#did I make it all myself to avoid triggers

[trannyradfem]

Oh I have a fun story!

So, I have a cat, and she's unlike any other cat I've ever had. When we first got her, she was scared of us, but the next day I had accidently sliced my finger on a piece of thin corrugated cardboard when moving things around to make more room for her play area, and she came RUNNING to me. She prowled into the desk cabinet I was adjusting and hissed at it, looked around in there for a bit, and then came out and looked up at me kinda tilting her head to the side. I now know this is what she always does when something confuses her. She tried to protect me even though she barely knew any of us in the home.

Later on, I visited a close friend from out of state, and tried to introduce my cat to her cats. Her male cat was lazily laying on the floor, belly up, and slow blinked at my cat. My cat immediately hissed at him and hid back into her carrier. She NEVER hisses. My friend brought her into our car and sat with her while I visited so she wouldn't be super on edge the entire time. We started joking about her hating males, but now I genuinely think she actually really does after having her for a while.

She ended up kinda imprinting on me, and now follows me everywhere I go, always sitting in my lap or laying on me in some way. If she can't lay on me, she rests a paw on my hand or my arm. It's so cute I sometimes tear up. I've also been through a lot of shit, and she has seen me struggle with PTSD. Oftentimes, if I'm dissociating, she'll come sit in my lap and smash her face against my hand until I snap out of it. She literally grounds me when I'm not able to do that for myself.

I also unfortunately have a male upstairs neighbor who has violent rage fits, and will start slamming around his furniture, screaming, swearing, the whole shebang. It triggers the fuck out of me but I've told the complex and called the police and it doesn't last HOURS anymore, so that's probably the best it's going to get. My cat cannot stand him. Whenever we go for a walk together through the apartment building, she always tries to go to his floor and hisses at his door. 💀 She generally doesn't like strangers, is mostly afraid of them, but I had never seen her hiss at a person before that.

But that's not all.

There was one time I needed groceries delivered during an acute flare up, and a very sweet black woman showed up with them. She saw I was weak and limping, and offered to carry my groceries into my kitchen for me. I was so, so touched by this gesture. We ended up having a really nice conversation that was uplifting for both of us, talking about struggle and perservering, and also family. I was a little worried my cat would be afraid, but she walked right up to this lovely woman and started bunting her hand. Later on, when my cat met my best friends mom, who is genuinely a really good person, she did the same.

Whenever I take her out on a walk, she avoids males like the plague, and gets aggressive if they get too close. She hates them. Any time a male cat walks up to her perching window, her tail poofs up and she goes on high alert. But if it's a female cat, they just kinda stare at each other and slow blink. She's even made friends with our neighbors (female) cat.

She's just like me, fr.

[prettyboypistol]

Date Everything! Freddy Yeti & GN!Reader

MENTIONS OF READER HAVING A PAST OF PHYSICAL VIOLENCE. THIS IS A HURT/COMFORT FIC ABOUT RELIVING PHYSICAL ABUSE TRAUMA AND BEING COMFORTED ABOUT IT AFTER AN INTENSE TRIGGER.

You hadn’t expected to fall for your refrigerator, but then again, could you really blame yourself? Those big hulking muscles, that kind demeanor, all of it was just perfect!

That is, until he lost his cool at you.

You tried your best to always avoid conflict wherever possible, especially with people bigger than you. When people who out-sized you got angry, they usually got… violent. At least, in your experience growing up. But that isn’t important right now, you tried your best not to let that dredge you down.

But the insulting, the intimidation- you couldn’t stop your body from flinching when Freddy started to suddenly shout- and when he kept on shouting, you felt your heart pound in your ears, your mouth dry up and your body tremble. You needed to escape- and fast.

You must not have flinched as subtly as you would have liked though, as you felt a wetness drip down your cheeks. Great. Fucking fantastic. You were crying. Freddy seemed to finally look at you- and stopped mid-sentence.

“Oh my god.” He murmured, dumbfounded as he put a massive hand to his mouth. “O-oh my god. I am so so so so so sorry, I-”

But it was too late, you had already ducked underneath the dining room table with your hands protecting your head and neck. Your tremors became violent as you choked on your own fleghm that you coughed up out of fright. You were terrified. What if he hit you?

Freddy stopped as he stared at you- you always seemed so small to him, why did he have to go and crush you like that?! Stupid Freddy! Now he had ruined everything!

After a few moments, you calmed your hyperventilation down to a labored breathing, but at a manageable speed that allowed you to actually see and feel the things around you. You took off the dateviators and speed-walked to your room, where you promptly hid underneath the covers for the rest of the day. Not talking to anyone else, not going anywhere else.

After you had left though, Freddy stepped away from himself- both physically and metaphorically. Why did he have to blow up at you like that? You were just being the sweet and kind person he knew you to be, damn it! Well, he had little time to think about this, as Abel approached him with a stern look in his eye.

“So, that was a mighty fine display.” Abel sarcastically remarked, clearly disappointed and disdainful of Freddy’s actions.

“Listen- I know- I didn’t mean to- to uh…”

“To make our human fear for their life?” Abel completed the sentence, not at all amused by Freddy’s attempts to explain what happened. With a sigh, Abel took a step closer to Freddy. “Listen bucko, you need to keep the beast at bay. If I have to experience our human hiding under me again, sobbin’ their heart out, then I’ll give you an attitude adjustment myself, y’hear?”

“I… Yeah, I got it.” Freddy nodded solemnly. He seemed to not be in the best standing with anyone who witnessed or heard the explosion of his.

You avoided your kitchen and anything that required going near your fridge for a good few days. Only getting fresh delivery and going to your bedroom. It took you even longer to put back on the dateviators again. You were terrified that the other objects would blame you for making the jovial Freddy so… scary.

Betty, the Dorians, Amir, and Abel were there to talk you down though. It wasn’t your fault that he snapped at you. You didn’t deserve that. You absolutely weren’t trying to make him react like that. None of what he did reflected at all on you as a person… Well, that’s what everyone kept telling you. Hell, even Parker gave you some encouragement when he noticed that you were “off your game” so to speak.

Although, it was Abel who gave you a harrowing thought- what if you talked to Freddy again? Of course, if you desired someone there with you, Abel offered up himself as a mediator of sorts. His strong body certainly put you at ease. If something were to go down, you were sure that Abel would protect you well enough for you to escape.

So, that night, you tiptoed down to the kitchen. Your body shook at the memory of the reverberating yells. But still, you trekked forward. 

You directed the dateviators at the fridge, and there you saw him. He was… quiet.

“Oh, hey there.” Freddy said softly, as if he spoke to a skittish child. “I uh- didn’t think you’d wanna see me again after… that.”

“I didn’t- for a while.” You nodded. You looked to Abel, who put his hand on your shoulder and rubbed your back with his thumb. “But I- I wanna know what the hell happened.”

Freddy blinked, took a moment, then sighed deeply.

“I got angry- not at you, but at myself. I was just so upset that I could have hurt you that I didn’t realize that I was hurting you.”

“You really scared me. I thought you were going to hit me.” You said disjointedly as you broke the eye contact halfway through your sentence.

“What?” Freddy murmured, completely terrified at the idea. “Cool kid, I’d-”

“I know- but you were so scary. You got in my face and yelled at me, you- you looked like you wanted me dead for asking to help you.” You interjected as you sputtered out your feelings before your second judgement shut you up and went into “placate mode”. 

Freddy looked at his hands with a slow blink.

“The last thing I ever wanna do is scare you like that, kid. You’re the reason I try so hard to begin with! I- I’ve been reading up on food safety temps ever since… since… yeah, I just- I’m terrible at this- I’m just, so sorry.” Freddy choked out that last bit as he looked to you, there were tears in his eyes. 

You looked to Abel, who shrugged his shoulders. The ball was in your court.

Hesitantly, you made your way from Abel to Freddy and sat next to him. He froze up, scared to move a muscle and scare you again.

“I don’t like being yelled at.”

“I’m sorry.”

You leaned your head against Freddy’s massive arm and sighed.

“Y’know, you’re the first person to actually apologize for shitty stuff done to me. And like, actually mean it?”

“Oh kid- I didn’t know.” Freddy murmured. “Can I?” He asked softly as he slowly lifted his arm that you rested on. You closed your eyes tight for a split second, but nodded. Then, a gentle arms wrapped around you and held you securely. 

“I promise I’ll never raise my voice at you again.”

[thebibliosphere]

I'm still, so, so, so fucking scared to say my MCAS is in 'remission' (or as close as you can get with an illness like this), but I just had a gluten-free cupcake with strawberry jam in the middle and a white chocolate ganache on top, and if you'd told me less than four years ago that was a thing I'd be able to eat without going into anaphylaxis and setting myself back months in terms of recovery, I would never have believed you. Hell, a few months ago, I wouldn't have been able to eat this because I wasn't on the right meds.

And today I get to have a little treat with lunch because I feel like it.

[momochiiee-reblogs]

Being screamed at for things that aren't my fault seems to be a norm in this house

There's cookware scattered an dirty? Guess who gets blamed for it? The exact one that almost never has spoons for cooking in the first place

I live cleaning the trail after me so they won't have any reason to scream at me, but my brother leaves absolute messes behind him and the screams are for me

Fuck off

[yikesajax-deranged-edition]

It's so funny they call me toxic while sending me threats and trying to doxx me and harass me. Girl what 😭

[dragonanon]

I love that when I start questioning my child free stance in life, the universe IMMEDIATELY reminds me of why I don’t want kids. 🙃

[kaurwreck]

I think you're right that it's significant, and I think Mori is clever to recognize that Akutagawa is a rook.

Like a rook, Akutagawa is powerful, but generally contained and often undercut by his predictability. However, because he's keenly aware of his own constraints, and because others often aren't (especially regarding variables they've internalized as known), he's able to play into and against his own predictability to paradoxically surprise them.

He moves within the confines of his rigidity to shape outcomes, sometimes more effectively than his more dynamic opponents and peers. Rooks do that too, if you let them.

Me, knowing nothing about chess, probably overthinking the significance of referencing akutagawa in this scene, but is going to look it up later anyways

[whimsicalnancy]

— i got into the void state back to back 4 times

guys, i think I've found a cheat code to effortlessly reprogram the subconscious mind to enter the void state, tho it can be used for other things as well.

the cheat code:

so, I was honestly getting so bored of making and listening to the same old type of subliminals. you know… the typical affirmations on loop, layered with rain sounds or some aesthetic music. they worked, sure but I kept thinking, there has to be a smarter, smoother, unique way to speak to the subconscious.

so I was just sitting and thinking...umm if my future self already had everything I wanted. how would she talk? how would she act?

and this wild idea popped into my head out of nowhere:

“wait… what if I recorded a fake interview with my future self?”

like “hey, how has your life changed after the void?”

and me then answering the question and yapping as if I have already had mastered the void..

BRUH, HOLD ON

i’m not gonna lie, I felt like an absolute genius in that moment. like when I would be focused on the interview, background sub affirmation will sweep in through my subconscious. giggled so hard.

i did some research and let me tell you why this is a genius idea and why this would work.

• it activates neuroplasticity through simulation:

when you listen to a conversation that sounds like your future self casually recalling success, it triggers mental simulation a process where the brain mentally rehearses an experience. thanks to neuroplasticity, our brain begins rewiring itself to adapt to this new "reality," even if it hasn't happened yet.

• bypasses critical filters and reconstructs self-image:

typical affirmations often trigger the Reticular Activating System (RAS) to filter them out if they don't align with your current self-image. but when you're hearing a relaxed, believable conversation like "Yeah, it's just normal now, i don't chase it anymore" it flies under the radar. this style avoids resistance and quietly restructures your internal self-schema, making lasting changes to your identity without inner conflict.

• it engages the limbic system for emotional encoding:

subliminals that evoke emotion trigger the limbic system, the emotional core of the brain responsible for memory and behavioral shifts. when you hear yourself speaking from a place of fulfillment like joy, ease, or pride - it creates emotional anchors in your subconscious. this emotional charge imprints the new belief deeply, making the transformation stick in a way dry affirmations can't replicate.

my success with this:

i decided to make a subliminal based on that idea, for the void. i kept the affirmations low in the background and made the interview part fully audible. I recorded myself answering interview-style questions in my own voice, but as if I were already the version of me who had completely mastered the void. and putting it all together took over 2hr not gonna lie, but it was all WORTH IT 💅🏻🫶🏻

even while I was creating it, i kept getting this giddy, butterfly-in-my-stomach kind of feeling. like, listening to MYSELF talk about MY dream life? ugh, it was something else.

anyway, when it was finally done, i was like, "I'll try it out tonight." but of course, my curious little self couldn’t wait. so i hit play immediately. laid there, sometimes zoning in on the interview going on, sometimes just vibing with the calm music. halfway through, I started feeling symptoms but since you’re not supposed to focus on them, i redirected my attention right back to the interview.

and then BAM! everything went silent. like, really silent. the next moment i could hear the subliminal again. then it went all black. then i heard the sub again. it was like i was literally going in and out of the void on a loop. wild, right? 💀 i was laying there with my eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, completely amazed. then before i could attempt again, my mom called me and i had to go.

now cut to that night, i literally jumped onto my bed like it was a trampoline, put on my subliminal, and just laid there. and yep, symptoms showed up again. then pitch black. i was like, “wait, lemme check if I’m in the void,” and that’s where I messed up, the moment i brought my awareness to the 3D, poof, i was out. AGAIN. i was like, girl, what are you doing???”

but I was too tired to care, so i replayed the subliminal, didn’t focus too hard, and just started making scenarios in my head to help me sleep. and then, out of nowhere, i felt this wierd, tingly pull, my heart was racing like crazy. and yup,

there i was, in the void, the pure consciousness!

calm 💅🏻 quiet 💅🏻 all pitch black 💅🏻

this time, i didn’t even bother checking or analyzing shit. i just stayed chill and eventually fell asleep ‘cause I was completely wiped out.

did i manifest:

not yet. after my last void attempt, i haven’t really tried to get in again. i’ve been working on upgrading the sub and fixing a few music issues. but guess what? i’m planning to use the sub to enter the void again on my birthday and manifest something special for me. something i had been desiring for decades:) and when i do, i’ll show y’all, just like I did with my other manifestations in the past. better be ready babe.

final words:

if anyone else has already played around with this concept or came up with something like this before, big love and credit to you<3

and people, steal this idea! just talk to yourself, literally.

sit down and have a full on convo like you’re the version of you who already has it all. whether you call it your higher self, future self, or just “that version of me” .. speak from that place. out loud. say how your life feels now, what you’ve created, how normal it all is.

stop waiting. start being.

[thewritingfairy]

↪ au: Poetic justice

Alternative ending to 04.1 Jason's crime I'll be honest I kept this one short mainly because this is a little bit darker then I usually write and idk if I should use a mature tag, because my original plan for this side story is a lot darker (I turned it down a lot). It might become a multiple part side story, depends if you guys like it. trigger warnings: medical + physical + emotional neglect, guilt, character death (semi-graphic suicide), gn reader (just pretend Reader is out in this au) main m.list          series m.list

‘I’m sorry mama.

It hurts, so much. I can’t take it anymore. It’s all too much, I can’t go on like this, but I know you didn’t me to turn out this way. But I can’t go back. This is the end, and all I do is listen to them.

I am scared of what will happen if I don’t, I’m so terrified mama. I can’t go on like this, but if I do this, isn’t it the easy way out? Especially for them? Wouldn’t I just be giving them what they want? A life without me? Oh, mama, how I wish you were here to guide me, to teach me, to talk me through this. To tell me what I can do.

At least I did what you taught me, I documented everything from the moment I could grab my phone. I took pictures of the injuries he gave me, I did as you taught me, but having these like a card up my sleeve isn’t enough. I want to die, but not just kill myself and leave a note. No, I want to explode this all in Bruce’s face. I want him to feel the hurt I feel.

I want him to burn here on earth and on hell.

That is the justice I want, it’s the justice I need. So I made a plan, you’ll be mad when we meet again. I know it, but you’ll understand. Won’t you, mama? I tried for so long, and this was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Once I am done I hope the find this diary. I hope that they know that I am dead because of them all.’

You sigh, you hadn’t written in your diary for a while, not since the attack. But today your ‘family’ isn’t here.

Today you are doing what you should have done the day your mama died. But you aren’t leaving before pulling the manor down with you, you had created a social media account that quickly garnered followers. Mainly from school, they all wanted to know more about you. They want to know why you aren’t attending classes, and they’ll learn.

It will shatter their hope to know that the Wayne family isn’t as squeaky clean as everyone thinks they are.

You will shatter Gotham’s perspective the moment your timed camera and social media posts hit the decks. You just need to move fast, you had already gotten everything ready, Jason’s clothes are sturdy and make for a good make-shift rope, and won’t it be poetic? Beaten to the point that scars have already began to form, and now you’ll die at the hands of his clothes wrapped around your neck.

Just like his hands were that day.

But this time it won’t be in your room, no, even if your room was now a creepy replica of your original one, you won’t defile it. You’ll do it right here in the living room, the room your family met up in the most and the room you avoided the most.

Your hands shaking as you stand up on the stool, there is no time to turn back.

You close your eyes and as you feel life slip away from you, and when you feel it get closer? You smile.

The Bat Family knows death like it’s their closest friend, Jason specifically, having been in heaven after all. But when he arrives at the manor, waiting for a debrief, he realises he’ll never go there again.

Because here he stands frozen, in front of the sibling he had harmed, they were just hanging there. Oh god, what has he done? Tears roll down his eyes as he walks towards them. Completely unaware of his surroundings, not even noticing that a camera is rolling, that sirens are slowly surrounding the manor. He should consider himself luckily that he had already changed in sweatpants, no sign of his Red Hood gear. Otherwise he had to explain more than just their wounds.

The closer he got to them, the more his surroundings seem to disappear. The more he doesn’t notice, the others had rushed in the room after hearing the sirens and getting an alert from Barbara that (Name) leaked the situation on the internet, with proof. Bruce had lied to her, he said it was just a small situation. Shouting over the comms to demand the truth, is it all true? Did they truly do this her? But it doesn’t matter, Jason did this. He pushed them to their death.

“Oh God,” he chokes out, as he finally reaches his arms out to touch your body. As he finally takes in your expression. You’re smiling, as if you are glad. As if you are finally safe. He did this. He did this to you. “I’m sorry, what have I done….”

He falls to his knees, his head touching the ground as his sobs echo in the room. But his pity party didn’t last for long, no. Before he could reach for your body and beg for forgiveness Tim pushes him away from your body, angry tears streaming down his face. “You don’t get to touch them.” His voice was shaking, his body rigid and tense. He was on the defensive. Tim seems deluded as he shouts, pointing at them all; “None of you get to touch them!”

Tears streaming down his face as he screams once more; “What have we done?!” (Oh, would this have been him if Bruce hadn’t saved him?) His thoughts torture him and all he could do was pull on his hair, almost tearing it out as he swears he can see your body move. Your smile turning sour the longer he looks at your face. As if you’re telling him; ‘Oh, Tim, couldn’t you do this for me when I was alive? Couldn't you have defended me before?’

Then Tim’s eyes widen, what if you can still be saved, what if he can still turn your faith around?

If you were saved, would his complicity be forgiven?

He works quick, taking your body down as he tries to save you. But your body is already getting cold, it’s too late, but he doesn’t care. He needs you to open your eyes, he needs to ask for forgiveness, he needs to turn your faith around.

You needed someone in your corner, he shouldn’t have been complicate, he should have saved you. That's what Red Robin's for, to protect those that couldn't protect themselves. And he had left you behind, the person that saved him, the person that could relate to him the most. And he never let you in.

He didn’t even notice he was hyperventilating until Bruce pulled him away from your body as paramedics rush into the room. Bruce holds Tim in a bruising hug, almost as if he's terrified Tim would die too. His eyes shot up to where his other siblings were, their eyes terrified. Their eyes looking at your body as if it was all a dream.

Then it all became real.

You are pronounced dead.

And a dread settles upon them all.

They, who are Gotham’s protectors, killed a civilian.

They were the cause of a death of someone they vowed to protect. All because of their own ignorance.

as I said before if you guys like this I'll make it in a bigger side story, but it would get a new taglist and it's own masterlist. For this chapter I'll use the taglist for Nobody's child.

taglist (Nobody's child): @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[chihomichannel]

Ember's Roar | Geum Seongje

| pairing: geum seongje x f!reader | summary:  When you seem to not be meant for a normal life, further solidified when you got caught entangled in the web of Geum Seongje’s world.  | warnings: mentions of abuse (can be triggering, please read with caution), blood, physical fights, manipulation, minor mention of suicide, violence, mature themes, strong language | word count: 5.4k | a/n: It’s finals but the pull was too strong, I found myself writing after having not written for a long long time omg. Lee jun young makes me feral yall. Anyways, hope you enjoy and here’s to more geum seong je fics plsplspls

| note: Ma Seokhee (Hayden Ma) and Hwangmo are from the webtoon of weak hero./ cross-posted on my ao3 acc

The adults always said that you were so cheerful when you were younger. They often comment on how meek and quiet you’ve become now when you used to be such an extroverted child. Tales of you unabashedly making friends with strangers you meet in transportations, in malls, in parks, and in all kinds of places, stories of dancing and singing loudly in front of everyone’s eyes and affection, long passed and buried in the years since then that you’ve forgotten how different you were back then.

But what you do remember was your dad leaving and your mom becoming sad, bitter and angry. And then she began to hit you, harsher than the times she told you off when you made mistakes. Since then, no matter how much you tried to appease her, everything you did was a mistake. And with every mistake, a consequence follows. She told you it’s because she loves you, she wants you to become a good person and for that to happen, she needs to discipline you. And that she did day after day, years after years, until you learned how to be sly enough to convince her not to do so sometimes. But you aren’t always so lucky, it’s just that you are sometimes and you like to make sure to be one. And so you became compliant and quiet, because that way, the monster that holds your mother’s heart captive won’t awaken and find a reason to hurt you. 

So you like to keep your peace. You only mind your business and stay quiet. Only keep a few close friends and aim to achieve the average, no failing grades but just enough to pass your subjects. A wallflower, a person who’s there but purposely avoids the limelight. For the most part, no one paid you any mind. You’re the person in everyone’s periphery, no one significant. 

But when you reside within Yeongdeungpo and go to school in Ganghak, you should’ve known peace wasn’t an option you could keep. Or maybe you weren’t just meant to live a peaceful life outside of home now that during the class seating rearrangement, your lucky hands picked the paper that contained the number of the seat next to Geum Seongje. That was when you learned how funny envy can be and how quick it can turn things around with a snap of a finger. But you’ve known it for years, it’s just that now you realize that this is what happened to your mother, and you could only laugh that the same thing came back years later to bite you in the ass.

And now you found yourself outside, beads of sweat slid down the side of your face with the sun high up in the sky. Gone was the comfort of the cold breeze of the AC now that Jiyeon and her minions dragged you out of school grounds, in an alleyway just beside the school premises. It has been two weeks since the seat changes. You and Seongje don’t even interact, much less see each other. The guy doesn’t even go to school much, only three times since you became his seatmate. 

You were apprehensive at first, but upon seating next to him, you both kept to yourselves. It wasn’t like you gave him any reason to bat an eye on your business. You kept a respectful distance, not even letting your eyes land on the boy, what with the ever so famous three second rule you’ve heard about. You kept quiet and did not disturb the guy in any way at all. You just wanted to live your life and survive. 

But keeping quiet wasn’t enough. Geum Seongje, despite his notorious reputation, still had girls fawning over his feet. He’s handsome, and has a disturbingly sweet smile that contradicts his violent nature. It was exactly that handsome face that drove the girls in your class insane at the fact that you, a nobody, gets to sit beside him, albeit rarely with him absent most of the time. Still, it was enough for envy to boil hot in the guts of the girls in your class. Who are you to be deserving of such a place? A place you would willingly give if they just ask. But of course, violence and evil runs deep in the roots of everyone’s feet. It is in the nature of humans to resolve into violence the second they find a reason to perform such action, no matter how unreasonable it may be.

Your quiet outside life turned to slaps, humiliation, degradation, and violence, no longer different to the tense one you have at home. All of this just because you happened to sit next to their hopeless obsession. Oh how much it made your stomach sick to be quiet. To act exactly like at home now that you can’t live as carefree outside now that you’ve become their target. With each passing day, your head went to a mantra. Just a few more and it will be over soon, they’ll get bored. Just a few more and it will be over soon, they’ll get bored. Just a few more and it will be over soon, they’ll get bored. 

But it didn’t end. And your sanity was at its wits end. No matter where you went, there was someone waiting to hurt you. But what were you to do? What could you fucking do? In your mother’s case, you love her too much to fight back. But Jiyeon and her minions? They are a lot and you were only one. Your friends took their distance, too afraid to be caught on the net of Jiyeon’s wrath. And suddenly, you found yourself all alone but surrounded at the same time. Fear turns to sadness turns to frustration and turns to anger. What are you going to do?

Seongje took a puff of his smoke, arm perched upon the railing of the rooftop, hand covered with the blood of the boy who lay squirming on the ground. He heard Hwangmo drag the boy further away from him, cleaning up after his mess. The boy had been a transferee that was stupid enough to look at him for more than three seconds. Bloodthirsty and draggingly bored, it was only fitting that Seongje had to teach him a lesson. But it was uneventful as the boy did not give a fight. And Seongje hates boring things the most. So when his eyes landed on the scene below him, at the alleyway Jiyeon and her friends dragged you to, a chuckle leaves his mouth, the cigarette vibrating along his chapped lips. With another puff, Seongje turned his full attention to the scene unfolding below. It was amusing to him, how every girl he happened to sit next to in class fell victim to bullying just because of him. He liked it, his pride and ego filled.

He watched as the girls surrounded you, Jiyeon pushing you to the ground. Everyday she torments you to no end. Follows you home, follows you to the bathroom, follows you everywhere. It was like she’s obsessed with you, obsessed to hurt you just because Seongje does not give her the time of day.

Then Jiyeon straddles you, gripping a chunk of your hair.

A match enflames.

“Who the fuck do you think you are glaring at me like that, HUH?” Jiyeon screams in your face. You must have unconsciously let your eyes look at her dangerously. You realized it was weird, right now you didn’t feel fear. And what you do feel is a small burning fire churning in your stomach. 

Is this rage?

Jiyeon pulls your head upwards by your hair and slaps your cheek, spitting on your eyes.

The fire engulfs the match.

Suddenly, the heat was replaced by a stream of cold water, drenching your upper body as Jiyeon splashed the dirty water from the bathroom and onto your face. By this point, you aren‘t hearing what they were talking about, they were just a buzz of noise as your eyes filled with red with Jiyeon so close to your face.

The fire rages high and into your eyes, and in every cell of your body.

With all your strength, you thrust Jiyeon upwards, flipping your positions so that she is facing down with your legs wrapped around her head. Using their shock to your advantage, you swung your fist into her face, her nose making an audible crack as she cried in pain “yOU FUCK-“ You took the handkerchief in your pocket and slammed and pushed it into her mouth.

You stood up, turning around to face the other four girls. They stumble backwards at your glare, your eyes that refused to meet others now seemingly burn under the darkened glare as your eyes zeroed in on one of them, running and using that momentum to kick her in the stomach, making her fall and stumble backwards.

This seemed to awaken the others from their stupor as they began to gang up on you. Grabbing your arms and hair to stop you as you began to mount on the girl you had just kicked. Their collective strength pulled you up from the girl on the ground, your legs flailing in retaliation.

Fueled by adrenaline rush, you managed to get away from their grip, immediately giving a punch on the gut of the nearest girl. The velocity to which your fist came made her curl and fall to the ground.

With three down, your eyes locked on the next girl, running to her as she began to stumble out of your way, fear flashing her eyes at your sudden violence. You used your whole body to push her on the ground, making you both fall. You felt the other girl join in, trying to push you off her friend, kicking and punching your back. But you persistently locked the girl under you on the ground, not caring of the fist hitting your sides as you clutched her hair with both hands and slamming it up and down to the hard ground as the rage in your stomach continue to burn and rage, your mind losing itself into the fight, your goal only to hurt everyone in sight.

With last two slams of the girl’s head to the ground, you let out a pained angered roar as you transferred your attention to the girl who helplessly tried to pry you off her friend. The change in attention caused her to fall to her side when you turned around to grip her leg. She kicked her leg, screaming for you to let go but the rage, the adrenaline, and the desire for revenge made your grip tight like a cobra, unwilling to relent until you get what you desire.

As the girl tried to crawl away from you, you reached forward so that you could trap her legs into your arms, using your upper body weight to keep her in place as you punched and punched her leg, not stopping until her leg stopped flailing. Whimpers and cries filled your ears, but your eyes still raged fire.

Satisfied that the four minions are done, you stood up, dangerously walking towards Jiyeon who had now sat up, looking up at you in horror “I-Im s-s-sorry” she says, putting her hand up as a shield as you continue walking towards her “Fuck! Leave me alone! Leave me alone!” She screams. This makes you chuckle, grabbing a fist of her hair, slapping her face again and again, but no matter how much you slap her, the insatiable feeling never left. Unsatisfied, your hand curled into a fist, and with every rage in your body, your fists met her throat, making her let out a strangled cough. Before you could throw another punch, you felt a solid metal collide with your side, sending you flying. 

You felt a lump in your throat, coughing up blood at the sudden critical hit “You fucking bitch! How dare you fucking hurt Jiyeon like that, huh?!” It was Ma Seokhee, stalking towards you and landing a kick on your stomach. 

His kicks leaves you coughing more blood, but despite of crying, Seokhee grew unsettled when you began to laugh maniacally “Jiyeon won’t fucking date you, you turd”

This enrages Seokhee, using this distraction, you didn’t give him time to react as you kicked his leg with all your strength, making him fall to the ground. Swiftly, you grabbed his bat, wasting no time to bash it into his head. Have you not done so, you wouldn’t stand a chance. You give three more hits using his bat, stopping once he’s knocked out. 

Then you turned to Jiyeon, a hollowness circling your orbs that made Jiyeon shiver “We’re not done yet”

She cried in horror, standing up to run away when I began to stalk towards her. But your adrenaline was faster. You used the momentum of running, raising the bat high, jumping and hitting Jiyeon in the back, sending her flying as if she was the ball.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

The fire dies down, the match blackened and spent.

Someone whistles “I was so sure you were gonna bash her head” Seongje chuckles. You turned sharply at the sound of his voice, your breath ragged. Your blood turns ice cold at his gaze. The adrenaline has washed off, there was no way you would win against him. Your eyes fell to the ground as quickly as it met his. This caused Seongje to scoff slightly, taking a long drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and crushing it with his feet “What, don’t wanna fight me?” he mocks.

Seongje takes his time, his feet slow and his eyes piercing you with an amused, curious glare. His feet stopped right in front of you. You felt him bend down to your ears, whispering “What will you do now? Tsk-” he leaned away, head beckoning to Seokhee who remained unconscious on the ground “No matter how retarted he can be-” Seongje sighs, head shaking slightly as his gaze fell back on you “this asshole is still part of the union” 

Your eye twitched, warm tingling dread crept up your nerves, engulfing every limb, every organ, and every cell, gradually building up in every crevice of your being. Then he chuckles, his voice so loud and ringing in your ear “You know what I'm talking about, right?” he says rather than asks, a finger harshly pulls your head up, holds it firmly to meet your gaze. And the dread in your stomach morphs into reality “I’m sorry-” though he does not mean it, not when his eyes burn predatorily as if his gaze can devour you entirely “-but we can’t just let you go now that you’ve hit one of us, can we?”

———

With your luck, you often question why you have to live that kind of life when everyone else has it normal. You just wanted normal, that’s all it was. But your life was worse than extraordinary, it was dreadful. You commend yourself for not killing yourself yet.

Since that day, Geum Seongje made it clear that you are within his turf now. He has ordered you to be around him, saying that he needs to keep an eye on you. But you both knew that was an excuse, you think he’s just interested that you managed to take six people down, one of them being his own men. You weren’t particularly strong, it was just the adrenaline and the pent up anger. Students in Ganghak found out about what happened, intrigued but stayed away now that Seongje “adopted” you in his little gang of minions.

Hwangmo was at least tolerable, but Seokhee wasn’t too keen with your presence, holding a grudge he swore he will someday make you pay for. Although that couldn’t be anytime soon now that Seongje made it clear to him that he must not lay a hand on you. It was jarring, how Seongje can be so malicious but he hasn’t laid a hand on you yet, waiting for the right time to bare his fangs into his prey like the wolf he is.

You swore he would jump at the chance to hit you, but he hasn’t yet. And you will make sure he won’t find a reason to. It was already unlucky that you managed to capture his gaze, you just need to be compliant just like you do with your mother. Seongje is a whole other strength that you wouldn’t be able to manage, all you could do for now is to be quiet. Maybe he’ll grow bored of you that way.

However, you shouldn’t have been so sure it would go as smoothly as you manage your mother’s anger. Seongje is a schemer. And with that, he will make you do what he wants you to do, directly or indirectly. He makes sure of it. 

“Y/N” he says quietly, arms crossed as his eyes remain on the teacher. It was one of the rare occasions he decided to come to class “I want you to drop by this address after school and get a package, bring it to me immediately. Just give this to the cashier and they’ll give you what I need. I will be waiting at the rooftop” Seongje slides a small paper across from his desk to mine, an address written messily. You nod wordlessly, worried that you might get home late to your mother and risk her wrath while also a bit glad to not go home yet. Either way, it’s bad, so you’ll just follow Seongje’s order.

As instructed, your feet dragged you along to the bus stop, hopped on the bus, and got off three stations later. Tired, you hadn’t noticed the watchful eyes of two boys who were waiting by the bus stop. You continued along your path to the address Seongje has asked you to go to, unaware of the two who hovered over your shadow, hiding behind posts, eyeing where you would go. They kept their distance, as ordered.

Finally, you reached the building. It was a sauna spa. Entering, you reached the counter, handing the cashier the paper Seongje had given you. With a curt nod, the cashier bent down and got up not less than a minute later with a bag in his hand. He placed it on the counter, eyeing you up and down “It’s just you?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Just me” he looked at you skeptically but handed the bag anyway. It was heavy, a hunch on what it contained plagued your mind, but you ignored it. You don't need to know more details, just do what you have to do. With a small nod, you bid farewell and exited the spa shortly. It hadn’t been five minutes since you arrived. You couldn’t help but wonder if this is really just as simple as that.

The sun had begun to set and the quiet road was painted orange. The air starts to become cold with the sun beginning to hide away into the night. Suddenly, you heard a foot scrunch behind you. For a moment, your footsteps blundered to a pause, but almost as quickly, you resumed your pace. One step after another, the shadow behind you grew larger. Your steps hurried but the person behind you was quicker. Just as you were about to run, your feet abruptly halt at his voice “You’ve been way too boring, you know?”

With a sharp turn, you came face to face with Geum Seongje. He has his hands in his pockets, glasses perched up on his nose and his eyes sizing you up dangerously “Seongje?” you asked, confused at his presence. He chuckles, slowly walking towards you “I was thinking you could amuse me but you’ve been way too compliant-” he says, head tilting in disappointment “-its actually getting quite annoying” he tsk-ed, feet stopping at least two feet away from you, hands still in his pockets. His face contorted to that of annoyance, and suddenly, your confusion turned to fear. Why is he here?

“What are you talking about?” you ask, although your eyes do not meet his. You can’t, especially now that he radiates an intent to kill. Anxious, your hand gripped the bag tightly. Seongje sighs heavily, eyes looking around for any sign of an audience. Satisfied that you’re alone, he suddenly grabbed your arm “No hard feelings, just orders from above” his lips morphed into a grin, his smile reaching up to his ears. His smile was so sweet with his gums on display, but you could only feel horror at its sight. He dragged you along a closed alleyway, wincing at his hard, pressing grip “What?!” you couldn’t help but ask, trying to get away but his hold was too strong. It was like his hands were cuffs, unwilling and unrelenting.

When Seongje did let you go, it was when he smashed you onto the hard wall, the impact momentarily stealing the breath out of your lungs. Letting go of the bag, your hand gripped the wall for support, looking up at Seongje in apprehension “What was that for?” Still, he didn’t answer your question. The boy only gave you his shit-eating grin before hurriedly pouncing on you, his fists landing on your right cheek. You let out a pained gasp, your mind running miles per hour. Did you offend him? Disobey him? Did you look at him for more than three seconds? You were sure you didn’t. You meticulously made sure he would not find any reason to hurt you. So why…?

“Shit, I don’t usually hurt girls but you have to understand, Baekjin asked me to” he says as if he was sorry, but the chuckles that followed after that solidified that he was not. Na Baekjin? But why would he?

Before you could think, Seongje grabs a chunk of your hair and drags you again. But this time, he drags to the ground, pinning your arms down with only one of his, his other hand slamming into a hard punch to your stomach “Fight back, you fucking bitch. Fight back like you did, come on, I’m trying here!” he complains as he boredly throws punch after punch, warmth beginning to pool in your mouth at his relentlessness.

Triggered, the bottom of your feet meets his crotch in a hard kick. Seongje curls in pain, but he laughs. Annoyed, you slammed your forehead into his, making both of you groan in pain, Seongje backing away now that he was just hit critically twice. He laughs merrily, hand brushing his hair away from his face as I eyed him incredulously “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you couldn’t help but spit, making him even more amused. Your head still wringing from the impact of meeting his. You stumbly got on your feet, eyes never leaving Seongje. At this point, three seconds or not, it wouldn’t matter. He made it clear he wants to hurt you. So why should you comply, it’s not like he’s your mother. You held no affection for this boy, only anger.

He moans, tongue wetting his upper lips in anticipation “Yes, fuck–COME ON!” he yells, running towards you, hand curling into a fist as he goes to hit your sides. You yell in pain, arms curling around his trunks, letting him hit you as you ensured you clung on to him, using your nails to dig into his sides as you pushed yourself up to his neck, mouth finding his skin as you sunk your teeth into his flesh. Seongje lets out a pained scream, but his voice is still laced with a giddiness you couldn't understand. Your nails turned to fists as you hit his sides with all your might. You feel Seongje laugh at your futile attempts, successfully prying you off of him, throwing you back to the wall, putting some distance.

His hand found his neck, brushing it on his skin lightly and bringing his hand up to examine the blood “Damn” he says, laughing as he looked at you. Your eyes fell onto the bite mark you made on his neck, gulping as you began to realize the taste of his blood on your mouth. As he began to stalk towards you again, you got ready, expecting him to throw another punch but as you were about to hit his neck where you wounded him, his hands found yours, locking your arm with only one of his, feet locking yours as he pushed the both of you onto the wall, trapping you in his strength. You cried a pain of frustration, mouth grunting in pain when he threw a fast hard punch on your stomach then to your cheek. With you locked up, back pressed against the wall and Seongje trapping you in front with a strength you know you can’t fight against, there was nothing you could do “That all you can do?” he asks, face shoving itself in yours, forcing your eyes to meet his orbs. You chuckle, blood trickling down your mouth at the action “The fuck did you expect me to do? Beat you to a pulp?” you laugh, and this causes him to laugh too. The difference in strength was clear as day.

Seongje nods, throwing one last punch to your stomach that causes you to cough up blood. But he does not let you go, he still presses you onto the wall, hand brushing your locks behind your ear and whispers “I still have to knock you out though” and so Seongje wraps his hand around your neck, making you gasp for air. Your body helplessly flails, eyes glaring at the boy who is no longer smiling. Suddenly, you laugh, body vibrating “I-” you say, blood pooling in your mouth making it harder to speak, your hands finding his to pry it off your neck “Mom-” you choke, his eyebrows raising “What? Need your mom to save you?” 

That made you chuckle, but it seems that was one of the last few breaths you had in you. Your head began to feel lightheaded, the pain on your neck still as pressing and hard, your eyes was beginning to roll upwards when-

“Geum Seongje” Na Baekjin stands against the glow of the sunset, his face hidden in the contrast of light. He motions for Seongje to let go and instantly, his hands left your neck and backed away. You fall to the ground, gasping for air, coughing as you do so. 

Baekjin steps into the alleyway, grabbing the bag on the floor, and stopping a few feet away from Seongje. Baekjin examines him, eyebrows raised to see him bloodied when his opponent was just you “Why are you here? It’s not like you to go do the dirty job yourself” Seongje remarks, making Baekjin chuckle darkly.

“It’s just that-” Baekjin’s lips curled into a smirk as he sized up Seongje “-don’t you think it’s a bit too convenient that you were already here?”

Seongje laughs, his teeth and gums on display “Is it? I was the one who told you about this, of course I’d have my eyes on her too” You looked up, eyes darting between the two. What about you?

Baekjin’s eyes didn’t shy away of narrating his suspicions, glaring daggers into Seongje’s mirthful ones “And I told you, I already have my boys to go after her. So why is there a need for you to be here?” Baekjin’s voice held a dangerous growl “If this money had gone, you know what will happen right? Your fault or not”

The two continue to stare each other down. But you, it was then that everything clicked for you. Geum Seongje had fucking set you up.

Before Baekjin could prod further and before Seongje could implement his orchestrated plan, you spoke, not weak, not begging, but sharp “I needed the money”

The two men’s attention turned to you. Slowly, you got up from the ground, eyes hollowed as you looked up to meet their surprised and amused ones “It was easy money. I had always planned to leave, having that money would be incredibly useful” you say, chuckling slightly.

Baekjin’s eyes narrowed. He knows you didn’t, he knows you’ve been set up. But you’ve just rewritten the narrative, a factor Seongje didn’t account for in his plans. It was quiet, the silence heavy and charged. 

The silence was cut off by Seongje’s scoff, and Baekjin turned his gaze back to the boy in red blazers. Baekjin watched as the two of you stared down at each other. But whatever grudge there was between the two of you was not his business. All he knows is that you’ve just helped him mitigate the inevitable, and Baekjin recognizes this quality of yours. With a strained chuckle, Baekjin turns to you, getting your attention. “Is that so?” he nods, blinking slowly “Consider today a warning. Next time you get funny ideas, it’ll be me you’ll be dealing with”

With that, he turned and walked away.Then it’s just you and Seongje again, the air bloodied in tense silence. And when you begin to walk away, Seongje falls in pace beside you, both bloodied and dirtied up from the previous brawl “Why would you say that?” he asks.

“Why use me?” You stop, Seongje doing the same. He chuckles when you don't avert your eyes, it seems like you don’t care anymore. And that, Seongje prefers much more. 

“Was this to amuse you?” You pressed him “Or did you do this for another reason?” Seongje laughs, head looking down, lips pursed amusedly before looking back up to you “Do you want me to thank you?”

You scoff “No”

“Yeah?”

You stare at him, at his pretty smile and his condescending eyes “Wanna know what I think?” he raises his eyebrows at that, smiling “And what do you think?” his voice drawls into a smirk.

With a deep breath, you began “I think you want to run away. I think you don’t like being ordered around. I think you really hate being Baekjin’s dog because I think you want to do whatever you feel you want to do. But you can’t do shit as recklessly when you’re in the union. No, and so you want to anger Baekjin, you want to get excommunicated, you want out. But you’re also bored, but then I came along and your fucking pee brain thought I would be an easy chess piece in your own little game” Seongje’s smile widens, grinning dangerously as his eyes twinkled the more you talked. You who was meek and quiet, who kept to yourself, one day physically fought back and now even shit talks to him of all people, the person whose eyes you refused to meet, the person you were afraid of just minutes ago, the person you’re now insulting in front of his own damn face.

“You think you got me figured out?” He asks, voice laced in amusement and you scoff “Figure you out? Why the fuck would I want to do that you crazy psycho”

He bellows a laugh, looking around as if there were someone else seeing this right now “Mhm, and what? Did you think you did anything?”

“You think I didn’t?” you ask, lips curled into a condescending smirk “Yah, Geum Seongje, I lied to trap you here” His grin disappears, eyes dangerous as he stares back at you “You dragged me into this shit, so rot in it with me”

Then he laughs, much louder than the last, the loudest you’ve heard come out from him. What a waste of a handsome face, you thought as you watched him maniacally laugh “I have to say,” he starts, laugh beginning to die down as he gaze at you “I’m impressed” he chuckles, walking closer to you “You’ve become so blunt and unafraid” he curls a loose strand of your hair in his finger, making you flinch, to which he snorted “Or not?”

With a smirk, Seongje pushes your hair to the back of your neck, his calloused hands curling on your left cheek “I prefer this much better, you’re not so boring after all” he grins open mouthed, his tongue poking the side of his cheek, his thumb tracing along your jaw as he trapped your gaze in his eyes.

“It’d be fun to rot in this hellhole with you”

[so-i-did-this-thing]

I’m 18, and admittedly there’s no real hope for me transitioning until I’m in my 30s ( education, family, finance- stuff like that ). It leaves me feeling kind of hopeless a lot of the times- I don’t have the energy to be ambitious or to feel good about my future because, even optimistically, it’s another six-seven years of hell waiting for me. Existing is hard. Can’t date, can’t leave the house without wearing a jacket, can’t look in the mirror too long. At least my dysphoria doesn’t drive me to suicide, but it’s drained me in every other way possible.

So, thank you for existing. I burst into tears today when I saw your profile. Thank you for reminding me that this…isn’t my forever. I just need to pull through. Joy is waiting on the other side.

Hey, Anon. Sounds like you have a bachelors + advanced degree lined up? I hate that college is so fraught for young trans people right now, when it should be your chance to start expressing some personal freedom.

A lot can change in just a few years, and change for the better can happen faster if you plan what you can now. Part of my transition stalled simply because I was just waiting for something Good to happen to me, instead of making it happen. (Working on job skills, being responsible with my money, meeting other queer people, etc.)

If you *are* to be stuck in Limbo for a while, please don't fall back on "at least I'm not suicidal" when evaluating your mental health. I did this for 13 years, and so much of me broke down under the weight of that inertia -- my family hoarding triggered and my depression got so bad, I nearly became homeless.

If it helps, here's a timeline of my own journey:

4: knew I was a boy

20: tried to come out, didn't go well, went back in the closet

21: too depressed for grad school for my music degree, went to tech school and fell into a stagnant web career

27: dad died, stress made a lot of my mental issues worse

30: near rock-bottom, got fired from work, nearly lost my house, living below poverty line, drained retirement, credit score probably like 300, I couldn't even get a secured credit card, new BFF started abusing me

31: started dating (never went well), too poor to fix AC, power frequently shut off, hoard starting to block rooms

33: almost out of money, started HRT, lost a lot of music gigs, stuck in payday loan hell

34: found steady employment again tho at a toxic web shop, $45k/year, cleaned up my hoard for the first time

36: met my partner, lost my virginity, started hanging out with queer people

37: got AC fixed, slowly started improving home, stopped being stealth, partner moved in with me

38: told abuser to fuck off

40: got top surgery, caught up on back taxes w/the IRS, able to secure credit again

41: got out of a toxic job industry, free from payday loans, started making $80k/year in a new field

41: got married to my partner, hoard pretty under control now

45: broke 6 figures for my salary

46: left Florida, bought a house

47: got a promotion to a senior role, hit 800 credit score, home is clean and organized (except for some stalled unpacking, I'll get there...), working on rebuilding my retirement

It was really around age 37 where I made a concerted effort to plan my way out of my shitty living situation. It's also when I really embraced being queer. I wish I had managed it earlier, but I was a goddamned mess and hid a lot from my family & friends. And I didn't know how to energize myself when things felt bleak.

So, please avoid my mistakes by taking efforts to set a higher bar for your mood. Get outside in nature, make things with your hands, consume and spread queer art, try to find safe outlets for expressing and exploring your gender, and above all, create a network where you can safely vent and have folks take care of you when you need help. Stoicism goes toxic far too quickly - you're going to need to cry *and* become a shoulder to cry upon.

And then pick yourself back up and continue with your plan towards joy. I believe in you - I don't think it'll be as long as it appears. <3

[buckysthunderbolts]

Maternal Instincts

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After avoiding Bucky for far too long, you're forced to come to him and ask him to help you walk through memories you don't believe are real. Only this time, it involves two people that look suspiciously like you and Bucky.

Warnings: Eventual 18+ content, canon-typical violence, knives, injuries, drugging

Word Count: 3.5k+

Author's Note: I'm baaaaaaaack (for now at least)! I got inspired to write this after seeing thunderbolts* a few weeks ago. I originally posted this on my AO3 lokislaufeysons. Hopefully my fanfic skills aren't rusty, I've been out of practice for way too long. Anyway, please let me know what you think by leaving comments! Ta ta for now!!

Chapter 1: Little Viper

NOW

Even after all this time, I still don’t trust my memories. I can’t talk to the two people who would know what was real and was not real. Steve is gone. I’m too ashamed to go to Bucky. He’s healthy. He’s moved on. He doesn’t need me. I just remind him of his past and mine. He’s too busy now. He’s gotten the hero’s treatment he’s always deserved and earned. The gaps in my memory are my punishment, a reminder of every bad thing I’ve done.

Bucky calls and leaves messages. His voice is earnest and full of concern, gentle. His tone reaches to the back of my mind, bringing back memories I don’t know are real and I am too afraid to ask him if they are. Flashes of soft laughter, gentle touches, and lingering kisses. If I told him the nightmares I have and the flashes of memories that I don’t know are real or not, I know he would tell me the truth. I don’t know if I could handle the answer.

Instead, I bury myself in liquor and work. It dulls the pain and loneliness I feel. The ache in my chest, the emptiness I feel, the void in my life. There’s something missing and I can’t figure out what. It only comes in flashes in my dreams and nightmares.

Sam tries his best to be there for me, but I think I’ve pushed him away too many times for him to keep trying. He reminds me too much of Steve and it hurts too much. He hasn’t given up on me, no matter how many times I tell him there is no point. He’s patient and doesn’t say much and doesn’t mention Bucky.  

It’s one of the reasons I now have a court mandated therapist. It’s part of my own journey to make amends with everything I’ve done and everyone I’ve hurt, even if I didn’t have a choice. I don’t think I’m worthy of forgiveness or redemption, not in the same way Bucky is. I just have to carry it with me every day and move forward, without burdening Bucky and holding him back from moving on and healing.

“You know, pushing away the people that care about you the most tends to have the exact opposite effect you want it to,” Yelena murmurs, leaning against the balcony, looking down at the party beside me.

I scoff and roll my eyes, taking a long drink of my champagne. “Now that you’re an Avenger, you’re therapizing me?” I asked. “Once upon a time you did the exact same thing.”

Yelena hums and nods in agreement. “I know I did. It just made me feel worse. You should just talk to him. You’ve said you don’t trust your memories. Talking to Bucky about it will give you clarity. He can tell you what was real and what was not.”

I swallow hard, my eyes following Bucky’s every move below. His hair is slicked back, and he’s dressed in a tux that does nothing to hide his strength. He’s surrounded by politicians and other powerful people. I haven’t told anyone about the flashes of memories I get when they’re triggered.  

“That’s what scares me.”

“Gregor is entering the building,” Sam’s voice breaks our conversation through the earpiece, and I look towards the main entrance. 

Dr. Gregor Markov enters the massive ballroom flanked by his private security team. He’s dressed in a maroon suit. His silver hair is perfectly combed and beard neatly trimmed. I’m responsible for intercepting him. Dr. Markov is responsible for selling unsanctioned biological weapons and has avoided capture for many years. He helped finance the Black Widow program and has never been held responsible for his crimes. He hides behind philanthropic efforts and his deep pockets. Familiarity gnaws at me as I look at him and it twists my stomach. Dread fills me.

“On it,” I replied, turning from the balcony and hurrying down the grand staircase, pushing down the warnings I feel stir inside me.

“Remember, you need to get him alone. We need to quickly and quietly subdue him. An exit is just beyond his private study. Joaquin and I are just outside. Yelena and Bucky are inside if there are any problems. Once you get him alone, you have five minutes to exit.”

I walk around and through the ball room, weaving through the thrones of people. My gaze never leaves Markov’s frame. I watch him smile and shake hands with guests. He moves closer to the bar, and I lean against an empty chair. His eyes catch mine and he drinks me in.

I’m dressed in a long, dark blue gown with a plunging neckline and open back and high slit that ends near the top of my thigh. The top of my dress is tight against my chest and hugs my body in all the right places. He smiles and breaks away from his group and comes up to me. I smile coyly and let him take my hand. He brings it up to his mouth and kisses the back of my hand. It itches something in the back of my head, but I push the feeling down.

“What would you like to drink, Ms.…” Markov asks, trailing and waiting for my name.

“Ana,” I replied, the fake name slipping easily off my tongue. The wig I have on itches my scalp. “Martini, as dirty as they can make it.”

He grins, nodding towards the bartender. “Two extra dirty martinis please.”

The bartender works quickly and pushes them on the counter towards us. He takes them both in his hands before handing one of the glasses to me. We cheers silently and I take a long, hard drink.

“Would you like to dance?”

I smile again and take another long sip before nodding. He takes my hand and guides me to the middle of the ballroom. His security team lingers at the edge of the dance floor. He spins me around settles a hand on my waist and the other inside my hand. I rest my free hand on his shoulder.

The sound of violins and other string instruments fill the speakers. We move gently to the music and my eyes flicker over to Bucky. He’s standing by a table surrounded by rich philanthropists and world leaders. He has a drink in his hand and listens and observes quietly. I watch him turn towards the dance floor and he finds me. He follows my moves and I can’t read the emotion on his face.

“What brings you here to my home?” Markov’s thick Austrian accent breaks my focus, and my eyes find his again. The hand on my waist slides down and he greedily cops a feel of my ass. I resist the urge to twist his hand and grit my teeth.

“Professional curiosity. What made you open your home and host this gala? Rumor has it that you enjoy your reputation as a recluse. Why change that?” 

He laughs in my ear and hums in reply. “To stroke my ego, I suppose. Are you really a philanthropist if you don’t host a fundraising gala in your honor?”

I laugh and creep my hand towards the back of his neck, twirling a piece of hair between my fingers. “I guess not. It’s for a good cause, so why not celebrate all your efforts? You’re making a difference.”

“I like you. You know exactly what to say to make me want to sneak away and take what I want from you in my study.”

“So why don’t you?”

“My age doesn’t put you off? I’m at least 30 years older than you.”

Too bad you don’t know I’m technically over 100 years old. I’m old enough to be your mother.

“Not at all. You’re still very attractive. You’re philanthropic and filthy rich. Does me being younger than you put you off?” I asked, throwing the question back at him with a sly grin.

Markov grins again and shakes his head. “Touche.”

We part briefly before he grabs my hand again. We walk towards the grand staircase and his security detail follows closely behind. He turns and leans into the ear of the largest man on his detail and whispers something. The men back off and Markov turns to look at me again. He guides me up the stairs, down the hall past a set of guards towards his private office and the closest exit.

My heart races and I swallow hard as he opens the door to his study. The room is massive. His desk is backed up against a massive bookcase. Picture frames are on the desk and piles of paper are neatly organized in front of the chair. A couch sits on the far wall across from the windows. The curtains are drawn, but the moon light leaks in. The door clicks quietly behind me, and Markov’s fingers reach out and touch my bare spine. I have to act quickly and strategically. If I’m not out of this room dragging Markov’s unconscious body behind me within the next five minutes, Yelena and Bucky will come storming in. I need to act fast.

I can’t help but shiver. I turn and reach for him, my hands brushing up his chest towards his shoulders before I grip his shirt between my fingers and pull him towards me. His mouth finds mine and we kiss aggressively. He turns around and pushes me against the door. I smile against his mouth and rest my hands on his chest, slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt. His hand finds my waist and pulls my leg up, brushing his fingers up and down my bare thigh.

I carefully reach down my other leg for the syringe strapped to my thigh. I’m seconds away from plunging it into the side of his neck when he pulls away from me. I fix my dress quickly and watch him wipe his mouth. He laughs and shakes his head.

“You’ve lost your touch, malen'kaya gadyuka,” Markov hummed. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize me. Hydra and I did a good job erasing your memories and turning you into a monster. Has Barnes tried to jog your memory or are you too ashamed to ask him?”

Little Viper. I haven’t heard that name in so long. Dread fills me, and my brows pinch together. I stare at Markov for a long, silent moment. Instead of his silver hair, it’s a curly dark brown. Glasses appear on the bridge of his nose. His full cheeks thin out and his straight, narrow nose moves slightly off center, like it had been broken one too many times.

“Anton Bierhal,” I murmur in disbelief. He grins and claps like I’ve just won a prize. I could hardly recognize him. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

I shot him dead when I escaped the mountainside compound in Russia just before Bucky was transferred to D.C. to take out Nick Fury. I wanted to take him with me, but he was too fresh from coming out of the cryogenic chamber to remember who I was and what I meant to him.

“It’s amazing what technology can do to save lives.”

Something clicks near his desk and two people enter from a hidden door from behind the bookcase. It takes my attention away from my target briefly, but it’s too late. Bierhal blows a powdered substance in my face. It startles me and I try to bat it away from my face. I’m running out of time.

I reach for the syringe on my thigh and stalk towards him. I pull my arm back and push down until the needle is just inches from the side of his neck. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t push it any further. Bierhal grins and slaps the needle out of my hand.

“Even after all this time, I still control you. Who knew such a small substance could have all this power over someone? You can’t touch me. It overwhelms your sympathetic nervous system to the point you can’t even speak. You’re fully aware of what you are doing but can’t do anything to stop it. Your enemies become your allies. Your allies become your enemies. It’s amazing how easy it is to overwhelm and confuse the sympathetic nervous system with the right combination of drugs. You’re so overwhelmed you can’t speak. You have no control.”

I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Bierhal laughs again and circles around to his desk and sits down. He buttons up his shirt. The two individuals that came in through the bookcase entrance flank his side before walking towards me. I brace myself and square my shoulders.

My eyes flicker between the two and familiarity hits me in the chest. The man looks like Bucky did when he was drafted for the war. It felt like entering a time machine the longer I stared at him. Looking at the woman felt like looking in a mirror. She looks like how I did when the war started. Deep down, I knew them somehow, and that whatever I did to them would be the thing I regretted the most.

Flashes of being held in captivity and training them break through. My inability to show emotion and care when I would beat them until they broke. More memories pass by, one different than the rest. This time, I’m crying and reaching towards something, desperate sobs rip through my chest. A team of doctors ignore my pleas. I’m exhausted and broken.

They both pull knives from their suits and charge at me. I dodge and move defensively. I can’t attack. Every time I try to respond to protect myself, one of them easily blocks it. It’s like they know every move I make before I make it myself.

The man jabs me in the side with his fist, and I stumble into a side table. The woman throws the knife in her hand towards my head, and it scrapes my forehead. My head hits the floor and pain blossoms. Blood slides down my face and I struggle to my feet.

The man kicks my stomach, and I fall to the ground again with a loud gasp. He’s knocked the wind out of me, and I struggle to breathe. He pins me to the floor and holds a knife to my throat. His eyes find mine and I can’t help but feel like I’m looking at someone I should know. I feel the blade slowly slice my skin open just enough for it to burn.

The door to the study breaks open and Yelena and Bucky burst through the door. They both have guns trained on them and Bierhal cackles, standing up from his chair and clapping. The man loosens his grip on the knife against my throat and stands up.

I scramble to my feet. Yelena turns and moves the gun away from Bierhal onto the woman nearest him. Bucky’s grip on his gun hesitates and he quickly looks over to me. I can’t help what I do next. I can’t speak, I can’t tell them I have no control over what I’m doing, that whatever Bierhal gave me makes them into my targets instead of my allies.

I turn away and lunge towards Yelena. She stumbles back into Bucky and her eyes widen and fill with betrayal. I can’t apologize. I can’t tell her I didn’t have a choice. Instead, I swipe a blade from a holster on her thigh and swipe at her. She quickly dodges the knife and the pair exchange hits against Bucky.

Yelena yells my name, but I can’t hear her. I side swipe her and kick her to the ground. She back flips and kicks me in the stomach. I fly back against the far wall with a crack. I’m disoriented and dizzy. I watch with horror as Yelena reaches for her gun and aims it at the woman, her attention and energy focused on Bucky. Yelena’s finger sits on the trigger.

I don’t know what to do without hurting anyone. I scream loudly and reach for the fallen blade. All eyes are on me and Bucky reaches for me, but it’s too late. Time moves slowly as I plunge the knife into my gut and fall to my knees. He catches me and Yelena runs to my side. I still try to hurt them by reaching for the knife inside me. Yelena pins my arm to the floor. Tears blur my vision and I struggle against their bodies.

“Well, I certainly did not expect that,” Bierhal laughed. “How noble of you. I guess even if you don’t remember your own children, the maternal instincts are still there, deep down.”

“What did you do to her? Why is she trying to kill us and not you? Why can’t she speak?” Yelena asked, pressing her hand against the wound. Another scream rips through me and it makes me dizzy with pain.

He shrugs and grabs his jacket from behind the chair where he sat. “All I did was remind her nervous system who she was. She just forgot who was in control.” He disappears through the bookcase with the pair and Bucky gently caresses my face. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out and I’m struggling to breathe.

“Slow breaths, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured quietly, lifting me in his arms. Yelena is hot on his heels and kicks the exit door open.

“Prepare the med-vac!” Yelena yelled as my vision went dark as we climbed into the jet.

….

THEN

“If we had kids, what would you want their names to be?” Bucky asked out of the blue the weekend he received his draft card and uniform. His head laid in my lap as we sat on a blanket in Central Park. I stop twirling his hair between my fingers and my eyes meet his.

“Kids?” I asked in disbelief. “How are you thinking about having kids right now? You’re leaving in three days to who knows where and I’m going to England right after. Not to mention, we’re both poor and unmarried. I think both our ma’s would kill you if you got me pregnant before marriage.”

Bucky must see the distress in my face and sits up. The soft smile on his face disappears and he reaches for my hands. He squeezes them gently and kisses the back of my hand. “I’m not. I just want to picture our future when things are tough, and I forget why I’m forced to fight in the first place. When I’m cold, dirty, and missing you wherever I am, I want to be able to look at the picture of you I have tucked against my chest and picture what our lives will look like when this is all over. I want to picture our children and marriage and what our lives will look like after the war.”

Tears threaten to spill over my cheeks, and I turn my back to him. The last thing he needs to see is me crying. He’s been drafted and is leaving New York in a few days to join the war. He’s been nothing but strong and stable, and here I am crying like a baby.

Bucky pulls me against his chest and I hold his arm against mine. My shoulders shake as I cry quietly in his lap, and he lets me. He rests his chin on top of my head and kisses my hair. “You’re too good to me,” I sniff, hugging his arm. “How did I get so lucky?”

I feel him smile against my head and his mouth lingers against my ear. “Nonsense, sweetheart. I’m the lucky one.” He kisses my temple.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while. The sounds of children playing fill the air with the summer breeze. The warm sun flickers through the trees and on to my skin. My fingers play with his.

“Alice Margaret for a girl,” I answer after a while. Bucky’s free hand stills in my hair. “Peter Steven for a boy.”

He grins against my skin. “Those are beautiful names. How long have you had those names picked out?” he asked teasingly.

I scoff and playfully elbow him. “Junior year of high school. What about you, hmm? I’m sure you’ve thought of names since you were the one who asked me about names for our future children.”

He hums. “Hmm…. I like the sound of that…. Our children. Faith or Grace for a girl. Steven or William for a boy.”

I grin and turn my head so our eyes meet. I brush my nose against his and press my mouth against his. Bucky smiles against my lips and returns the kiss eagerly, his hand holding the side of my face.

“I like those names,” I mumbled against his lips. “We’ll just have to put all those names in a hat and draw the names of our children.”

Bucky laughs again and my lips kiss his teeth.

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part fourteen

Now, listen. Is it really a honeypiehotchner fic if something wildly dramatic doesn't happen around this time in the story? Buckle up!

Warnings: angst, I don't want to spoil but for the sake of triggers there is a car wreck in this one (everyone is fine!!!), and a slightly sensual moment (you'll see hehe), also probably some incorrect info about cars...just go with it

It’s not until Hotch exits off the interstate onto the small four-lane highway to avoid traffic that you speak again. It’s been over an hour.

“Did Rossi tell you?” 

It’s not the question Hotch expects, but he jumps to his friend’s defense all the same. “No, no he didn’t.”

You don’t say anything.

When you do, it’s what he expects. That same white hot anger you’ve always had around him.

“I don’t even know if I want to know how you found out,” you begin, voice so calm that if it weren’t for how well he knows you, he wouldn’t necessarily think you’re so beyond pissed off with him. “I’m assuming it’s just going to piss me the fuck off.”

Probably, he thinks. Out loud, he says, “I read your file.”

“You read everyone’s file. I got that part. What I’m still trying to wrap my head around is the fact that I had most of it sealed — for good fucking reason, and with the permission of the goddamn Section Chief — and yet you went behind my back, behind Strauss’s back, and dug your nose around where it doesn’t fucking belong.”

“I’m—”

“If you say you’re sorry, Aaron, I’m actually going to punch you in the face.”

He stays quiet. He deserved that one. 

He always thought that you’d never call him by his first name, probably out of spite because he uses yours perhaps too often. He never imagined it would be in this way, said with such distaste each time that it makes him feel cold inside.

You finally move, then, your hand reaching up to rub your forehead. “I just don’t understand.”

And Hotch, helpless and desperate, lets his emotions get the better of him again. “What was I supposed to do? You wouldn’t tell me the truth.”

“Because you hadn’t fucking earned it!” you shout. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t trust you with that kind of information about me — and it seems like I was fucking right to not tell you. Because you just—” You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” he argues. Around and around the cycle goes. The arguing will never stop between the two of you, will it? “Because this is serious.”

“You think I don’t know that?” you almost laugh. “My whole life it’s been this serious so don’t act like I don’t know what I’m doing. I can handle myself and I can handle this— whatever this is.”

“It won’t kill you to let someone help—”

“Maybe not someone who has actually earned my trust.”

That stings, though he has no right to be hurt by it. He nods once and keeps his mouth shut.

Until he can’t. “I know you’re upset with me and you have every right to be,” he pauses to hold up his hand, stopping you when you open your mouth to say something else. “But I didn’t know what else to do. It was clear after Richard first recognized you that it caused something to resurface— you couldn’t breathe. I knew then that your safety and well-being was at risk and yes, I will admit, I made a mistake going behind your back to read what you had sealed, but—”

“Hotch, stop,” you interrupt.

He sighs. He’ll never be able to get this all off of his chest if you two can’t stop interrupting one another. “Can I please just finish what I was—”

“No, seriously,” you say, voice deadly serious. “How long has that car been behind us?”

Hotch doesn’t move his head a single inch as he glances up in the rearview mirror. It’s the same car that was there when he exited the interstate. “A few miles. Why?”

“I don’t know,” you chew on your bottom lip, keeping yourself facing forward. “Just a gut feeling.”

You almost think he’s going to have some snide remark about your gut feeling again, but he doesn’t.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

“Take a right— Don’t use your blinker,” you keep your voice low, as if the person in the car behind you can hear.

Hotch does as you ask, taking a sharp right onto a two-lane highway. The car behind you jerks as the driver takes the same turn at the last second, nearly putting the back tires in the ditch. You watch with narrowed eyes as they speed up, getting so close to your back bumper that Hotch can barely see them in the rearview.

“This thing has lights and sirens, right?” you ask, just curious and thinking ahead. 

Hotch nods. “I can see him.”

“It’s a man?”

“I think,” Hotch says, glancing in the rearview again. “White male, maybe mid-40s. Hard to tell. He’s wearing sunglasses and a hat.”

“Do we need to call someone?”

“No,” he says. “Not yet.”

You both sit in silence as you analyze the car. It’s beat to hell, an older model of something you can’t place. But it was once blue, that you can kind of tell in between all of the rust and peeling. It has to be something from the early 90s.

Hotch drives exactly the speed limit, testing how the driver reacts. Up ahead, the solid yellow lines turn dotted. Hotch slows, hoping it’ll persuade the driver into passing, and you two can move on with your earlier conversation.

But it does the opposite.

Instead, the car stays what has to be mere centimeters away from the back bumper. No one else is on the road, so the man’s window to pass is wide open, yet he doesn’t take it.

“We can’t pull him over for tailgating,” you say.

“No, but if he hits us, we can,” Hotch replies, irritation starting to settle into his jaw.

“Don’t cause a wreck on purpose.”

“I’m not trying to do it on purpose.”

You both huff and glare into your respective side mirrors.

The car speeds up.

“What the fuck,” you hiss.

Hotch speeds up because he’s forced to, because believe it or not he doesn’t want to get in a wreck today, but the car stays right on your ass. 

“What the hell is his problem?” you curse under your breath.

“I don’t know,” Hotch answers absentmindedly, now fully glaring at the guy in the rearview. “But I’ve had enough.”

Hotch reaches up and flicks the lights and sirens on. You both expect the guy to immediately slam on his brakes and swerve to speed around you, panicking at the realization that he’s tailgating a government vehicle, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he slows down with you, and pulls into the oncoming lane, just to ride right next to you.

You can make out his face through the tinted windows, despite his sunglasses. You don’t recognize him, though, and neither does Hotch.

His familiarity quickly doesn’t matter at all when he rolls his window down and points a pistol in your direction.

“Hotch!” you shout, ducking down on instinct. You know the BAU vehicles have bulletproof glass, but you don’t exactly want to test the theory.

Hotch slams on the brakes, letting the other car fly ahead of you just as two shots ring out, missing you thanks to Hotch’s quick thinking.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” you ask, not at all expecting an answer as you unclip your holster just in case you need to get your gun out quickly.

Hotch stays silent amidst your panicked statements. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out where to go from here. He’s calm under pressure just like he always is.

You notice the predicament at the same time he does. There’s nothing but thick woods on either side of this road. You’re not exactly close to any sort of civilization for anyone to hear these shots and think something is wrong.

You keep your eyes glued to the car up ahead, watching in horror as it slows to a stop, and then the fucking back up lights switch on.

“Hotch,” you warn.

“Yeah, I see him,” Hotch mutters, turning the sirens off. You hadn’t even realized they were still wailing. He leaves the lights on. “Are you buckled?”

“What?”

Hotch glances over to check and says, “Good.”

“Hotch, what the fuck are you—”

He revs the engine and flies forward, your seat belt locking and pinning you in place, rapidly approaching the car as it reverses toward you. You brace yourself for the impact, mentally cursing Hotch for how stupid this is, but the car in front swerves at the last second.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” you shout as you whiz past the car.

Hotch glances in the mirrors, waiting for the man’s next move. To no one’s surprise, he puts the car in drive and races after you.

“Do you have a better idea?” Hotch snaps, going well over the speed limit now, but the car behind you is rapidly gaining speed.

“Yes, I do,” you deadpan. “Fucking— Put it in cruise control and move your seat back as far as it’ll go.”

“What?”

“Just do it,” you unbuckle, taking your gun out of its holster and sticking it barrel down into the cup holder. That’ll have to do, it’ll just get in the way on your hip.

Hotch does as you ask, setting the cruise control and pushing his seat all the way back.

Without giving either of you time to say a damn word about it, you crawl over the console and clamber into Hotch’s lap, moving the steering wheel up as you go to make more room. 

Hotch tenses behind you, but says nothing, only widening his legs underneath you to offer as much space as possible. You get your feet on the pedals as best you can and flick the cruise control off, speeding up to what has to be an impossible speed for this car to do. You’re nearing 90 miles an hour, but it seems to do fine.

Your breath hitches when you feel Hotch’s arms slide around your waist.

He must’ve heard it because, quietly, he says, “You’re not wearing a seatbelt.”

You roll your eyes. That’s the least of your worries right now, and frankly, a lousy excuse.

“Can you see his tag?” you ask, watching the car inch closer and closer. “Should we call Garcia? Someone?”

“There’s no service,” Hotch replies.

“Fucking great,” you mutter, shifting in his lap, and—

For fuck’s sake. There’s no way.

You keep your realization to yourself, figuring Hotch is probably well aware of just how hard he is underneath you. He’s only human, you suppose, and you are pressed tightly against him, shifting in his lap as you keep an eye on the car behind you.

It’s a little bit of an ego kick, you’ll admit. You’ll use this as ammo later — if the two of you make it out of this.

The car speeds around you, coming to ride side-by-side again. Except this time before he can raise his gun, you swerve, grazing his car, attempting to push him off the road.

“Where the hell did you learn how to do that?” Hotch asks, almost involuntarily.

“Shut up,” you say through a smirk. “Not important.”

The man has the same idea, pushing back against you, but your SUV is bigger than his, so it doesn’t take much to cut him off, forcing him to stop. 

The second you have him pinned in the ditch, though, he reverses and swerves around you, trying to get away.

“Absolutely the fuck not.” You flick the sirens back on, fully prepared to pull this guy over or at the very least alert other law enforcement the second you get into the next town.

Hotch’s arms tighten around your waist slightly, his erection still prominent underneath you. You’ll unpack later why the thrill of this has you unconsciously wanting to rock your hips against him. 

For the record, you don’t give in to the urges. You have some self restraint.

The man is clearly trying to get away from you now, though, speeding like crazy without even thinking about slowing down. But you’re not letting him get away that easily, not after he pulled a gun on you.

Hotch digs his phone out, keeping one arm secure around your waist while his free hand dials Garcia. 

“Your oracle of all things know—”

“Not now Garcia,” you say. “Can’t explain right now— I need you to run a tag for me.”

“Shoot.”

Hotch reads off the tag as you get close enough to the car, both of you waiting in silence — aside from the wailing sirens — as Garcia runs the tag.

“It was reported stolen three weeks ago, it’s— Wait, that’s— That doesn’t make any sense—” Garcia cuts herself off, then gasps. “It’s Carly Henderson’s car.”

“That’s—” You know the name. Why?

“She was murdered by the last unsub,” Hotch answers.

“Right she was,” Garcia replies sadly. “I’ve triangulated your location and I’m notifying the closest police department.”

“Thanks Garcia,” Hotch says.

“Guys,” she hesitates. “What’s going on?”

“We don’t know,” you answer. “But it’s—” The line beeps as the call drops.

“Lost service,” Hotch explains with a curse. “What’s your plan?”

“Tailgate this guy until I can send him into a ditch for good,” you reply simply. “What’s it look like I’m doing?” You press harder on the gas.

Hotch wraps his other arm back around your waist, keeping you secure against him. You let yourself lean back, relaxing as best you can in this kind of situation.

All you can do right now is follow this guy until he—

“Shit!” You notice his brake lights too late, though with how fast you’re going, there isn’t much room for this kind of error. 

A head-on collision is the worst case scenario at the speed you’re going and where you’re sitting in Aaron’s lap, and your instincts know that, so you swerve as soon as you can, but you don’t slam on the brakes. You clip the edge of his car, but it’s enough. It’s enough to send your vehicle rolling into the woods. 

All you can register are the wailing of the sirens, the tightness of Aaron’s grip around your waist, pulling you back toward him and away from the airbags as they release, the force of them stinging your skin but keeping you from busting your head open on the wheel or the windshield. You don’t know how many times the car rolls, just that it feels like you’re falling and falling and falling until you’re not. 

By some miracle, it lands upright, so it’s easy for Aaron to unlock and kick open the door. You’re frozen against him, leaving him no choice but to exit the car with you in his arms.

The second your feet hit the grass, though, you run. You can’t explain why. You aren’t even trying to, but you do, sprinting toward the road, looking for the other car, but it’s long gone, barely a speck on the horizon.

Sirens scream in the distance — or are those still coming from your SUV? You can’t tell. Maybe it’s the ringing in your ears.

Hotch comes up the grassy incline, his phone pressed to his ear as he speaks to…to whoever he’s calling. Garcia, maybe?

“Yes, we need an ambulance,” Hotch says, his eyes scanning your face, concern coming in waves. “I think I’m alright, it’s my partner—”

Your knees buckle on their own, but Hotch is there, his arm reaching out to steady you.

In the haze of it all, you remember you’re mad at him. You’re supposed to be pissed at him. And you are. But you can’t stand up. Why can’t you stand up?

You shove his chest, but it’s the weakest attempt ever to get him away, and he doesn’t budge, ever a steel wall of muscle.

“Alright, thank you,” Hotch says into the phone. “I think I can hear them now.”

Hear what?

Your eyes blink slowly, pain starting to settle in random places. Your arms, your head, your feet. You look down at your arms and find them streaked with red. You don’t remember any windows breaking, but you hardly remember the car rolling as far as it did.

“You’re okay,” Hotch says, voice soft against the ringing in your ears. He holds your arms gently, not caring about your blood staining his fingers. “You’re in shock.”

You shake your head, finally letting yourself look at the car. It’s totaled, absolutely, the windshield shattered and other windows cracked. The driver’s side door is bent, but not much. The passenger side is crushed to hell where the car hit the tree. If you had been in the passenger seat still, you’d be—

The ambulance sirens grow louder as they come closer, skidding to a stop near you. The paramedics jump out and you faintly hear Hotch shouting out to them, explaining something, something about she’s in shock and she might be concussed.

“Ma’am,” the medic tries to get your attention. “Ma’am, can you hear me?”

“Kinda…?” you blink slowly, wondering why it’s suddenly getting so dark outside, until you realize it has nothing to do with the weather. Your hand grips Hotch’s forearm tightly. “Hotch, I— I can’t see.”

“Okay, you’re okay,” Hotch shushes you, gathering you back into his arms and carrying you across the grass. “Stay awake, keep squeezing my arm.”

You do, because you can’t stop, the anxiety keeps you from letting go. You don’t know what’s worse, blacking out completely or only halfway like this. You’re awake and fully aware as you’re laid down onto the gurney in the back of the ambulance. You’re aware of the oxygen mask coming to rest over your nose, realizing only after the medic tells you to try to breathe normally that you hadn’t been breathing at all.

“She has panic attacks,” you hear Hotch say, and then he squeezes your hand once. “Are you still awake?”

You nod, unaware of if your eyes are open or closed at this point because it’s all still so dark, but you squeeze Hotch’s hand for dear life all the same.

“Just keep breathing,” Hotch says. 

You hear him rattle off your allergies and you distantly think he’s unbelievable for remembering and knowing them by heart.

“You’re okay,” he says again. “Just stay awake and keep breathing.”

[ssweeterthanfiction]

ok ykw fuck it

naive capitol escort!reader angst headcannons post-realization

TW//self-loathing, suicidal tendencies, mental health issues, allusions to an ed

post-realization, naive capitol escort!reader is triggered by a lot of things—tv static, capitol music, or smells like perfume or champagne—anything that reminds her of her old life.

she doesn’t look in mirrors and avoids anything that could show her reflection bc all she sees is a monster that was so brainwashed by the capitol and someone that clapped for dead children.

she loses her identity. everything she once valued, her beauty, success, pride in her job, pride in herself, it’s all gone. she doesn’t know who she is anymore.

finnick even finds her one time, in the bathroom sobbing with locks of her hair in her hand.

when he does she’s repeating the phrase “Not her, not her, not her anymore”

then after holding her back from cutting anymore, she says “I can’t- I look in the mirror, and I still see her- that stupid, naive girl who smiled and laughed while people were suffering-”

“I don’t want to be her anymore, Finnick. I hate her. I hate that I was ever like that.”

“I thought if I just- If I just changed something-”

“But I can still see her.”

whenever she tries to help or do something good, she thinks ‘am I doing this because I actually care, or because I want to feel better about myself?’

she thinks that any attempt at redemption is rooted in selfishness and that she doesn’t deserve it.

she purposely puts herself in harms way because in her mind, her life is the one most worth losing.

she forgets to eat. not on purpose, at first. she just doesn’t feel like she deserves to.

when finnick places food in front of her, she stares at it blankly.

sometimes, he has to physically put food in her hands, watching to make sure she eats, because he refuses to let her waste away over guilt.

when she gets hurt badly, she doesn’t make a big deal about it.

when finnick sees her he’ll point out that she needs to get it tended to, when she refuses he’ll say “Stop acting like you don’t matter.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“You do to me.”

and in the rare occasion that she’s allowed to go on a mission, if a bomb is set off, she throws herself over someone else. she doesn’t even hesitate. she wants to take the hit, because maybe if she dies saving someone, it’ll make up for all the times she stood by and did nothing.

fnnick is the one who pulls her back at the last second, shielding her instead. afterwards, once they’re back to safety, he loses it.

“Stop it. Stop acting like your life is disposable.”

“Why? Because you don’t want to watch me die?”

“Because I love you, and I refuse to let you throw yourself away like you’re nothing.”

and finally, one night she just collapses in finnick’s arms.

“I just- I just want to make it right.”

“You can’t do that if you’re dead. You can hate who you were. But don’t punish the person you are now. You’re not saving anyone by destroying yourself.”

“You deserve to live.”

and it takes a long time, but eventually, she does see her worth.

[drdemonprince]

ENM/Poly circles explicitly discourage real talk around jealousy, and practical considerations around nonmonog in ways that routinely exclude and excise POC and disabled people.

ENM/Poly expects everyone involved to act as though “love” is the reason for every relationship choice. Cliche #1: love isn’t finite. Which… sure. Maybe love isn’t finite, but attention and time sure are— and those are at a premium.

Cliche #2: Love is all you need/love is what makes a family. I am familiar with criticism of this from a family abolition, anticapitalist standpoint, but I have seen this be uncritically repeated by ENM/Poly people. It’s not true that love is what makes a relationship work or not work. It’s also about dumb shit, like geographical proximity and practicality. Good luck being ENM if you can’t regularly host because you have roommates or live at home. Good luck being the gold standard of ENM (out to everyone, including family and maybe even the workplace!) if you are any kind of marginalized. Love is simply not enough. There’s real world shit to consider.

Most ENM/Poly people are white gen x’ers and older millenials for a reason. It’s a framework that works awesome if you have abundant spare space, disposable income to blow, and free time. Plus most ENM/Poly people are heavily in therapy, and just have a fuckton of time to deal with their various baggages… or at least like to posture as though they are doing those things.

Non monog can be liberatory— disabled polycules caring for one another. QPRs! Multiparent households! But ENM/Poly is very lodged in a liberal, hyper-independent Super Good Boundaries Thank You Very Much world of its own, and so most of the “resources” like More Than 2 or Polysecure have hella flaws in that respect.

COME OFF ANON SO I CAN FOLLOW YOU! Because you just said a whole word.

I find "ethical nonmonogamy" and polyamory circles to be viscerally unpleasant and alienating to be in as a crazy, chaotic antipsych person who does not always make choices for carefully therapized, restrained reasons -- and who doesn't believe that most other people do either, no matter how much they claim to.

I don't fuck multiple people to serve some higher purpose; I do it because I'm horny, impulsive, and have a variety of niche fetishes that are really difficult to satisfy.

I didn't choose to be openly nonmonogamous because I nurtured my soul and found that it was abundant with love that I just had to give -- all my relationships already were nonmonogamous at one point or another, either because I cheated or the other person did or both, and I eventually decided to move with my feelings rather than against them, and to stop denying all that is inside me -- all of the hunger and darkness as well as the light.

And I can't say that my nonmonogamy is inherently "ethical" either -- just like my monogamy sure wasn't! I'm a human being, and a crazy one at that, I get jealous, I have emotional blowups, I lash out and fuck other people to make myself feel better or to affirm that I am desired, I make big demands of the people I date, I fail to show up for people consistently, I get hurt, and I hurt others, and I will continually have more to learn. I will also continually have wild animal emotions and triggers, and I won't always deal with them in the way my partner(s) might want me to. I try to avoid hurting other people needlessly, of course, but sometimes your own needs are incompatible with another person's, and hurt is inevitable.

When there is only so much time and attention available in our lives, it's true that somebody's often going to come up short. And ultimately the person that I choose above all others is me. And so, no, I can't say I'm always doing nonmonogamy in some caring yet dispassionate way, or that love is the solution to all problems -- I am driven by passion and need, and sometimes being alive in those ways means getting hurt, or hurting in turn.

I would echo essentially all that you've said. We need time and resources and spaces to enjoy privacy with other people, and if you're not some rich work-from-homer, that shit's all in short supply. I hate the sheen of calm positivity that "ENM" and polyamory folks tend to place on everything -- as if no choices they make are fueled ever by bitterness, dislike, resentment, or hell, fucking white hot irrational DESIRE. With how fair and measured so many of them make their polyamory sound, I don't even see what's fun about any of it.

Sometimes you want to upend your whole life because you're so down bad for a person. Sometimes you hate the shit out of your partner's partners and you say and do little manipulative shitty things to convey those feelings, or to try and blow the relationship up. Sometimes the hours just don't add up and somebody gets shafted. Sometimes you make a promise and then you can't follow through, or just don't WANT to anymore because you have changed.

These are real human realities whether we like it or not, and I find it terribly unrealistic AND unsexy to refuse to acknowledge all the darkness and frustration that comes out in any relationship. I think a lot of the ENM/poly crowd that is white and middle class and heavily therapized is so averse to naming anything edgy or prickly in themselves that they make their spaces actively hostile to anybody who openly expresses negative feelings. That means Black & brown people get tone-policed a ton, "mad" people like me get no-true-scotsmanned out of "ethical" nonmonogamy for ever doing anything messily, and all the romance and sexiness of relationships gets sanded down into a Canva-graphic beige blandness of weekly polycule meetings and processing sessions.

In this world of self-optimization, even fucking and loving other people has to be cast as therapuetic -- our desires must justify themselves by somehow making us better, more capable, more controlled people, But fuck that. Sometimes sex or love is worth exploding your whole life over. The ENM/poly crowd says their way of loving makes them more even-keeled but it seems like a kind of death to me.

[dollgxtz]

My first and only statement on all the accusations

Hello, I’m sure most of you are aware of the accusations about me and some of the stories I posted on my account. This post is not only an apology post, but an accountability post that details everything that happened from beginning to end. Everything will be here, so I will not be making more posts about this unless it’s to direct to this one.

Adding a tw now for suicide baiting, death threats and mentions of razors. So sorry but it must be included.

First I just wanted to say, no I wasn’t avoiding any of this. When this all started I was still in the middle of finals week, and I don’t live on tumblr 24/7. I had to focus on my finals to ensure I can get my degree and graduate. That was my number one priority. If anyone was blocked or comments were restricted during that time, it was my mostly my irl friend ensuring I wasn’t consumed by tumblr and could focus on my finals. I was already under a lot of stress and she offered to take over until I was finished with finals.

I was also getting death threats (people telling me to skin myself I alive and to jump). So she was ensuring that when I returned to my own blog, I would not see such triggering content. I have a history with suicide attempts and this was necessary for my mental health. The appropriate people were unblocked and remain unblocked to this day.

I always intended to make a statement, I just prioritized my real life first. It also took time to craft the post you are seeing now. I wanted it to be authentic, no misinformation, and well written.

So, as far as plagiarism goes, yes I did plagiarize specifically 3 of zombiekillerbiceps stories. I can’t actually remember the names of them and the author has removed their account from the site. But on my end specifically “Getting Closer”, “Edge of Control” and “Thrills” were not my own writing. Before they deleted their account I had already reached out via dm and apologized. We came to an understanding. I do not know why they deleted their account but they essentially said in DMs they accepted my apology and wanted to put this behind us but they were very hurt that I had copied them.

Edit: I found the post they made calling me out and will attach it.

As far as His Watchful Eye goes, the only plagiarism that took place was specifically the first chapter of it and only the first chapter. The first chapter of Something Permanent and His Watchful Eye are very similar. The remaining 13 chapters are my own writing and ideas. I have already reached out to @explorevenus and apologized. She has responded and made her own statement regarding it if you want to go and read it.

The only reason it was in anon is because this account (dollgxtz) is my side blog. I couldn’t figure out how to send a non anonymous message without exposing my main blog, so anon was the best thing. I didn’t want people sending death threats too that one too. I should’ve put my username in the anon, but it was already very late for me and I hadn’t slept in about 26 hours. I just wasn’t thinking very clearly and for that Venus I am also very sorry.

@manika-whims (the person that first wrote about all this) will remain blocked and some of her followers because I do suspect it was that group of people telling me to die. Manika wrote a very long post as she was upset that I “mischaracterized” Xavier in His Watchful Eye, called me a bitch and a loser because of a fictional man in a fictional story, and I will not entertain such immaturity. Full stop.

One of the anons that sent the suicide bait also called me a bitch and a waste of space. It was just too similar.

I also got this one. It’s too graphic to show the entirety of it.

I apologize for the plagiarism. But I will never apologize for writing characters the way I do or for writing dark content. It’s just not that serious. After she posted that I started getting these death threats and more.

You had every right to call me out for plagiarism Manika, but I stand my decision to keep you blocked. It had nothing to do with plagiarism accusations or me hiding from them, but I do believe you egged on your audience to come attack me over a fictional story and for that reason you will never be unblocked. I’ve attached screenshots below of the entire exchange. This is not to deflect from my own actions. This is simply to explain why she is blocked. She will say it’s because I was trying to hide from this but that is not true. I am just very sure the death threats came from her or her audience. This isn’t to say that she absolutely did but just in case, for my own mental health and safety I had to have them blocked.

Now that that’s discussed, I would like to address my readers and any future readers of mine. The plagiarized stories “Getting Closer” “Thrills” and “Edge of Control”. have been deleted and will remain deleted. Those of you asking for copies, please do not. They are not my writing nor my own works. Any remaining single work story on my blog is my own work and 100 percent my own ideas. My masterlist has been updated to reflect this as well.

When I first made my blog and posted those stories, I was a very insecure writer. I did not think I was truly capable of writing or making a good story. I did those things out of insecurity and not feeling good enough. But as time went on, I began to create my own stories and realize that I can write if I put my mind to it. These are not excuses, only explanations. Nothing excuses my behavior.

If you want to defend me, that is your own choice. I ask that you do not though in terms of plagiarism because I ultimately did plagiarize and that is 100 percent wrong of me to do. But in terms of AI usage accusations, these are not true. I have never and never will use AI to write.

I have spent countless hours writing chapters for His Watchful Eye, pulled all nighters, and even lost sleep making this story. I have timestamps in google docs that show me editing and writing my own story. I didn’t even know AI had advanced to the point that you can write fully blown novels. But make no mistake, Ai checkers are not reliable. I had an incident in my first year of college where a paper I wrote got flagged for 77 percent ai generated content. That paper was written 100 percent by me over countless hours and still got flagged. It was a very scary time in my life and for that reason alone I will never use AI.

If you want to unfollow me, please do so. If you want to block me, please do so. I would never hold that against anyone and am not mad at anyone for doing so. Just don’t come in my anon box telling me to jump, don’t message me rude or disgusting messages telling me to die. I am a human, I am a real person behind the screen. What I did was wrong but you are no better telling someone to kill themselves. Please just block me.

All in all thanks for reading. If you unfollow, thanks for being here. If you don’t, thanks for being here. If you want to be removed from any taglists, please just message me. You will not be blocked. Just removed from any future taglists! I have vowed to only post 100 percent of my own content from here on out, so if you stay I can promise you will only be reading my own work.

I am no longer the insecure writer that I once was, I now know my abilities and am confident enough to make my own stories. I have a 240,000 word fic out right now, I genuinely am still shocked I have done that. Writing has become a joy for me and I will not stop now. I should’ve never been afraid to make mistakes or be bad at it. I’m sorry to the people I hurt, my readers, and anyone reading this in the future. I am still growing and learning from my mistakes, and this has been the biggest lesson I will never forget.

Plagiarism is wrong and hurts authors. If you are reading this and have done so as well, please rethink your decisions and take them down, just as I have done.

I love interacting with you all, when you send me asks and messages about HWE or any of my original single fics. It is amazing getting to explain stuff or gush with you guys over the things that I have truly written. I truly love being an author and want my future as one to be honest and communicative.

The comments on this will be monitored, but not restricted. Voicing your thoughts is okay as long as they are respectful and not a direct threat to me or anyone’s life. Questions are okay as well and I will answer to the best of my ability. Please no:

insulting me or any of the people mentioned in this post (manika, venus, zombie, etc)

death threats or suicide baiting anyone

I want this to be a mature and honest discussion, and that can’t happen if I allow such comments. Despite what has been said about or to me, I do not want to replicate any insults/drama on my own blog. You can voice your displeasure or opinions without name calling.

Same goes for any messages or anon box messages you all may send to anyone involved here. We are all real people with feelings. Keep that in mind please before you message anyone.

We all make mistakes. Without mistakes, we cannot grow as people. It’s what we do after we make those mistakes that truly attest to our character. And this is what I’ve chosen to do. Lay it all out for my readers and the rest of the LADS fandom to see, apologize to the people I hurt and only write my own stories from here on out. Thank you to the readers and friends who approached me with kindness and encouraged me to keep writing authentically. And thank you all for reading, I wish all of you the best in life 🤍

-Umi ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

Edit: The first chapter of His Watchful Eye had been rewritten shortly after this statement was released. It now reflects my own writing. That was the only chapter that had ever been plagiarized. All other chapters reflect my own writing and ideas, now including chapter one.

Just putting this here to clear up accusations in the reblogs. I never claimed that either author was okay with me plagiarizing off them…I simply apologized and linked to Venus’s original statement. I stated Zombie accepted my apology, but was never okay with the plagiarism. Venus never accepted my apology, and that’s okay. I even told her I understood and that I didn’t expect her to. I’ve never expected anyone to be okay with what I did. I did everything I could to remedy the situation and that was it.

I apologized, deleted the stories, made a statement and reworked what I needed to. Everyone’s feelings on this are still 100 percent valid, and it’s totally okay to still be mad at me for this. I never expect Venus or Zombie to ever truly forgive me. However, let’s not spread misinformation. Reblogs are off from this point on to prevent the spread of misinformation. If you want to further discuss, you’re welcome to make your own posts. Thank you. ☺️