picture of it, if nothing else. Had the Ripper placed it there, or had Sebastian truly been painting such a classical recreation? How had he chosen him? What had made him choose the poor man?

School would help with the insomnia. If he kept his hours busy, he would be too tired to stay awake.

It was in that very first class that he met Francis Dolarhyde, and that was only because Will had gotten lost and slipped in right in the middle of roll call, late but undeterred. Francis Dolarhyde sat alone, although he wasn't bothered when Will sat beside him at the table farthest back from the board. Will pulled out his notebook and his homework, raising his hand less than a minute later when his name was called. Dolarhyde's broad shoulders and muscled build took up nearly half of the table, but they'd just have to manage.

"You have a...nice dog," Francis observed, nodding to Will's photograph. It was an introductory aspect to the class: Tell Us About You.

"Thanks." He glanced over to Francis' photograph of a painting, something that'd been purposefully set up on an easel in the middle of the forest. A photo of a painting; the artistic type. "Do you like that painting, or do you like the aesthetic?"

Francis Dolarhyde had a square jaw and short, buzzed brunette hair. He turned to look at his photograph, and the scarring at his lip gave his smile an altogether crooked appearance.He was easily the biggest guy in class, the jock that all the girls wrote home about. "My favorite painting. The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed With the Sun," he said carefully. His voice caught on the hiss of the 's'. 

"Your favorite painting?"

He nodded. 

"This has been my favorite painting as of late," Will shared, and for reasons he couldn't quite explain he pulled out his phone and showed his table-mate Jael and Sisera. 

Maybe it was the fact that it was an absolute stranger, or maybe it was the fact that his painting seemed just as raw beneath the surface of the oil. He had a lot of alone time at the house. Just Will and Winston. Going to school would force him to be sociable. The dragon lay poised just beneath the maiden, prepared to devour her. Jael lay poised just above Sisera, ready to impale him.

Francis gave the painting a long, searching look, and he seemed to see the same. "I wonder if she'd bear his screams the way she bears the dust from the labor of carving her will into stone," he commented, and he looked to Will with a briefly flickering expression of interest. "He lay like marble."

"I think she'd bear them well enough," Will said, and he looked at her. "I don' think this is the first time she's done this."

"Nor the last?"

Will thought of Alana curling up in Hannibal's bed, cozy, and nodded gravely.

"Do you know why he would have been foolish enough to put his head beneath her hammer?"

"He trusted her enough and fell asleep," Will said. "That was his undoing."

"The moral, then, is don't make his mistake," Francis said, and too late Will realized it was a dryly- uttered joke. 

"Wish I'd gotten that advice a long time ago," he said with a smile.

Francis Dolarhyde laughed, a soft huff, and it was decided they could work together for the quarter.

Two weeks also took him on a date with Molly Foster, whose returned call was so upbeat and pleasant despite his awkward voicemail that he hadn't had the heart to begin to explain why maybe she shouldn't go on a date with him. Would the Chesapeake Ripper target her, should he get too close? Would he kill her in a fit of rage the way he had Charlie?

He found the nicest restaurant he could expect closeby, and so they enjoyed endless cheesy biscuits at Red Lobster. She didn't know him; he reasoned she wouldn't want to stray too far away from home.There was a killer about, or didn't she know?

"That's great that you're going to school. I barely finished, but I'm waiting for something to take off. I hear DC's a good place to look, so that's why I moved here." She had an honest, girl-next-door look that made the conversation flow despite the fact he couldn't quite meet her eyes more than twice throughout the main course.

Nerves had, in truth, gotten the best of him. It was the first honest, genuine date he'd ever been on, after all.

"Photography isn't my thing, but it was the only quarterly class they could offer on such short notice. I just wanted to get started. The history professor said that as long as the final had a passing grade, he'd allow it." He focused on her lovely blouse, floral beneath a cozy cardigan. The orange restaurant lights made her skin golden. "What did you study?"

"Business analysis...no, no I know, boring," she laughed, seeing his expression. It made him look up and meet her eyes, warm and inviting. "That's why I'm taking my time. I want to analyze the right business."

"You're careful in choosing," Will said then, looking to her lips, "as an analyst."

"I am," she agreed, and she stared unabashedly back.

Then he walked her to her car, and she stood blinking up at him, the lights burning from the lamp posts illuminating her face in a fuzzy, warm orange. "I had fun tonight, Will Graham."

"I did too, Molly Foster," he mimicked her inflection lightly, and he managed to look away from the collar of her cardigan to meet her eyes. He smiled slightly, although he couldn't keep her gaze.

"I'd want to go on a second date, if you wanted to take me on it."

His mouth turned to cotton, and his smile grew, guilt doing its best to curtail the pleasure that threatened to overtake his voice. "I'd like to take you on a second date."

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he waited until she drove off until he turned and went back to his truck. He stood by it for a time, thinking, then kicked the tire angrily and drove away.

He felt guilty, but after the second date, there was a third. The Chesapeake Ripper did not add a third body to his pile, and Molly enjoyed a walk through the national park to witness the sunset over the Wolf Trap trees. He wondered if she'd looked him up yet. He wondered if Hannibal had looked her up yet. He wondered if it was really all that smart to try and enter into a relationship when your bait was set for a different kind of fish that bit harder and left marks.

By the fourth date, he finally had to say something. Molly made it easy to keep busy, from occasional phone calls to daily texts but now their dates had accumulated too quickly. Too many dates. People didn't go on dates like that unless they meant something by it.

"I'll call you," she said warmly, and they were parting at her car after a rousing round of bowling where she'd soundly beaten him. The neon lights of the bowling alley sign cast her in a cotton candy pink.

"Molly," he began, and she paused from leaning in to give him a soft, chaste kiss on the cheek. She'd done it the last three times, and he'd liked it enough he often touched fingers to the place hours later, puzzled over it. Hannibal had never done that to him. He had toyed with asking Alana for comparison. "I really enjoyed tonight."

Her smile remained, but her eyes belied whatever it was she was seeing on his face. "Why are you saying that like you didn't enjoy tonight?

"I...I don't know if I can take you on another date."

Her blue eyes were purple in the pink light. They blinked slowly, wide and doe-like in the neon. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't quite look at her, eyes off towards the dark spaces where the Chesapeake Ripper could always be lurking, watching. He wondered if he'd get another card on his kitchen table. "I..I like you."

"Okay," she said, suddenly uncertain.

"I've just got a lot of...baggage." He nodded. That was one way of putting it. "Things I don't want you to have to get involved in."

"We all have baggage, Will," Molly replied, and something in her tone made him look back to her, her eyes glassy and her mouth quirked into a half-smile that wasn't at all amused. "Life is about people making connections with other people and learning to deal with their tragic back-stories and baggage."

He wondered what baggage she was afraid of showing him, if it was a bad boyfriend or a bad case of body parts under the floorboards. "Mine could endanger your life," he said seriously; then had the misfortune of seeing the exact moment that she questioned his sanity, the moment she realized maybe she shouldn't want to go on another date with him.

How must that sound to a sane person, Hannibal would have said. These people with their mundane lives. You sound unhinged and delusional, Will.

"I...don't know what to say to that," she admitted, and her nose wrinkled. "It sounds like...a gimmick? Yeah, a gimmick." Her head bobbed, much like it had when the poor kid at JT's Bait Shop couldn't understand the concept of a two dollar bill. "If you don't want to continue dating, you can just say so. I won't get mad. I appreciate honesty, though."

"Did you look me up when you first met me?" he asked bluntly. Maybe a little too harsh? He managed to stare at the edge of her denim jacket, purposefully baggy and rumpled. 

She paused for a long time, and he couldn't quite look to her face to see why. "...No. Did you look me up?"

"No," he replied quickly. "I respect people's privacy."

"Liar," Jared Freeman jeered behind her. "You don't respect Hannibal Lecter's privacy."

"I guess I was going to until I saw you make the look on your face that you're making right now," she said, and her voice softened. She pitied whatever it was she was seeing in him. Fear? Maybe. Maybe a bit of self-disgust. Maybe some resignation in the lines by his mouth. "Made me think maybe you didn't feel comfortable with the idea of it."

"Statistically speaking, that means you could have gone on a date with a rapist," he pointed out, although he couldn't say why. He didn't want to frighten her, for God's sake. Did he have to be so nervous? He'd survived a psychopath twice over, and yet the idea of seeing the look on her face made his knees weak?

"I have mace," she assured him. "And you didn't give me that impression. Kinda...more like you were running from something."

"Someone," he said, much softer. He sighed, something more resigned than angry. "It's okay to look me up, but I'd ask you reserve judgement until you also ask me whatever questions you have. I'll try and be as honest as I can...I promise I'm not what they thought I was."

"Okay, Will Graham," she said, and she swooped up and pressed a firm, warm kiss on his open mouth. He inhaled it, and his breath caught. "Like I said, I'll call you."

"Okay," he replied, much too late. She was already getting into her car and starting it, the darkness of the cab casting her in shadows. 

He had assignments due, otherwise he would have puzzled over that kiss for most of the night. As it was, he passed his fingers over it and thought of how he'd once drunkenly kissed Alana Bloom so boldly, with nothing to lose and a mind melting from the fire. He felt charmed, but then again; he'd been charmed by Hannibal, too. He took photos of Winston walking through the tall grass that had burst from an early morning rain with a camera he'd snagged from the nearby Wal-Mart. Photography wasn't his thing, but he was going to try. If he could pass these, they'd allow him to enter a full-time status for the summer program.

-

Then, the second letter came.

My Dear Will Graham,

When I saw your release from prison, I thought: Dare I? Of course I do. I would not have risked corresponding with you while you were incarcerated, in case it was used against you. I who have looked up to your work, who has ascended from it on a level that I know you would understand. 

That is what it is you do, is it not? Understand?

I believe we have much in common, you and I. They're calling you innocent now, but they will only do their best to find other ways of locking you up again. You can't have taken her lungs so clean and they not try to find means again of caging you.

I have something to show you. I think you'd appreciate it; maybe see what it is I aim to ascend to and Become. Until then, I remain your,

-Avid Fan

This one Will found laying propped against his screen door. It felt like pills souring in his stomach to read it, and he sat out on the porch steps for a long time, thinking. Just in front of him, he imagined Jared Freeman pacing back and forth, back and forth.

"Call someone," he suggested, and his gaze darted about. "Can't trust the cops, but that Crawford guy..."

"Don't call Molly Foster," Garrett Jacob Hobbs advised. Will agreed.

He needed to call her at some point to now definitely cut things off. If the Chesapeake Ripper was calling himself an Avid Fan now, that was one alias too many to make sure he'd be able to keep her safe, should Hannibal decide to lash out. Had he witnessed their kiss? Had he crept, lurking and careful in the bushes and witnessed that there was someone else in the world that thought Will capable of receiving affection?

Problem was, it didn't feel like the Chesapeake Ripper baiting him, all cruel words hidden behind kind veneers of pleasant professionalism. It felt different, foreign. Rather than mocking, biting, the way the Chesapeake Ripper surely would be after finally allowing Will to be released, the words felt...awed. The person that wrote this thought that Will circumvented the law. They thought he was a killer.

They wanted to show him something, too.

It took a long time for him to realize the tapping noise in the static of his thoughts was his fingers on the deck, but that didn't stop it. They tapped, his heart stuttered, and Will Graham wondered just who in the hell he was supposed to tell about this, or if he'd been crying wolf for so long that no one could bother to care.

-

Will took a walk and found himself sitting with Peter Bernadone, just outside of the barn where he nursed birds back to health and set them free when possible. He spoke lovingly of a parakeet that had an attachment to him, one whose wing wouldn't unfold quite right. It eased at the ragged bite of the morning to think of things once broken made new. Peter was kind, and he desperately needed to think on kind things.

"I'm glad you came," Peter said, and they shared root beers Will had picked up on the way. He wasn't sure what it was he was hoping to find, sitting there beside him. He couldn't burden someone like Peter with something so horrific as the things he knew, the way he often woke up feeling the ghosts creeping just down the hall from where he once slept.

Was this Hannibal? Or was this someone new? If it was Hannibal, just what did that mean for him? Just what did he want to show to Will, and what was Will going to do to stop it?

If it wasn't Hannibal, just how in the hell was he going to detangle himself from it before he woke up with another killer strangling him to death? God, he was getting tired of drowning on the blood of so many innocent.

"Thanks for making time to talk," Will replied, and they sat on the bales and watched the horses. 

"A-are you okay?" Peter asked, and he peered over at Will gravely. "You look...awful sorrowful about somethin'." He was keener than he seemed. Being around animals, he saw the small expressions most didn't notice. 

"Have you ever had a secret that you tried to share, but no one would believe you?" Will asked. "Something that was really important, but no one thought you were telling the truth?"

Peter stilled, and the finches in the cage at their feet entertained the air around them before he found the words he was looking for, jaw working furiously. "I...yeah, I know about that."

"You do?" Will asked, surprised.

"I b-been thinkin' about tellin' people the truth...maybe they believe me, maybe not, but I gotta say somethin'. You said something, I heard. You told the truth, even when no one believed you."

Will couldn't meet his gaze, embarrassed. Everyone knew who the infamous Will Graham was, even Peter. He couldn't go anywhere without someone knowing his fucking name.

"I feel like right now I have to keep it a secret to get what I want in the end," said Will, and he swung his legs, kicking the hay bale beneath them. He timed the swings with his heartbeat.

"What do you want in the end?" 

"Justice." Kind of.

Peter nodded. "That's not so bad. You...should do what gets justice."

Will nodded resolutely. He still wasn't sure what to do about the letter. Not for the first time, the sound of Jack Crawford filled his mind, angry and haggard: What if wasn't Hannibal Lecter? What if the Chesapeake Ripper is someone they didn't know or understand in any capacity, and Will was taunting an innocent man as well as a killer? 

"You should too," he said. He wasn't sure if he should ask what it was Peter felt that no one would believe. It felt private, grave. "I don't regret it. Maybe I'd have done it a little different, but I'd have still done it."

"Oh, I...I will." Peter's brow furrowed, and he looked down to the finches and cooed to them, gentle. "I think if...i-if we don't stand up for somethin', no one will."

-

The time between a morning shift and a mid-afternoon class was staggeringly short. Will managed a bag of dollar burgers from McDonalds, and he'd gotten two of them shoved down his throat before he was driven to a stop by the large crowd of people that buffeted the sidewalks beside the dorms.

"So fucking scary, oh my god..."

"--couldn't believe they got in there, how'd they--"

"You know they keep the back door open, sick fuck probably strolled right in..."

"I need to call my dad."

"Back up, back up!" This from a police officer that was busy sectioning off part of the walkway towards the dorms. "I understand that some of you live here, but you'll need to give us a minute, please."

"What's going on?" Will asked, only for the cop to brush by him with the police tape in hand. He didn't spare Will a second glance, and there was something ironic to it, that at eighteen he'd had more access to that sort of information than he does now.

"Someone got killed," a student next to him replied, eyes across the quad. "In the Tower Dorms."

"What?"

"Yeah," they said with a nod. There was a thumb print on their left glasses lens, likely adjusted during a particularly rousing round of note-taking. "Someone says the mirrors in the bathroom are broken, and it's bad."

Will first thought of Hannibal, and how maybe he'd pushed the Chesapeake Ripper a little too far. But then he thought of the letter in his pocket, how it hadn't sounded so much arrogant as it was admiring, and a strange cold seemed to settle into his feet and make it hard to walk away.

"Who did they kill?" he asked, hoarse.

"Dunno yet, but it was the first floor and..." they grimaced, their thin lips puzzling over whatever was on their mind. "She was naked," they finally added.

"FBI," Will observed, and he chewed on his bottom lip. If Jack Crawford was there, he was going to be most decidedly not.

"You think a serial killer?" a young woman asked the student next to him. "FBI doesn't just show up to a homicide."

"I think whatever it is, it's bad enough the FBI showed up," the kid next to him said, somber. "Guys probably just strolled in and said they'd take it from here."

And that felt like Will's queue to leave. He waited for the space behind him to shift just slightly, and he made a break for it, slipping along the side leading away from the crime scene. If it was a serial killer, it was Jack Crawford's department. If it was psychological, it was Jack Crawford's department. 

If it had anything to do with the note in Will's pocket, it was Jack Crawford's department.

"Jason just texted and said it was the girl that was in the room next to his friend Hayley," a girl said, thumbs frantically working prose across the keyboard.

"Oh my god, she knew her?"

"What if he's not done?"

Will skirted around them and tucked his hands into his pockets, tense.

"We don't even know what he did. How could we know if he's done?"

He'd just rounded the corner to safety when he had the misfortune of walking right into the very man he was trying to avoid.

"Will," Jack greeted, falsely cheerful.

"Jack," Will said warily, taking a step back. He was half a breath away from running. Prey was flight, fight, or freeze, and Will wasn't going to fight a battle like this.

"Will! We were just talking about you," his photography teacher exclaimed. She was a pleasant, upbeat woman with a habit of gesturing wildly when caught up in the middle of her lectures. Her passion was photography of animals, as she'd confided in Will on the first day. Today, that was deflated in the wake of the ripple of rumor, the sudden sense that all was not well and good within the walls of learning. There were stress lines near her forehead and eyes.

"Why?" he asked, looking at Jack Crawford.

"Well--because--" she fumbled at that, and she looked to Jack beside her.

Jack had been waiting for his moment. "Because unfortunately, Will, you are a person of interest considering the nature of your own history."

Unfortunately, like Jack didn't love the opening this was going to give him to wheedle back into Will's life and make himself at home. One unpleasant house visit wasn't enough. The letter burned in his pocket. "Murders aren't common on campus until I show up," he said to his teacher.

"Now, really what we want is to establish a base of support," Ms. Newman explained quickly. Her eyes cut to Jack, then back. They were red despite her brave face. "You being here has nothing to do with what's just happened, but because of your past Agent Crawford wanted to make sure that you're in a safe place mentally and physically."

"Oh I'm as safe as he wants me to be," Will assured her.

Jack's eyes narrowed. Will hadn't specified which 'he'. "Will you come with me?"

Will did a congenial u-turn and waited expectantly. "Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice! Agent Crawford, really I must--"

"Ms. Newman, it looks like one of your students needs you," Jack redirected, and Will looked up at the sky that threatened to be a positively beautiful day.

"You've always had a choice," Jack said, after Ms. Newman was well enough on her way to support Will from a distance.

"Sure didn't feel that way, Agent Crawford," said Will, not unkind. Not quite kind, either. The sky was the sort of blue one could get lost in.

He was glad the crowd prevented any further discussion, and they worked their way to the now thoroughly strung-up police tape. Will got to enjoy being the spectacle of walking under the rope with an FBI agent after just talking about it with someone in the crowd, and there was a tight feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with the note in his pocket or the thought of Hannibal's next move.

"I thought you were done being his dog," Jared said, and he circled Jack as they walked across the dewy grass and cut dark swathes of ribbon towards the crime scene.

"It's not really the Chesapeake Ripper's style, but it is right on campus," Jack said. Will's chest constricted in response. "I don't know if you want to know about the victim, or--"

"I don't want to know about the victim," he said, voice tinny. "I don't even want to be here right now."

Something about that kept Jack from answering, and they walked into the maw of the dorm hall with trepidation and steps that echoed too loud on the marble tile.

The room is 213, and Will stared at it for a long time. It's a dorm room on the first floor, and it occurred to him after about first five seconds of staring that it's an odd number for a first floor. Not 113, 213. That stuck, even after the door opened. It hit the wall, and 213 seemed to hit a little harder, and he thought of the first time he'd ever felt someone's hands wrapped tight around his throat, squeezing.

"Will?"

Will blinked, and he followed Jack into the dorm room, sweat collecting on the back of his neck.

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 3--Insomnia

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: Insomnia. Ienzo has trouble sleeping.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

----

Ienzo could not stop his eyes from fluttering shut. Demyx’s cheerful, lively chatter seemed to go in one ear and out the other, leaving him with bits and fragments.

“--you would not believe what the guy had done, somehow got the handle in his eye . We had to sedate him but he was still freaking out--”

“--the thing is after that, he could still see--”

“--And then after that he used the same pan, the same fucking pan, to make noodles for us as a thank you. I mean, of course he washed it, but it’s just wild--”

The chatter faded to a dull hum, and for a second there was no sound, nothing at all. His head snapped up. Demyx had pursed his lips in exasperation. “You know,” he said, “You could have told me to shut up, instead of letting me literally bore you to sleep.”

Ienzo rubbed his eyes. They were hot, and raw. “It’s not that,” he said. “I’m simply very tired.”

“Long day?” he asked.

“Not quite.” A little flutter of anxiety made him shiver. “I think I may be catching cold.”

“Oh, yeah, something’s really going around. I wouldn’t be surprised.” Demyx reached over and touched Ienzo’s forehead. Ienzo, in his exhaustion, realized how stupid it was to lie about sickness when he had a healer sitting right across from him. “That’s weird. I don’t feel anything off. You want me to get you one of the cures anyway?”

Ienzo hesitated. Thinking seemed physically difficult. He could not quite string the right words together. “I likely just need some rest.”

“So go get some sleep, babe. You don’t have anything to do this afternoon, right?”

He almost told Demyx. He should’ve. It was a hard thing to admit. Still harder when his mind felt so foggy. “Well--I told Ansem that I would help him debug that new operating system--”

“He’s a big boy. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” His eyes were so soft, crinkling slightly at the corners, as they always did when he was concerned. “Do you want some tea or something? It might make you feel bet--”

“I am fine.” The words came out sharply.

Demyx frowned. “If you insist,” he muttered.

Ienzo sighed. “I apologize. I suppose I’m a bit grouchy.”

He crossed his arms. “I probably need a nap too. I was using magic all morning.” He tugged at the sleeves of his shirt. “So I guess I’ll catch you later?”

Ienzo nodded, and watched him leave. This was no good. He had to try again. How long had it been exactly since he’d last slept? It was hard to tell. Too long.

He crossed back over to his bedroom. He was starting to detest this space, its claustrophobia, the drafty window. Ienzo settled himself in bed, another shudder of anxiety breaking the ease of stillness. He shut his eyes. Counted to ten, then twenty, then a hundred, trying to soften his muscles. The bed was comfortable. There was nothing wrong with the bed.

The fact that it was the middle of the day made no difference. The same thing happened at night. It seemed as though every night that passed since the coma made sleep a more distant memory. There was also the fact that he’d become accustomed to sharing the space, and being held, and Demyx’s odd training schedule meant he was now often alone at night. He wasn’t used to dependence, and certainly didn’t like how it felt. Ienzo had been so self-sufficient for so long, and this felt like an even bigger setback.

He drew the second pillow into his arms, as though that might calm the achy anxiety brewing in his stomach. Tried to breathe.

Progress was not linear. He’d hoped to be the exception to that rule; after all, he’d slipped through the cracks so many times, what was one more?

He wanted sleep. Needed sleep. His body ached for it. It was entirely psychological, he knew; if he didn’t stress so much about it, likely it would come more easily. But stress was a constant of this life, always pulling him tauter still, even in the rare moments of comfort.

Okay, so, maybe he didn’t need sleep, maybe it was fine enough just resting and breathing, and breathing and resting. It was going to be fine.

He was fine.

----

It had grown dark outside. Ienzo was still, horribly, conscious. Wasn’t there something wrong with him? Why was he allowing himself to get so worked up about this? Why was he wasting so much time? He should be helping Ansem.

He was a touch dizzy when he got up. How he hated having to be corporeal, how finicky and needy the body was, all the time. He went into the bathroom and washed his face, holding the cool cloth over his eyes for a long moment. They ached.

Ansem was, predictably, still hard at work. He was, as far as Ienzo knew, balancing several projects at once, but he was really most invested in anything involving data, especially the fine line between reality and code itself. The new operating system was meant to house code in a more stable manner that was less stressful on their machines. Gummi blocks were always the best replacement parts and lasted far longer than any metal or plastic, but they were hard to come by, so they had to preserve what they had for as long as possible.

“Hello, Ienzo,” Ansem said cheerfully. “Demyx said you were resting. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Of course he’d said something. Ienzo bit his lip. Demyx had become almost uncomfortably protective of his health, but how could Ienzo blame him? How many times had he escaped death now, exactly? (Best not to dwell on that.) “Made any progress?” He flinched at the poor structure of his speech.

“It’s coming along fairly well, all things considered. A couple of minor glitches here and there, but that’s to be anticipated. I believe soon we can start converting over all of our files. Perhaps it might be possible to make it compatible with the gummiphone too, so one can access things on the go. Our hardware isn’t yet necessarily up to par yet but I’m hoping that--”

A finger of pain stabbed him behind the eyes. Ienzo pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you alright?” Ansem asked.

“Bit of a headache.” He forced a smile. “Would you mind repeating that?”

Ansem turned slightly in his chair. “If you are unwell, you shouldn’t strain yourself.”

“I am fine,” he reasserted.

“Ienzo, forgive me, but I had raised you to believe in honesty.”

He felt the blood rush to his face, along with a bitterness. “You weren’t around long, though, were you?”

Ansem’s complexion, in the blue light of the screen, was ashen.

Ienzo swallowed and touched his throat. “Master, I--”

“No. You’re correct in that regard.”

The silence had a weight to it.

“Ienzo. You’re allowed to be angry with me.”

“It wasn’t as if you chose to be thrown into the Realm of Darkness.”

“Heavens, no. But you were told something else entirely, something which you then internalized for months on end--years. Lies are much harder to erase than the truth.” Ansem stood and placed his hands on Ienzo’s shoulders. “I was a fool, a coward. Rather than taking responsibility for my actions, I instead became embittered and sought revenge. You paid the price for my poor decisions.” His rust-colored eyes bore into Ienzo’s, unnervingly. “How is it you feel, truly?”

“I feel…” His heart was racing. “I feel so…” Allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of Ansem was a new kind of pain, but in his exhaustion he didn’t have the strength to fight off these thoughts. “I am angry. At you. At myself. At everything. I thought that once I laid it all to rest I would feel at peace but I--”

His gaze was so calm. Ienzo could not bear to look at him.

“I cannot sleep,” he said. He hugged himself tightly. “If not for the nightmares.”

“What is it you dream about?” Ansem asked gently.

“Oh, any number of unpleasant things.” There was something like pressure rising within him, and he wondered if he might be sick. “The day they told me you’d gone mad. When they cut me down. Death, destruction, hellfire… these.” He brushed his hand over his shoulder, and the scars covered by his shirt. Ienzo was aware he was sounding a little unhinged. “I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’m losing my self. ” A razor-sharp pain stuck in his throat. He touched it. The lump forming there seemed to have stopped the torrent of words.

“You are not losing ,” Ansem said. “You are growing, and healing. Processing this trauma is a sign that you’ve stopped protecting yourself from others. Which, believe it or not, is a strength.”

Heat built behind his eyes. “I’ve told Demyx more or less the same,” he mumbled. “Why don’t I believe it?”

“Knowing and feeling are entirely separate.”

Ienzo took a deep breath. His chest spasmed a little with a sob. He was not going to get out of here with his dignity intact.

“You’ve had to rely on yourself for far too long,” Ansem said softly. “I hope that will change.”

He felt the first tears break free. He was simply too tired to fight anymore. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so--”

Ansem drew Ienzo gently into his arms. Ienzo was a trembling mess. It took a concerted effort to allow himself to cry freely and be comforted, though once he did it seemed like he couldn’t stop. This was only worsened by the fact that Ansem smelled exactly like he remembered, like powder and coffee and oranges. Ansem didn’t say anything, and merely rubbed Ienzo’s back in slow circles until the sobs subsided.

The horrible tension of it all had eased, leaving him drained and humiliated. He swiped at his face.

“Come,” Ansem said. “I’ll make you some tea. You’ve had a long day.”

That night, even though he lay in bed alone, he slept deeply, and without dreams.

[stardust-and-blades]

Lost Future AU

Hi welcome to part 4. Should i link the others? Yes.  MORE ANGST WHOOP (Hot tip: listen to “carry on my wayward son” by Facing West and imagine Keith turning his back on Lance for the afterlife yes i too am crying)

part 1 part 2 part 3

(EDIT): I fixed the font finally bc tumblr was being a bITCH --------------------------

“Hey Hunk, can I talk to you about something?” Keith asked.

Hunk’s head popped up from his shake, cocking his head to the side. “Of course. What’s up, bud?”

Keith looked down at his untouched drink, his hand tightening around the plastic. The diner they sat at was loud, rush hour for the corner food restaurant finally hitting at the stroke of 5. Keith ran into Hunk on his way from work, the other inviting them to dinner since Lance would not be home until later and knowing full well he hasn’t seen the boy in quite awhile. Hunk is usually with Pidge or Lance, and when Keith and him are able to hang out they jump at the chance. Before they got to know each other, Keith was reluctant in getting to know Pidge’s engineer partner, resistant towards any form of human bonding. But after several encounters with him and Lance, as well as dating his best friend, they warmed up to each other in dual time. They weren’t as close as Shiro and Keith, but they weren’t strangers either. And Keith found it nice to be around Hunk, who had a permanent aura of welcoming. 

Which is what led him to agree to grab a shake with him. There was something that kept nagging at him for the past week, unable to talk to Lance about it because of the sensitive subject. Because, not too long ago Lance lost his grandmother, and Keith did not want to rip open the healing wound. Lance was barely getting back on his feet, Keith didn’t want to be the one to push him down again.

But he couldn’t keep it to himself. He had to tell someone. While logically he could confine in Shiro, Keith has been on the fence about it. But with Hunk, it was different. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but with Hunk he felt his request would be met with a calm demeanor than an overly concerned one (aka Shiro).

He just wanted a friend to confide in. Hunk is a pretty good option.

Without lifting his eyes, he twirled the straw in his chocolate shake around, mixing the whipped cream and losing the cherry that sat elegantly on top.

“If I ever suddenly die, will you make sure Lance is okay?”

Hunk, believing Keith had a less grim question, choked on his shake, the substance almost exiting out of his nose. 

He looked at Keith incredulously. “What the--Keith, you’re not going to die. You’re 22!”

Keith’s jaw clenched, squeezing the cup further. “Yeah, I know.”

“If this is about Lance’s grandmother, Lance saw it coming. She was 86 years old, and while he is hurting he knew she was going to pass eventually. But this--”

“I’m young, I see that, Hunk.” Keith stated, his voice flat. “But my parents were in their late twenties when they died. Not all people live until a ripe old age.”

“Yeah, not all. But the odds are very different from the elderly.” Hunk’s brows furrowed. “You still have, what, 60 years on your side? I don’t see why you’re worrying about death now. Unless...” Hunk gasped, grabbing Keith’s wrist and pulling him close enough Keith can see his own reflection in his brown irises. “Oh no, Keith do you have a deadly disease? Cancer? Did you tell Shiro? Why haven’t you told Lance?”

Hunk ceased his babbling when Keith shook his head. “No, no my health is fine. There is no disease or cancer in my family besides insomnia.”

“Oh.” Hunk said, releasing Keith. He still stared at Keith, perplexed. “Then why are you telling me this?”

“Because while I want to believe I’ll live a long life, that isn’t always insured.” He reached inside his hoodie’s front pockets, extracting a thick envelope. “After seeing Lance deal with his grandmother’s death, I began thinking. What if something happened to me? What if I didn’t die of old age, but something else? What would I leave behind?”

Hunk gazed at him with sympathy, seeing his point but not wanting to put it out in the universe. When Keith pushed the envelope towards him, he didn’t take it. “I...see where the anxiety is coming from. But I don’t think it is necessary. Keith, I think you will live a long life. It’s not like we are in a middle of a war.” Hunk attempted to emphasize a joke, but it fell flat at the end. Keith gave him a small smile, not angry Hunk wanted to place faith in a positive future. And who was to say Keith is right? He has been wrong before, and for once he hopes Hunk’s resistance towards his epiphany meant his worries were for nothing.

But he can’t leave a stone unturned. So he continued.

“We aren’t, but just in case.” He slid the parchment closer to him. “Hunk, you’re one of Lance’s closest friends and one of the few people I let in. I know this is a lot to ask for, but there is no one else I can ask this from. Shiro is stressed enough, and knowing Pidge they would accidentally let it slip what is going on too early. I don’t want to worry Lance. Not when it is necessary. And who knows, maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m being paranoid. But I won’t take any chances. Not now.”

Hunk wanted to reach over and hug the guy. He seemed so...so sad. As if he just announced his death date. As if he is dying in the moment, unable to stop it and needing to release his last words. What’s worse is he won’t be able to really talk to Lance about it. Because despite him telling his love everything, despite wanting to inform him of this issue, both of them knew Lance wouldn’t take it well. He would be strong and reassure Keith, yes. But Hunk knew it would linger in the back of his mind just like Keith, whether something bad happened or not.

Why worry him over something that may not even happen?

“Is this because of what happened to your parents?” Hunk asked softly, hoping he wasn’t reopening old wounds. Keith’s eyes flash to Hunk, immediately on guard and set to strike. 

“What?”

Hunk hesitates, but went on. “Your parents died in a fire when you were little. Is it because of that incident that you’re telling me this? Because you weren’t left with a last word?”

“I...” Keith struggled to find words. “I...uh...I...” He pushed away his now melted shake and combed his fingers through his hair, pulling at it and the furrow on his brow deepening.

Hunk regretted speaking. He placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to dispel Keith’s shocked and unhinged thoughts. He never talked about his parents. Why would it be any different with Hunk? The poor boy is bordering on distraught.

“Keith,” Hunk said. “It’s okay. Breathe. Take your time.”

“I’m fine.” He grunted.

“Uh, no you’re not. I’m not dumb. I know when a friend is hurting.”

“I’m okay.”

Hunk crossed his arms and leaned back against the booth, settling Keith with an admonishing look for lying. Keith withered under it, his tough attitude nothing but a shield towards outsiders when it comes to his emotions. But Hunk is no regular outsider. Hunk is the empath; the mediator. The one most in tune with his and everyone else’s emotions, the slightest twitch of a muscle instantly alerting him of whether a person is experiencing positive or negative emotions. 

“Okay, so you’re not wrong,” Keith mumbled. “I...didn’t think about it until you mentioned it. Which makes sense. Why I’m on edge. Why I’m doing this. One moment they were around, the next they weren’t. I was...left with so many questions.”

“And you don’t want Lance to be left without a word. You want him to have closure and move on.”

Keith nodded. “It is what I would have appreciated.”

“But you were ten. You didn’t want a letter, you wanted your parents back.”

“Still. As I got older, I wished they left...something. A letter. A will. a card. I don’t know. Anything that...um..” Keith began to lose his voice. He wasn’t one to be vulnerable in front of anyone. He has done that in very few moments--one being around Shiro. Heck, Lance and him are together and Lance himself says Keith had a bad habit of locking all his thoughts and emotions up until they burst. Him and Hunk may be friends, but he still struggled with the habit. Of letting people in. 

Hunk is patient. He waited for Keith to go on, melting his stern eyes into smooth, shining chocolate. The waitress stopped by the ask if they wanted anything else, and Hunk knowing what Keith liked, ordered a plate of cheese fries.

“Lance probably is home now.” Keith commented.

“Tough. He can wait.” He flung a fry into his mouth when it arrived. “Serves him right for keeping you all to himself.”

“I’m really not that great.” He said mid-chew, a little quiet.

Hunk threw a fry at him. “Stop it. I see him all the time but seeing you is like waiting for a fish to do a trick. I deserve to spend time with his boyfriend platonically. I AM going to be best man at your guys’ wedding afterall.”

Keith inhaled his soupy shake all too fast as Hunk said that, it going down the wrong throat and was thrust into a coughing fit. What the fuck.

“We have been dating for a year!”

Hunk waved his finger around and clicked his tongue. “My good man, I know love when I see it. And you two aren’t separating anytime soon.”

“Y-you don’t know that!”

“I do. I better, or else Pidge wins the bet.”

“There is a bet!?”

“Between them, Shiro, and I yeah.” Hunk gave him an innocent smile, as if he were talking about the weather. Keith is tomato red, matching the sweatshirt he adorned and wished for a hole to swallow him up. Lance and he only talked about it once and it just resulted in Keith being a gay disaster.

“I’m going to murder my brother.”

“Go easy on him, he’s old.” Hunk joked.

“no shit.”

They laughed, the bleak atmosphere lifting for the moment. They gabbed away at other topics, the envelope not coming back until they were heading out the door, Hunk almost forgetting about it and Keith having to stop him before he drove away.

“You sure about this?” Hunk asked.

Keith pushed it in his hand as an answer. He nervously glanced around the parking lot, dusk drawing near, but his tone remaining steady.

“You were right. About my parents.” He started, the gravel becoming incredibly interesting. “I know Lance.With a big heart comes much bleeding if cut. Deep in my gut I know if I were to die prematurely and we still loved each other, he would take a huge blow.” He closed his eyes, his hands wrapping around his bag’s strap and head bending down. He is soft; a whisper amidst the raging wind, meant to be casted to the unknown if it weren’t for Hunk’s good hearing. 

“I maybe wouldn’t have handled my parent’s death well even with a letter or will. I was a kid. I just wanted them back. Knowing Lance, he’d want me back. Though I wouldn’t be able to return to his side, I want to know I’d leave this earth with something for him to find. To grasp onto. To hear--or I guess read--how I want him to be my Lance and move on. Because that is the hardest thing someone can do when they are left behind without a goodbye. Without truly knowing what the deceased wanted for them.”

Hunk saw Keith’s eyes glisten, knocking him breathless. He held a waterfall at bay, refusing to let go of the ache and chose to maintain a soldier-like stance. But Hunk knew his armor, and it is not an effective protector against the heart. 

“Please, Hunk. Don’t let him suffer like I did when my mother and father passed. Don’t let him chase after me. I want his light to stay lit. He has so much to live for, and the thought of his goofy, adorable smile twisting into a permanent wail kills me.”

Hunk gave in to his desires and pulled the boy to him, his big arms encompassing his smaller frame in a bear hug. He squeezed him close, the letter clutched in one hand and not forgotten, but a secondary issue compared to his friend’s distress. It may seem absurd, but to Hunk the future is scary. Anything can be scary, and a person’s fear of death is as valid as any other fear. He could not judge him. Could not tell him he is invalid in his logic, since he isn’t wrong. Neither of them knew what the future held, and though Hunk hoped the letter would gather dust and rot into pure pulp, there was also the possibility it would be torn open and stained with tears.

Keith did not cry that not. He didn’t fully grasp Hunk in a hug, his arms laid at his sides. But his fists were bundled up, nails digging into his palms as he leaned in. 

His head fit on Hunk’s shoulders, and that is all the other boy needed to know Keith accepted (and needed) the embrace.

Keith never brought it up again after. Hunk did not breathe a word to Lance, Pidge, Allura, or Shiro. 

It is a secret deal between friends. A promise for the worst case scenario, an insurance policy for their future being lost.

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

Hunk stares at the letter. 

It has remained in the very back of his desk drawer for years, completely forgotten to merry holidays, loud birthdays, and weekly meet-ups with the gang. It has attracted enough dust Hunk has to blow it away, the flakes falling to the ground like ash. Hunk almost forgot about it.

Almost.

It has been a week since Lance returned from the hospital. Since he found out about Keith’s demise, the ambulance five minutes too late. Five minutes behind. Five minutes that could have saved him if it weren’t for the snow.

Five. Fucking. Minutes.

They said one side of his body was demolished; his whole right side cracked and brittle. Lance said Keith tried to protect him from the impact, though he held no real control over the car hitting the semi. But he still threw his body against Lance, allowing the impact the break his ribs and punctured his lungs. The jostling of the car didn’t help, it harming the organs beyond repair. Lance came out with a couple of broken ribs, severe enough head trauma he has more migraines than usual, a broken leg, bruising and cuts everywhere from the glass, and a second engagement ring with no owner.

They said Lance should have been the one to die since a lot of damage was done to the driver’s side. But somehow--and the doctors don’t understand it nor believed Lance’s story--he came out with less fatal injuries than Keith. 

While Lance should have ended up with a fractured or broken skull by hitting the steering wheel, his head only hit the back of the seat by Keith’s arms cradling him.

Hunk would have said Lance was crazy, but then again Keith was always one to act fast and think later.

Except now he is dead. 

Now someone Hunk could deem as a best friend is gone, leaving him with a task that makes him want to jump in a time machine and prevent all of this from happening. To keep that letter in the back of his desk and continue gathering dust.

But now, after not hearing from Lance since his release, he has a job to do.

He didn’t leave the house without throwing his wedding gift at the wall, angry tears cascading down his face as the ceramic mugs with a bear on both surfaces holding a heart shattered.

Shay watches him go, noting how he hugged her far tighter than ever before.

[deathordecaf]

A (not so) Brief Introduction

Hello to you, entirely hypothetical reader!

My Name is Alessa —or rather that is the name I will be using for the sake of privacy. You see my intention with this blog is two-fold:

To share the information & tools I have learned regarding mental health, in an accessible format for myself, those like me, and those who wish to simply satiate their curiosity.

To keep a record for reflection on my personal journey, in an attempt to provide myself with some perspective on my conditions and appreciate the progress being made, as all too often we are blind to our progress when we need to recognise it most.

As such some of the entries here may be, well, personal. This may not be just so for me, but to those close to me as well. So for the sake of privacy pseudonyms will be used.

But enough waffling! This brief introduction is rapidly growing in length, so in no particular order here are a few key things about me that may provide context to myself as the narrator of this blog:

I am 25 rapidly approaching 26 —making me practically a fossil in Tumblr terms

I come from the land down under

I have a very Australian attitude to swearing in that I often fail to notice I’m swearing at all. Those who to umbrige to so-called “strong language” may not appricate my liberal usage in writting.

I was Diagnosed with Generalised anxiety & OCD at approx. 15yrs

I was also diagnosed with ADHD (ADD at the time) and like many 90′s kids (particularly girls), my parent did not take this to be a legitimate concern and neither treated nor informed me of my condition before they themselves forgot that incident entirely!

I have been on and off a number of antidepressants since my GAD diagnosis. Predominately SSRIs with a couple SNRIs threw in for good measure.

SSRIs and SNRIs show mixed to no results until I was in my early 20s when the newest pills on the block would (after making me disoriented and sick for a week) make me feel fan-fucking-tasic! For About a month or so before my inevitable plumment into my realisation, once again, that i was in fact human garbage & hiding under my desk until the fear subsided in another few month.

I do not like taking SSRIs; it’s not them, it it’s me.

I was bullied ruthlessly in primary school In an attempt to escape the constant bullying we tried changing my school, this was an abject failure and I returned to my previous school and dealt with the bullying I knew.

By the time I reach high school I developed a 0% drama policy, made A number of close friends 

I took a Gap year after high school, to really wallow in depression for the first time and ensure that I cut with as many of my social ties as possible, before they realised the truth that i was actual human garbage.

Despite not correctly completing enough qualifying subject in my senior year of High School to apply for university; I took an “alternative pathway to study” test the year following my graduation and scored in the top 5% percent of participants and then enrolled in an art programme in University the following year.

I began a perpetual cycle of dropping in and out of university and working until I became frustrated with my lack of direction or purpose, then returning to study again.

I studied Sociology partially because it interested my and partially because I thought I was to emotional to study psychology like I wanted.

I realised I would never leave this cycle without ongoing professional help.

I was sexually assaulted and had a complete mental breakdown and finally sought the help I needs.

I was now suspecting my Dysthymic + GAD +subclinical OCD combo I’d been labeled with was less than accurate and went to a Psychiatrist for a differential diagnosis

I was was diagnosis with ADHD (again, but this was news to me) and my Psychiatrist agreed the after somewhere in the vicinity of 6+ variety of SSRI was a good enough sample sizes to say they were a good Fit.

I begin taking dexamphetamine (for ADHD + off label depression treatment) and Mirtazipine (for anxiety + chronic insomnia I have had since childhood)

Thing start getting better 

Now here’s the “good” bit

 I have a job a love

 I’ve decided paying for education is for suckers

 I’m planning to start a new business to run while working this current jobs (i already have 2)

I’m working on two art projects

My partner and I are living together for the 2nd year so I now know he won’t leave randomly (because that’s definitely NOT a thing i have immense fear around as a result of a number of traumatic events that I’m pretending to not be effected by)

I’ve finally committed to being a vegetarian

dropped 10kgs

I’m hardly sleeping

I’m bursting with amazing ideas

Secretly convinced I’m going to change the world or at the very least Australia (because I’ve got to be “realistic”

I feel amazing, people love me, I love me

So because I’m finally “normal”, i decide i don’t need therapy anymore I’ve decided I CAN BE MY OWN THERAPIST JUST AS WELL! 

I’ve even done the “responsible” (please read: deluded) thing and doubled my Mirtazipine dose myself (with out having to waste my doctors time) to help me sleep again, although this doesn’t work so I start combining it with alcohol to knock myself out (this is also increasing)

I’M FINALLY MAKING UP FOR LOST TIME! WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG?!

I am depressed

I am more depressed than I have even been

I am not eating because I don’t so the point

It takes me an entire day to sit up right

I keep trying to work, but it’s poor, the stripped my hours back to nothing

I’ve been thinking of hurting myself to try and let the negative feelings out, but i settle for writing nasty thing about myself on my skin and hiding them under my clothes as a reminder that I am human garbage.

We can no longer afford our rent so we move in with my partners parents.

I go to the general practitioner near by she doesn’t want to write a mirtazipine script but does, she asks if I’m okay... I confess I had planned on killing myself a few night ago while visiting my father and his new family and that I only stopped myself because I couldn’t guarantee my three half siblings wouldn’t find my body and be traumatised. I confess I still want to hurt myself and that a feel I am a burden. She wan’t me to go to the hospital immediately but I talk her into a referral instead on the provisor i check in a week later.

At first i hide the for my partner but I confess what happened and i week later i’ve packed my bags and gone to the hospital.

It’s a mess, they ignore me, constantly forget my name, and take my medication away until they can confirm with my psychiatrist that i’m telling the truth. At first all I do is sleep

I don’t realised it but this stress triggers another hypomanic episode, and as I am clearly no longer depressed... they let me go. They don’t notice I’m on a power trip and intentionally making them uncomfortable by mentioning their mistakes in front of my family and laughing about it to my partner.

The goes on for another two week i’m increasingly annoyed by people telling me to pace myself “can’t they see i’m fine?”

Until I experience my first mixed episode. I have never been so scared of myself in my entire life

I’m completely unhinged. Even my partner with all the patience in world sits beside me as body is wracked by sobbing and says “maybe your right. maybe you’re not going to get better” a little part of me dies.

But I’m determined, I’ve spent to last few months actually taking care of myself for the first time in years. I’ve gotten back in contact with my psychiatrist and see hm once a week.

We had concluded I have some degree of Bipolarity and c-PTSD in addition to the ADHD and anxiety.

My mirtazipine has been increased again and Yesterday I’ve started taking Limotrigine and a mood stabilisers

I’ve begun a DBT course (which is part of a university trail to verify the affectivity).

I’ve started learning to embrace slow routine, monitoring my moods and have been drinking in all the possible information I can on my condition

This bring us to now.

I’m still a work in progress but I’ve come a long way and I’m already doing so much better than just 3 months ago. I have decided I will study Psychology like I’ve alway wanted. But I’m not rushing myself to be ready and I will do limit myself to three subjects at a time instead of the typical 4.

Until then my goal everyday is to do 4 simple things:

Ride my exercise bike for 30mins a day

Water my plants as I’ve started a small garden to ground me

Shower once a day

Always to my meds

So that’s an overly long overly intamate look at me... so how are you?

[nytigress]

something you liked and didn't like about the MJ portrayal in the Raimi movies?

CURIOUS ANONS | meme.

                          oh my. well, it’s been awhile since i’ve watched these films !  but as soon as my dad goes to bed ( COME ON MAN !!! ), i plan to watch them throughout the night because insomnia is just the greatest.  & since i just finally got the chance to watch them … hereeee goes !  this is kind of a long post because i went through each film ( yes ! all three ! ) out of sheer boredom & curiosity tbh.

THINGS THAT WERE LIKED ; 

SPIDERMAN

mj sticking up for peter on the bus

pushing flash away while on the school trip

her interest in spiders

being observant enough to not that there were only 14 spiders

her modeling for peter with lowkey flirting

sad mj becoming happy mj the moment her friends pull up after her dad verbally abuses her

mj trying to reason with flash & stop him from his rage-filled rampage, trying to get him to see some reason.

her fleeing from the yelling and conflict of her parents

mj being popular but genuinely nice

genuine!mj with peter & popular!mj with flash

mary jane’s lack of confidence when talking about what she wants to do after high school - probably because she’s been told she’s gonna be worthless & amount to nothing like her mother. and school counselors aren’t exactly receptive to kids who want to be stars.

her strength when breaking up with flash

mj saying “buzz off” thinking peter calling her is some dude trying to cat call her

her attitude at enrique.

self-consciousness about waitressing, not wanting harry to know.

lying about her having auditions & living her dream

admitting that she lied & telling the truth.

mj wearing the red dress instread of the black dress

“watch out !” - helping spidey fight goblin despite facing her death

not wanting harry to buy her something to “feel better”

mj being surprised someone is interested in her life

mj fighting back against the thugs

despite wanting to know spidey’s identity, she respects his wishes by only uncovering his lips for the thank you kiss

mj’s intuition making her feel uneasy about unhinged!norman

“thanks for sticking up for me harry.” - the sarcasm.

apologizing to aunt may despite being super upset about what norman said

visiting aunt may in the hospital the morning after she’s attacked, bringing flowers.

“spiderman watch out !”

her need for only a little bit of reassurance from spidey when told to climb down the cable to the cable car despite being terrorized and tossed to her death

mary jane being at norman’s funeral

mj accepting herself

mj’s speech to peter & the courage it took to admit her feelings ( guess near - death experiences do that ? )

mj figuring out peter is spidey through that kiss

mj being okay with her & peter just being friends - not yelling at him or expecting he feel the same

SPIDERMAN 2

mj on a billboard !

mj being at peter’s birthday party

mj in plays

mj returning to her old friends & childhood home despite being in the spotlight

giving peter his time & space

mj’s voicemail - “sing your song @ the beep. beep !”

throwing her keys @ the phone while peter is talking

“bingo !” - the sass listening to pete’s voicemail

mj’s “you done fucked up” speech to peter - “you’re nothing but an empty seat.”

her focusing on peter during her performance, whispering that little “hi.”

“you complicate things !”

“i have to go !” - hailing a cab & running from anymore of that conversation

“do you love me or not ?”

“kiss me, i need to know something.”

her mouthy - ness @ doc ock.

“he’s not dead. i don’t believe you.”

mary jane not running but picking up that beam to try to beat up doc ock

“hi.”

“you do love me.”

mj just letting him give her the “we can never be speech.” & not fighting back.

“respect me enough to make my own decision.”

tHAT WHOLE SPEECH.

“i’ve always been standing in your door way.”

“isn’t it about time somebody saved your life ?”

“gO GET ‘EM, TIGER.”

SPIDERMAN 3

MARY JANE WATSON’S NAME IN LIGHTS

that old hollywood - esque singing voice on point.

“you are such a nerd.”

stargazing !!!!

mj staying friends with harry despite how their relationship dissolved

“it’s like my father wrote them” - mj still fighting her father’s abuse.

the anger over the kiss !! their kiss !!! completely warranted imo

“you have no idea what i’m feeling.”

jealousy over gwen.

“when you kissed her who was kissing her spiderman or peter ?”

“that was OUR kiss.” - i knOW GIRL, I WAS PISSED TOO.

mj running away from the conflict, running away when she’s upset.

mj picking up the phone after standing there & listening to peter’s voicemail !!!

mj being there for peter despite how their dinner went.

“i wanna be here for you.”

“everybody needs help sometimes, peter, even spiderman.”

mary jane reaching out to harry

the dancing scene in the kitchen with harry

breaking up with peter to protect him, to save his life because his life matters more than their happiness ( fuck you, evil!harry )

mary jane in the jazz club - choosing something where she can pay the bills & work on singing live.

“i’m fine.”

mj stepping in to break up the fight in the jazz club.

“peter, they’re going to kill us both.” - i.e. babe this is some serious shit

mj throwing the cinder block at venom, fighting to help spidey as usual.

mary jane leaping from the taxi without a second thought to save herself

“you okay ?” mj, after nearly dying numerous times: “yeah.”

mj running to be with harry in his last moments instead of staying safe

“and so i’m through with love” - that song she sings at the end. so perfect.

leaving the microphone to embrace peter.

THINGS THAT WEREN’T LIKED ; 

SPIDERMAN

her flighty-ness

not fighting back against her father ( gimme some of that mj temper )

“don’t tell harry” — being so worried about a man’s opinion of her.

not 100% fond of her treatment of harry.

mj being unsure of spiderman’s intention. “do you believe what all the paper’s say ?” – he saved your ass twice already, would you quit !

SPIDERMAN 2

“i’m seeing somebody.” - just to make it clear that she’s moving on … on his birthday tho … eh.  

“ugh i don’t know.” - so we’re keeping peter on the hook then or ?

“don’t disappoint me.” - sighs.

accepting the marriage proposal ( most likely done out of spite to prove she’s moving on ) - not cool

using her fiance to figure out her feelings for peter aS SHE’S FILLING OUT WEDDING INVITATIONS

mj leaving her husband to be at the altar with no proper explanation but some letter.

the “runaway bride” trope - mj wouldn’t even let it get to that point, hell, peter’s proposal in the comics did not go well the first time around.

SPIDERMAN 3

“tell me you love me” - facepalms

the insecurity is kinda annoying. ( but part of me can justify it as this is the first time she’s really letting someone in & loving someone & being vulnerable )

obsessing over critics like she somehow forgot critics existed.

being upset when peter leaves to do spidey things … despite “knowing what she’s signing up for” as she said in the previous film

that little look of jealousy when spidey is getting applause from the city.

being “happy for him” but not really seeming like it when he walks away

initiating the kiss with harry.

the leading harry on & encouraging that

painting mj as a shallow cheater.

& MY INCESSENT RAMBLING ; 

                           so raimi!mj possesses some of the characteristics of comic!mj. they have her personality mostly. the backstory is different & the time she meets peter & harry are also different but i can’t seem to really mind it. what i love is her strength, it’s emphasized again & again. she rises from the ashes of a broken home, moves out & does what she has to support herself without asking for any help, especially from her current ( very rich ) boyfriend. she works tirelessly to achieve her dream, auditions, modeling, most likely drama classes & she ends up in a very successful play with a very successful role - now her singing debut was less than stellar according to the critics but let’s not talk about that now. she’s a fighter. they proved that for the most part, emphasized when in moments of danger or distress. 

                              what i don’t like is her using an engagement & a serious seeming relationship with someone as a testing ground to see if she loves someone else or not. that’s not fair to the man who proposed to her nor prolonging it to the point he’s at the altar waiting for her. i’m also not fond of how she treats harry when they are together but that’s a whole mess of a relationship anyway. mary jane isn’t too keen on the idea of marriage in the comics so much so that she refuses peter’s first proposal !   bouncing between both of the boys is kinda shitty too - she’s either with one or the other but unfortunately always lowkey holds a candle for peter. also, painting her as the type to cheat & seek attention & support elsewhere instead of facing her problems & talking with peter ( which is what brings them together in the first place in the comics … opening up to each other ) is not cool.

[psychicwolftraveler-blog]

Bipolar and the stigma

Bipolar and the stigma against mental illness

When people hear mental illness they tend to shudder with fear and smugness as if there better than anyone who suffers from something. When people hear Bipolar they run a mile! Some may say I am exaggerating but I am not. Iv seen it first hand. I myself suffer from Bipolar Type 2. Now i emphasise the type as thats important. When people hear Bipolar they think of manic, mania, psychosis, hyper, unhinged...the list goes on. But I am none of those things. Type 2 sufferers tend to have long bouts of low periods and very intense anxiety, in all honesty the anxiety can manifest into paranoia-so there is an element of psychosis but nowhere near as much as a Type 1 sufferer.

I was diagnosed 3 years ago at the age of 27 going on 28. Prior to this, Id only ever had one other breakdown and that was 10 years before hand in my late teens. I had always suffered from some form of anxiety but i had always managed to control it. My job as a manager kept me mentally busy and challanged and i thrived on stress, in fact in one interview i even said i loved it! but in the end it was stress that broke me down, and now sadly that aspect off any job i do in the future will be a no no for me! But since my diagnosis iv noticed a wave of stigma attached to mental health. People are geniunly scared of it! There scared of what it means and what it can do. they dont realise the effects that can have on the person suffering!

I myself have never told any of my employers about my illness for this reason, because a lack of understanding on their part can make them nieve, and regardless of how qualified I am I wont be fit enough for the job because my brain ever so slightly works in a diffrent way to others! I know my triggers and I can control it to a point...the only thing that stops me having control is pregnanacy, because adding those hormones to an already altered mind makes for very confusing times! I spend weeks indoors not talking to anybody or seeing the outside world-but its all for the greater good, and though i can turn into a hormonal nightmare when pregnant, having a baby is a blessing and ill take all the bad that comes with it!

I recently wrote an open letter on twitter to many celebrity ambassadors for mental health, including the young royals- below is the letter i wrote:

I am writing to you today as I have been reading about all your work that you are doing surrounding mental health namely the stigma surrounding it. I am writing to you in a capacity of desperation to get my voice heard. You both are the voice that can speak for the millions so I figured it was worth a shot so here goes. Let me give you a background on myself. I am 31 and am a freelance journalist/poet and a manager within the NHS. I has my first mental breakdown when I was 16 at the time people thought it was a mixture of hormones and family factors, none the less I had to leave 6th form and was medicated for a few years. When that fog lifted I returned to college and went onto university to study new media journalism. To support myself I had to work in the post room within a NHS trust. I worked my way up that corporate ladder very quickly and after graduating kept the journalistic side to freelance and continued to work my way up in the NHS,  iv worked in A&E as admin manager, iv worked as unit managers for CNWL's Addiction services, and even ended up managing the admin team at the same unit that treated me when I was 16 within west London mental health trust, which was ironic really but also showed how far I had come and accomplished! The same doctor that treated me still worked there too! I went from being her patient 10 years before to drinking with her in a pub at 26 a fully fledged cured adult who managed the admin team including her secretary! The signifance of me telling this will become apparent soon.... In november 2014 I suffered a severe break down and voluntarily went into a low secure mental health unit just to rest and get the treatment I needed! Again it was west London mental health I was treated by, but this time I had two perspectives, one the patient and two the employee! The same doctors and nurse I had been drinking in a pub with 2 years before now saw me as a patient, some wouldn't even say hello.  The only people to acknowledge me were the patiebts who rembered me from the services they attended, but now i was one of them. This was my first experience of the stigma of mental health, I was no good anymore I was just another patient. It was at this point I was diagnosed with Bipolar type 2, I would like to emphasize the type 2 as that's another stigma I get. The difference between type 1 and 2 is vast, there is no mania with my type and more anxiety and depression. It was a hard diagnosis but it hadn't come from nowhere I had it since 16! It made sense all the times I'd have down patches I just put down to environmental factors, a bad relationship, argument with friends, stress at work etc... I just thought it was what the doctors had said when I was 16..hormones and family factors, but it wasn't it was bipolar.. So the entire time I had been working I had bipolar and nobody had known, not me, not my colleagues not even the doctor who treated me at 16 and drank with me on Friday night and now wouldn't even say hello to me after seeing me in hospital! Stigma is stigma and even employees and doctors have them. Knowing that keeping busy controlled it and stress made it worse I went straight back to work in a brand new job at the RNOH in stanmore in January 2015!! I took a step back and went in as a EA to the hospitals operations director....not an easy job but less stressful than managing things myself but it wasn't long before I got the urge to take the reins once more and within 9 months I was unit manager of paediatrics at the same hospital!  Again nobody knew until I fell pregnant in March 2016, I was not on any medication apart from calming pills to stop my anxiety flaring up but I stopped all these when I found out. I had my first and only encounter with perinatel who are a great team and service, unfortunately I miscarried at 20 weeks, and within 3 days I was discharged from the perinatal service and was on my own. The pregnancy hormones and lack of medication had made Me very edgy and anxious more so than I had ever been, then losing the baby caused more emotions which were hard to deal with. I had to finish at my job in the June of 2016 as the stress and the commute were making me sick again and being pregnant I had to make that my priority not my career. It was the first time I hadn't worked since I was 18 and being at home made my illness worse. None the less me and my partner tried again and I fell pregnant in may 2017 but again lost it at 6 weeks. This sent me into a downward spiral and I had to make a decision to try again or go back to work but we tried again and here I am 11 weeks pregnant and everything thus far going well and being monitored  everything but my mental health. Iv had no further contact from a perinatel team and  am on no medication. When I do see my midwife my mental health always gets used as a weapon. Iv been told I must have a cesarean for my own health but I also must have meeting regarding mental health to see if I could cope with a baby and what my support network is. That is what has pushed me to write to you both.... The stigma. Just because I have a diagnosis does not mean I am not capable or of sound mind! I went 12 years with nobody none the wiser not even the doctor who had originally treated me at 16, but now they can name my problem I'm not a worthy and am treated a second class citezen. People Dont talk about mental health because of this reason, and things need to change. If I had another invisible illness like epilepsy would I have the same stigma... Probably not. With my corporate mindset I ask you, when you work with mental health issues, departmentalise each issue.... Suicide, depression, psychosis, anxiety, insomnia, eating disorders . within each of these things there is a stigma and within each of those boxes is a person like me who can control, hide and survive through my issues everyday with nobody knowing, working in high level jobs too scared to say anything because when I do I become somebody everybody is scared of abd treat differently just because I'm labeled with a mental illness and as the voice of the many I do hope the work you all do goes someway to helping the case I have put to you today because this is an issue that needs changing and changing fast.I have enclosed copy's of 2 poems I have written about mental health which are also published online, I look forward to your response Yours faithfully

Needless to say I never got any replys-which made me more determined to start a blog, to have my voice and get it heard!!

Iv recently read in the news today that they believe the grand old president of the USA, Mr Donald J Trump is apparently suffering from a mental illness-which could in effect cost him his job! According to the BBC, experts believe he is suffering from narcassistic personality disorder- now hes the kind of person that gives people with genuine mental illness a bad name! He's not mentally ill, hes an egotistic old man who is too twitter happy and obscessed with big red buttons. Everything he says is pathetic and he cant be taken seriously, the way the USA can justify thier horrific mistake of electing such a gorrilla is to brush it off with, "we didnt realise he was mentaly ill"!! cop out if you ask me!!! Just take his tweets with Mr Kim Jung un- iv seen 3 year olds in nurserys have better arguments than that!! Thats not a mental illness its a child in a 70 somethings body!! Hes the human real life version of Tom Hanks's character in Big, just not as nice or as clever or as entertaining!! I defenitly wouldnt want to play the big piano with him in a toy store-god forbid you were better than him- you'd be banned from America and called a loser on twitter before being handed a shovel and some bricks to go and build his mexican wall!

My point is, mental illness is a stigma and when its used to describe somebody like Donald Trump its no wonder people get scared!! We should be allowed to talk about it more freely and openly without the fear of being judged-but if that will change who will know...Until then all we can do is live on and fight the big fight that is mental illness which ever one it may be..... we'll talk more on this subject... but until then take care...

The typist behind the screen xxx

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