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sophiamcdougall · 4 years ago

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So, there’s something I think is missing from the Booker Discourse and the focus on anger vs forgiveness, and whether Booker’s “punishment” is too harsh and who’s responsible if so, and its absence is beginning to slightly disturb me and it’s this: They don’t punish Booker. At all.

No, really.

It’s one of the things I really like about the film -- how compassionately it treats Booker, both on a narrative and on an inter-character level. In most genre films wrongs against the good guys are usually settled with riproaring vengeance, even if in some the hero conveniently gets not to be the one to enact it directly. But in the moment Booker’s betrayal becomes clear, character beats we have taken for mere melancholy click into place as heartwrenching grief and suicidal depression. We’re encouraged to grieve for him. We see Andy and Nile’s empathy for him. We see Nicky urging Joe to stop shouting at him even before they yet have any hope of escape. We don’t see a moment of explicit compassion/restraint from Joe, but he does instantly put aside his anger to accept Andy’s decision that Booker’s coming with them, and does nothing to sabotage that choice. (In fact, it’s unthinkable that he would, but in plenty of action films it wouldn’t be.) And I agree with some of the arguments I’ve recently seen – the intensity of Joe’s fury isn’t necessarily a measure of how long it would last.

And then, as I say, they don’t punish him.

They don’t beat him up. They don’t work off steam killing and re-killing him. They don’t leave him for Kosak, or for the police. Of course they’d never do a full Quynh on him but putting him a box for ... a year? Six months? A week? It would be an option. They don’t do that, either.

They simply stop hanging out with him. And they have the extraordinary grace to promise this won’t be permanent. And Andy, whom he shot in the back, sees him off with a goodbye hug.

I’m seeing a lot of debate about whether Joe (hotheaded, passionate) vs Nicky (still waters run deep) is The Angry One and which one of them might, by contrast, have been totally fine letting Booker back into the group immediately. I think you can plausibly headcanon the first part of that various ways. Personally I think Nicky would take a more severe line than Joe, although, as I’m about to argue, I don’t think that necessarily has to mean he’s “angrier”.)

What I don’t think you can plausibly headcanon is that either would actually be “fine” taking Booker back immediately, or any time soon.

Now I want to preface this with pointing out that anger is a completely natural and appropriate response to being hurt and whoever is The Angry One out of Nicky and Joe, has every right to that feeling. And to be fair I don’t think that’s really being disputed. But there does seem to be the idea that The Situation – Anger = Everything’s Fine Now! And I do think it’s slightly ... victim-blamey, like the barrier to HEA isn’t what Booker did, it’s how long the people he hurt retain one specific emotion about it. Whoever’s angriest is being staggeringly generous to Booker, and the result is 100% compatible with their not being “angry” at all. It’s compatible with “forgiveness” having already taken place. Just for a minute imagine writing to ... Captain Awkward, or Dear Prudence or Reddit Relationships. And explaining that your friend placed you in the power of people who wanted to hurt you, deliberately exposed you to very serious danger and your worst personal fear, and caused you to watch your partner trapped and in pain for somewhere in the ballpark of 48 hours ... BUT, he is going through some very bad shit, guys, and you really do feel for him. Imagine what the response would be. (”My friend wanted to commit suicide-by-cop, so he planted weed/guns in the car with me and my husband in it and called the police, although he knows we both have a particular phobia of cops after what happened to another friend who was arrested a while back. Oh and he attacked our other friend, because he wanted to be totally sure the cops would come for him, but he only meant to knock her out not to nearly kill her and he’s depressed and very sorry. I still want to put our friendship on a break. AITA?”) They would yell at you to oh my god get away from him WTF how is this even a question please get some therapy learn to love yourself.

And if you repeated that he’s really sad! And it went down worse than he thought it would! And you don’t want to hurt him! they would yell that it’s not about hurting him it’s about protecting you. Just ... think about it. Imagine you’re either Joe or Nicky. Assume your anger has already completely evaporated, whether you think that’s in-character or not, and imagine you feel truly sorry for Booker. Take the most generous stance on what he did that you can. Fine. But every time you turn your back on him, or see him go off on a mission alone with one of the others ... how do you feel? Even if you don’t think he’d actually do this again, do you feel safe?

And imagine trying to recover from the trauma of what just happened to you. Imagine how much it would help to take refuge in all the soft, “family” touches which were also such a refreshing distinguishing feature of this film. Gift exchanges and bets and TV and hugs. Imagine trying to do that with the person who put you through it right. there.

Nicky and/or Joe could honestly wish Booker no suffering at all, nothing but recovery and healing and peace, and Booker would still be a walking PTSD trigger and working/socialising with him would be downright self-destructive.

Now, of course this is unpleasant for Booker because he’s already lonely and self-hating and it’s difficult -- though not necessarily impossible! -- for any of them to form a support system outside the group. But that really isn’t the team’s responsibility and, what is really the alternative?

Maybe it’s being framed so much as “punishment” because Andy says “there has to be a price.” And there does; the consequences of Booker’s choice will unfold in some way whatever they do. The team do not have the option of simply resetting to normal, even if they wanted to. The only question is only who carries the weight of those consequences and how. Should Nicky and Joe have to pretend to feel comfortable around Booker, should they force themselves to go through the motions of friendship – hug him, smile at him, pass him a coffee – while their shoulders go up around their ears whenever he’s in the room, regardless of what that means for their own healing?

The injustice of that should be obvious but even if they did it, even if they made that colossal sacrifice for the person who just hurt them, would it really help Booker? Imagine being him and settling down to watch the football beside Joe and knowing what he likely remembers whenever he looks at you. Honestly, I don’t see that being a healthy path to recovery for him either.

Or OK. Maybe they don’t put on an act. They keep spending time with him, but they don’t try to hide the nightmares and the flashbacks or the way their smiles drop whenever he comes into the room. Maybe they flinch whenever he gets too close and sometimes they yell at him but they all have to put that on hold every time there’s a mission and somehow they also they try to be his therapists?

I don’t know, it sounds a lot kinder to everyone to just get some fucking space.

Not hanging out with someone who gravely hurt you isn’t punishment, it’s basic boundaries and self-care for you and I’m beginning to worry about what it means that many of you don’t seem to know that.

#The Old Guard #long post #Oh my god Sophia shut up #anger #forgiveness #Fixed the broken sentence now #The Booker Discourse #Booker

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mymelodyheart · 4 years ago

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Miles Between Us Chapter 2 ~Words~

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Previously in Stories She Wrote ...

Claire ignored the jest. "So you really think I should publish my story?"

Her friend nodded excitedly. "Absolutely! You should have let me read it sooner. From what I've seen so far, you have good, solid material, and I'm convinced, when I read the rest, it will not disappoint." She stood up and smiled. "Come on, in as much as I'm all fired up after reading your story, I'm famished." She got up and left the room.

Instead of moving from her position, Claire stared at her work for a few seconds and just breathed. Although Willie and Annalise were sincere with their praises, she couldn't help but still feel nervous. This next step in her life could either turn out to be huge, or it could get her mocked out of a dream career she loved.

Pushing aside her doubts and thinking of Jamie, she quickly compressed a copy of her story's file and sent it to him via email to read, hoping he would like her written work too

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT SEXUAL & LANGUAGE CONTENT

Jamie walked into his cottage and was greeted by his dog Rollo and cat, Adso. He tossed his keys on the dining table as he absentmindedly rubbed his pets alternately behind the ears and scrolled through his phone. He smiled. There was an email notification from Claire and a text letting him know she would be calling after dinner. After turning on his laptop, he shrugged off his jacket, placed it on the back of his chair, and then went to the kitchen to feed his companions, thinking his own dinner would have to wait, too eager to read Claire's email.

Feeling the chill, he put firewood onto the grate and set it alight, before making a mug of black tea and heading back to the dining table. Once there, instead of immediately opening his email, he stared at his desktop photo. It was of Claire, wearing nothing but his shirt and sitting cross-legged by the fireplace with a bowl of breakfast. Without conscious volition, he touched the picture on the screen and then brought his fingers against his lips. Miss you, Sassenach. Although work and obligations had filled his days, time seemed to go so painstakingly slow, his mind constantly wandering to her. It pained him not to have her by his side, but he knew it was a little sacrifice for what lay ahead of them.

Sighing, he opened the email. Please read and tell me what you think, love C, it said.

After clicking on the attachment, he extracted the content and found a file with Word documents. He enlarged the first page, skimmed through the paragraphs and realised it was Claire's work. After taking a sip of his tea, he proceeded to read from the beginning.

A few paragraphs later, he was hooked. Not because Claire wrote it, but because of the beautiful marrying of emotions with words. He was instantly captivated. How could she have downplayed her talent when she had this innate gift? She once mentioned, there were talks among her peers, that editors were just frustrated authors. Weel, not this editor! he thought. But more than the mental images her storyline evoked, it was the words that moved him. It was as if he was reading a personal confession disguised in the characters she'd created and it spoked straight to his soul. He continued to read, and when he came upon a particular plot, his eyes slightly misted.

From across the room, her gaze locked with his, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. A live wire crackled and sparked, launching showers of tiny fireworks to light every dark recess of her weary soul.

It was always going to be like this every time she saw him, she sighed. After all these years, nothing had changed.

In their youth, she'd believed, they were bound together, not by something tangible, but by a profound, powerful connection that is ancient and older than the planets. It was as if she'd envisioned them a million times aeons ago and the stars finally heeded and arranged for their paths to cross.

It had started with a touch, a soft kiss, a subtle stirring of their souls, and as if by magic, their story began to write itself from thereon. His strength had been her protection, her heart, his shelter, and in each others' arms, they were home. For at one time, love between them had been powerful than the fate and deeper than a naked eye. But that was then, she reminded herself ...before he found out she was from another place and time. Out of this tragedy, which altered the course of her life, was the infinite curse she must bear alone. But she couldn't blame him. It was her fault.

As a tiny sob escaped her throat, a man bumped into her, jarringly breaking her reverie. Annoyed with herself for feeling weak, she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. And as she slowly made her way over to him, she hoped and prayed her face would not betray her emotions. There comes that significant point in life when one had to choose to either turn the page, write another book or simply close it. She chose the latter.

Jamie's heart drummed, and he puffed out a lungful of air. Settling back on his seat, he rubbed a hand over his face. He had this sudden burning urge to bundle Claire's story and gift it to the world. Why has she waited this long to pursue her dream? This is bloody insane! In each of the characters, he saw her - beautifully flawed and full of heart. She wielded words in her story as if she was tearing apart her own issues and exposing her loss and regrets, the courage and honesty so palpable, it jumped right off the screen. Och, Sassenach!

He needed more time to go through the story at a leisurely pace, so he skipped a few chapters out of mere curiosity and what he read next, made his heart rate doubled.

As soon as they were alone, she grabbed at his belt, her shaking fingers tugging the zipper. She'd waited for far too long and needed him now. Dropping down to her knees, she lowered his jeans to take him fully in her mouth, feeling him throb and jerk at her touch ...oh how she'd crave for the taste of him. She was hungry, oh so hungry, to feel his most private pulse beating against her palm. Despite the urgency she was feeling, she didn't rush as she wanted to savour every moment and taste of him.

He swallowed and realised his jeans were becoming too constricted. Ah Christ! There were only so many blows to the system a man could take and what he just read sent all the blood in his brain rushing southward so fast it nearly knocked him out of commission. Who would have thought a sex scene in a romance story could affect him so much?

He read a few more excerpts from the story, and when he eventually looked at the bottom right corner of his screen, he realised it was nearly ten. He'd been so engrossed with reading, he hadn't noticed the time. Claire was supposed to call. But maybe she's fallen asleep.

Reaching for his phone, he got up, shifted the bulging discomfort in his jeans and headed for the fridge. As his screen lit up, he tapped Claire's name and waited.

"Hello?" she answered, her voice thick and muffled, causing a sudden pulsing rush of longing in his stomach. A fog of cataclysmic lust descended, increasing the weight between his legs.

"Sassenach?" He grabbed a tin of beer, popped it open with one hand and made his way to the living room. "It's me."

"I know." She yawned. "What time is it? Are you just coming home?"

"Ummm, no. I got yer email earlier." Smiling, he sat on the armchair and toed off a shoe. "I got caught up reading yer story, I forgot the time."

"A long day then. Sorry, I was supposed to call, but ...." He heard some rustling sound and then quiet.

He got his second shoe off and rested his feet on the coffee table. Right now, he wished he could teleport himself to Claire's side and slip in bed next to her. He'd wanted to come to London, but he'd been advised by Willie it was still too soon, and coming along could trigger his PTSD. Although the nightmares had stopped and he'd been following the meditation exercises Claire had told him to do, there were still times when panic attack got hold of him. They weren't as bad as before, but still, it was there lurking, ready to pounce at any time. He hadn't dared told his sister, Jenny, in case she nagged him to attend the therapy conducted by her friend Geneva. He knew what his sister was up to, and he wasn't about to fall for her matchmaking schemes.

He was just contemplating the merits of dropping everything and flying to London when he realised Claire had gone too quiet.

"Sassenach?"

"Hmmm?"

"Did ye just fall asleep on me?"

"Oh, umm, a little," she responded, utterly lacking in apology.

"Shall I let ye sleep? I can call again tomorrow."

"No!"

Relieved, he smiled. "So working too hard, I presume?"

"Yes," she mumbled. "Worked for seven hours straight. Then had too much food and wine, and too little fresh air. It made me drowsy afterwards. It's Willie's and Annalise's faults. They overfed me over dinner."

"Mmm, in as much as I appreciate why ye're doing it, I dinnae want ye to become ill because of it." He heard another yawn and imagined her long, lean body stretching, her hair all wild against the pillow and her breast bare. When he realised where his mind was wandering to, he immediately put a stop to it. Christ, get a grip! With a steel will, he extinguished his filthy thoughts. "Ye should take care more of yersel', Sassenach."

"I'm fine ...honestly."

He was unconvinced but didn't push. "By the way, I read yer story. It's bloody good. No ...correction. It's great!"

"You like it!"

"I love it. Was that a story ye wrote a while ago? Or did ye write it recently?"

"A while ago," she hummed, her words muffled as if she had a pillow over the phone.

He loved the way she sounded when sleep laced her voice.

"Hmmm, a question ...how'd ye learn to write a sex scene like that, when ..." He needed a couple of seconds to find the right words. "...when ye were a virgin before we met."

"I might have been a virgin, but I never said I was a nun."

He laughed out loud. It couldn't be helped. Though Claire could be shy at times, she always spoke her mind. "I'm sorry I didnae mean to laugh, Sassenach," he apologised when he finally sobered up. "It's just that ye wrote the sex part so vivid and graphic, it made me wonder how ye could have known the mechanics of lovemaking when ye were still a virgin at the time ye wrote that story."

"Well, I suppose I should confess ...before I met you, there might have been on a few occasions, that I had ..."

"Watched porn?"

"Yes ...but for research purposes," she said rapidly, her voice not sounding muffled anymore. She must have rolled on her back. "But what I meant to say was, I've had ...um ..." She trailed off.

He frowned. "Had what?"

"Physical contact, of course!" she replied with mild exasperation.

Something heavy rolled over in his stomach. "Excuse me?"

She sighed. "When I use to date, dates sometimes end up in making out, kissing and petting, and I sort of got the gist of what normally happens afterwards." He heard her swallow. "I -I mean nothing happened of course ...at least, not in the biblical sense anyway. W-what I'm trying to say is, before we met ... I've never made it to the Old Testament with anyone. B-but you ... you're pretty special because you and I ...well, we're almost at the Revelations."

What the hell? She was rambling, and he realised she was becoming flustered. Her attempt to calm him down using the books of the Bible for analogy put a dent on his jealousy. He puffed out a breath. "I get it. I get it. Just do me a favour, Sassenach, will ye, huh? In the future, dinnae mention physical contact with other men ever again to me even if it's no' the biblical variety. It's bad enough we're separated, and here I am missing ye loads ..."

"Sorry, but you did ask how I knew about the mechanics of ..." she stopped and then sighed. "Let's change the subject, shall we?"

"Of course." He slugged back a mouthful of beer and placed it on the coffee table, before leaning back once more on his armchair. "We were talking about yer writing. I've read a few chapters, and I'm really enjoying it. Cannae wait to read the rest."

"I'm glad. Willie and Annalise liked it too," she replied, a smile in her voice.

"I'm not surprised. Ye should have published it a long time ago. Ye have a gift, Sassenach, one that I'm verra proud of."

"Thank you. Writing does take a bit of time, and I needed a job while I was at it. I'm still glad I waited, though."

He shifted uncomfortably on his seat and paused, contemplating if ... "Are ye in the bedroom? Or did ye fall asleep on the couch?"

"In my bedroom. I couldn't stand watching a movie with Willie and Annalise when all they do is snog in front of me. So I left them to it, thinking I'll rest my eyes for a few minutes before calling you. And that's when I fell asleep." Ah, the poor thing, she must have been so tired. At least she sounded a little more alert compared to earlier. "Seeing them cuddled up like that made me miss you loads," she added, huskily, "...and think of our time together."

Ah, hell! Her voice wasn't the only thing that was alert. His cock suddenly needed a wee adjustment. Again! He unzipped his jeans, purely for ease and comfort and to give himself room for a breathing space.

"You should sleep in tomorrow and get some fresh air too," he suggested, inhaling deeply through his nose as he felt the effects of the beer, reminding him he didn't have any food in his stomach.

"Definitely, I will have a sleep in." She drank something audibly and let out a sigh. "As for that fresh air, it will depend if it's raining or not. Annalise mentioned we're in for a horrendous weather tomorrow." He heard another delicate gulp.

"What are ye wearing, Sassenach?" His words came out before he could think and put a stop to it. It sounded much more sexual than he'd intended, gruff and hoarse, his dirty mind wandering to that explicit scene he read earlier.

There was a few seconds of silence. "Why?"

"Because I want to know ...if ye're warm enough."

"I'm warm enough."

"So what are ye wearing?"

There was another moment of silence before she replied. "Oooh, I know what this is, James Fraser" she throatily laughed into his ears. "And, we are so not doing this."

"Doing what?" he groaned, this time pulling out his cock. He couldn't deny himself any longer, when this woman on the other end of the line, rained havoc to his good sense. Running a calloused hand down the length of himself, he gave his throbbing erection a nice hard squeeze. "I'm only asking solely out of concern for yer health. It's cold, and I worry ye might catch ...umm ...pneumonia." He almost laughed out loud at his lame logic.

"Pneumonia? You don't have to worry, Jamie. It's warm in the apartment, and it doesn't take much to heat a small place,," she said with a hint of amusement. "And I'm not naked ...not totally anyway."

"Oh," he gritted, fisting his cock from the base to the head, as a blow of harsh breath escaped his mouth. He felt like a depraved, desperate man, but it couldn't be helped when his cock was so achingly stiff, and he wanted relief. No amount of wanking in the shower earlier had eased his need for her. In fact, it only intensified it.

As he continued to stroke himself, the house's interior closed in around him, the sounds of fire popping doing nothing to reduce the extreme feeling of airlessness. At this moment, as far as he was concerned, they were the only two people in the whole wide world awake, right here and right now, and he would die if he didn't get any release soon.

"I'm wearing undies," she finally said.

Allelujah! His fist tightened around his hardness, moisture seeping from its head. "Ah, Sassenach," he murmured. He imagined her, stretched out on her bed, the duvet kicked off, and how she had looked in those tiny cotton knickers. "And a pyjama top?" he muttered.

"No," she sighed in sweet response, a slight shyness creeping in her next words. "I forgot to turn off the radiator before I went to bed. It's so warm I must have yanked off my top while sleeping."

"Sweet Jesus!" He stilled his hand and cupped his balls, seeing her creamy breasts in his mind's eye.

"Jamie ...what are ye doing? I mean, I think I know what you are doing. But I've never done this before," she whispered. "Maybe I should go and let you ...um ...finish your business?"

"No! Please." He closed his eyes and slumped deeper into the armchair, his feet spreading apart and his head falling back. "I need ye."

"I ...I don't know how ..."

"Sassenach." Saying his pet name for her was a mild distraction from the throbbing ache in his hand, as he swiped a thumb over the head of his erection and spread the moisture seeping out. "My cock is so rock hard, I think I might black the fuck out from wanting ye. Dinnae torture me by leaving me hanging."

Her breath hitched, and it was the most beautiful sound in his ears. "So you really are touching yourself?" she asked on a huffed breath.

"Jesus, Sassenach! Ye have nae idea, do ye? I wank every day and night to yer image in my head ...stroking so hard I can hardly breathe, thinking of our last night together ..." he swallowed with difficulty, his hand busy fisting himself. "It's so lonely without ye, and every waking moment is filled with thoughts of ye naked in my bed and every night ye haunt my dreams. What I would give to touch ye right now and plunge my cock between yer thighs."

She gasped, and he wished he could feel her hot breath on his neck. "Jamie ...I don't even know what to say ... I ...this is out of my comfort zone.."

"Touch yersel', and tell what ye're thinking," he commanded as he closed his eyes, the heels of his feet pushing against the floor and his muscles thighs tightening hard. "Have ye ever touched yersel'? Tell me."

"Before you came along, there's been no one, and you know that," she said haughtily. "Giving myself an orgasm is the only reason why I remained a virgin for so long. I call it self-service."

He let out a burst of pained laughter despite himself. "Ah, Christ, I'd love to kiss that smart-arsed mouth while taking ye hard ..."

"I like it when you ..." she cut in, and he held his breath, agonisingly waiting for her to complete the sentence. "...kiss me between the legs." He heard her voice fade a little and swishing movements. "I think of you doing that when ...um, my hand is between my thighs."

"Is yer hand between yer thighs now?"

"Y-yes ..."

"Slide yer fingers in, Sassenach. And tell me ...are ye wet?"

"Yes ..." she softly moaned.

"How wet?"

"Very."

Ah, fuck!

He always thought dirty talks were arousing, but each shy admission by Claire was too bloody erotic for words, it made the already taut and strained tether of his self-control about to snap. He uttered her name with a litany of invocations to the saints, his hips shifting against the soft of his seat and his breathing becoming heavier. "Ye ken what I'll do to ye when I get to finally see ye? I'm no' letting ye out of bed," he groaned. "I'm gonnae worship that beautiful body of yers with my mouth until my lips are branded to your skin, and yer scent embedded in mine and yer taste in my mouth. Ye still have yer fingers inside ye?"

"Yes ..."

"Now imagine it's my tongue lapping ye up."

She sobbed, a whimpering sound full of longing and his heart twisted in a knot, creating a cluster that descended down to his belly and found its way to his cock, making his balls draw higher. His exhale came out like an animalistic grunt as Claire's breathing became more shallow. She gasped out his name, a soft plea that he badly wanted so much to pacify.

"Oh, sweet Lord, I want you so much, Jamie. I miss your hands on me," she whispered, her voice enveloping him, he could almost feel her breath on his heated skin. "Please don't stop talking ..."

"Ye think I could stop, Sassenach? I'd sell my soul just to hear ye come." Something told him the cries coming from Claire's mouth would ring in his head for days to come. Broken, sweet, desperate moans, interrupted by her breath hitching. Like she was drowning, just like him. "Ye miss me touching ye, is that right? Weel, let me tell ye something," he said hoarsely. "I spend every night looking at the bloody ceiling of my bedroom, envisioning yer sweet tits bouncing like wee temptations while ye ride me on my creaky bed. It hasn't creaked the way it used to, ever since ye left. And on some nights, I would lay on my tummy and grind myself against the mattress just to hear it creak and pretend it's not the bed I'm fucking," His hand went into overdrive stroking himself, fast and relentless. "But we both know we want the real thing, don't we now?"

"Yes, yes, yes," she whispered in a husky loop.

"Jesus, so sweet, my beautiful Sassenach ..." A drumming began in his head, inflicted by the raspy sound of her voice, the way her breath became laboured when he talked dirty to her.

The pressure within him rose, and his breath came out in short, head-spinning gulps of air, his senses more heightened for knowing who the cause was for his predicament. Claire. Ah, Christ, he'd never anticipated for the possessiveness that tightened around his heart with a permanence that didn't alarm him. In fact, he'd always known, right from the beginning, she was the one for him. She was the only one who moved him to take a risk in love, to abuse his body for relief ...

"Jamie ...oh God ..."

Hissing out a wounded groan, Jamie fisted the base of his cock and pumped furiously. "I'm here, Sassenach," he whispered. "I hear ye. Always here for ye."

"I'm coming ..." she moaned. "Oh, my God ..."

His heart expanded as he listened to her, her breath shallow, his name a whisper, and he could picture her, turning and twisting against the sheets with her hand between her thighs. He was so close, it hurt. When he couldn't hold off any longer, he let go, his own orgasm coming in full force, spouting out of from his cock, seizing his body in an almost paralysing bliss. It went on forever, his seed spurting into his hand and thighs, his shouts reverberating off the walls and ceiling as the pleasure surged through him and rearranging everything in its route.

Finally spent, he slumped back on his seat, his breathing coming out in choppy waves as his chest rose and fell. After a long stretch of silence between them, he put down his phone and whipped off his shirt to clean himself up. By the time he grabbed it back and placed it against his ear, Claire's breath was calmer.

"Jamie?" There was a trace of doubt or maybe guilt in her voice.

Knowing Claire's strict Catholic upbringing in the boarding school, he didn't want her thinking what they did was wrong as it would only cheapen what they just shared. He needed to reassure her. "Sssh, Sassenach, I ken what ye're gonnae say. What happened between us was ... incredible. And ye ken, why?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Because we love each other. Ye understand?"

There was a long pause before she replied and he imagined her biting her lower lip in contemplation. "Yes," she replied eventually, her voice barely a whisper. And after waiting a few seconds more, he heard her soft snore and even breathing.

Smiling, he murmured good night and turned off the phone. He was just about to close his eyes to savour the moment when the doorbell rang, and a spooked Adso suddenly leapt onto his lap. Bloody hell! He plopped the cat down, righted his jeans and quickly got up, and as he peered through the window, he saw Mrs Fitz, the owner of the Airbnb from across the road, holding a dish in her hands.

What the ...? He opened the door. "Mrs Fitz!" The scent of freshly baked apple pie wafted from the dish she was carrying, making his stomach grumble. "It's kinda late. Is everything alright?" he asked, eyeing the aluminium covered plate.

"Aye, son," she said, frowning, her eyes bypassing him as if she was in search of something or someone. "I saw the light, and I thought ye might like a bit of pudding ...for after tea perhaps or for breakfast. Yer lass ...Miss Beauchamp, I mean Claire is not here so I thought I'd check up on ye."

Jamie thought the older woman was acting a bit odd, the way she was trying to strain her neck to look beyond him. "Oh, Claire ...I was just on the phone with her."

Both her eyebrows arched. Then the frown on her face dissipated, replaced with a relieved smile and a reddening on her plump cheeks. "Oh, of course. I thought I heard some strange sounds. Ye must have been talking to her." She pushed the dish towards him. "Very well then, now that everything seems to be in order, I must go." Without waiting for him to reply, she whirled around and hurriedly left.

As Jamie stared at her disappearing figure, it slowly dawned on him, Mrs Fitz must have heard the sound he'd made while in the throes of self-love passion. Groaning inwardly, he realised Claire's writing studio shed wasn't the only place that needed soundproofing. If Claire was going to stay with him, he needed to soundproof the whole cottage. Bloody nosy neighbours!

Dear Readers,

Thank you all for the positive feedback from the previous chapter - what a warm welcome from my readers. So chuffed reading the comments and seeing the kudos. Kudos right back at you, you wonderful lot!

I'll keep this short and sweet because I have heaps of things to do, but before I go, I'm sending you all my best wishes during this very odd times. Keep the good vibes rolling, ditched the negativity and most of all, take care of your health. Until next time ... X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #milesbetweenus #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #ClaireBeauchamp/JamieFraser #outlanderfanfic

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16woodsequ · 4 years ago

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The Alternative Timeline; A Journey

If you don't know, I have spent the last two years writing a 2012-alternate timeline AU Marvel fanfic. (You can find it here).

It has grown way past anything that I could have ever imagined. In celebration of completing the final chapter of the fourth part, I thought I would make a post detailing this journey for anyone interested, because when I started this in 2019, I definitely did not expect to end up writing an epic of over 500,000 words.

Spoilers under the cut.

First off, I think it is important to note that before I started the first fic in this series, Alternatively, I had published a total of two (2) fics in the mcu universe. My very first Marvel fic Lessons Learned was posted January 2019. My second Marvel fic Never Again was posted March 2019. (Both of which combined have a total word count of 5,716.) And then, on May 4th, 2019, I watched Avengers: Endgame, and lost my mind.

Upon watching Endgame, I was struck immediately by the time-travel scene to 2012. The fact that 2023!Steve told 2012!Steve that Bucky was alive...and that he said 'Hail Hydra' to the STRIKE team in the elevator...never mind the fact that Loki got away with the Tesseract...

There was just so much potential there. I wanted to build an AU where Steve and Tony could be friends, and I was pumped to explore the consequences of 2023!Steve's 'Hail Hydra'. I thought this universe had the potential to right a lot of wrongs, and I just had to try it.

So first I had to start planning. This was right after Endgame was released, so there weren't a lot of posts going around about the alternate timeline. I had to come up with most of my theories and ideas myself.

Also, there were hardly any Youtube videos of the specific scenes I needed from Endgame, and there was no online script yet, because the movie was still in theatres. So I had to resort to shaky illegally filmed videos from people in theatre to get the dialogue I needed from the 2012 time-travel scene. It was a struggle. XD

Writing Alternatively

One big hurdle I had to figure out was how Steve would go undercover in Hydra. I knew I wanted him to, because that would be super interesting, and would allow him to find Bucky and take down Hydra from the inside, but I had to figure out how he convinced Hydra of his loyalty in the first place.

The path I chose (Steve claiming he is disillusioned with the modern world etc.) may seem rather obvious to the outside observer, but it might amuse you to learn I played around with the idea of Steve trying to claim he was secretly partial to Hydra even during the war. I honestly did spend a few days contemplating Steve somehow trying to say he was on Hydra's side even while he was actively fighting them. It makes me laugh to think about it now.

Obviously I went with a more believable lie, and eventually figured out everything I wanted to have happen in the story. At this point, I had no plans to write more than a single story.

Because Endgame had just come out, and I was so excited about this idea, I wanted to write it and get it out as fast as possible. For some reason I was worried that someone else would write the idea before I did. It felt like such an intriguing concept that I thought for sure other people would do it too. As such, I had several WIPs that I put on the back burner while I focused all my attention on writing Alternatively. (These WIPs still haven't been published, my writing has improved immensely over the last two years, so I think I might have to re-write them XD).

One thing that helped me a lot writing this story is I already had a lot of headcanons about the inner lives of the characters, and I was desperate for somewhere to put them. I hadn't had a chance yet to really write about Steve's PTSD, so that became a major theme in the story that helped push it along.

Alternatively was the longest story I had ever written when I first got started. Before writing Alternatively, the longest (published) word count I had was 7,544. And, I had only published one (1) multi-chapter fic, that had three chapters, and 4,621 words.

Looking at that, I doubt anyone could have imagined what I was about to undertake. Not even myself. But I really really wanted to write the story, so I ran with it.

I decided that I was going to write all the chapters first, before I published it. This is what I had been doing with my WIPs anyway (and I'm glad I did, or those things wouldn't have been updated for like, two years). I will admit that once I got to chapter 10 of Alternatively I was really tempted to just start posting it, because I was so excited and really wanted to start sharing it.

I managed to restrain myself though. It took my four months to write all twenty chapters of Alternatively. It was a frustrating process at times, because I had an idea in my head of what I wanted, but I felt like my writing skills were not on par with that ideal. I wanted this fic to be good, and it was hard to get it to where I wanted it. This got easier over time though, because one thing a project like this does is give you writing practice.

At the time, I didn't even have my own laptop, so I was writing on school computers, or my family computer. (I got a laptop once I started The Alternate Handler though, this story is actually part of what pushed me to get a laptop in the first place.)

Finally, I finished the last chapter, and I edited it for the final time, and then, on August 29th, 2019, I published the first chapter.

I was amazed at the response I received. Before this I had only written twelve stories, most of them oneshots. I'm not saying my story went viral or anything, but I got a lot more feedback than I was used to. This was super awesome, and made me even more excited to share what I had written.

Even as I was posting Alternatively, I didn't really expect to write any more in this universe. Except...there was so much about Bucky in this story that the reader didn't get to see. I knew all about it because I had to know what was going on in his head while Steve did his thing, but the readers wouldn't know more than Steve knew.

And so, as I posted Alternatively, a very determined plot-bunny began to work away at my brain. I actually gave into it at one point and wrote a little bit of what would become The Alternate Handler, but I stopped after the first four chapters for a while.

Fun fact: The first four chapters I wrote are actually the first two chapters of The Alternate Handler. Each chapter was only about 2,000 words long, so when I started writing the story in earnest, I combined the first four chapters into two.

I don't remember what exactly was the trigger that made me really want to write Bucky's side of things, but around the time that I posted chapter 10 of Alternatively, I started getting the same insane urge that had pushed me to write Alternatively in the first place, and I decided to go for a sequel.

Writing The Alternate Handler

I started posting this story Jan 2020.

I was excited to write this story, because of how interesting Bucky's thoughts were, but part of me was a little nervous that people would not be interested in reading the same fic from another pov. I knew it would be interesting, but I wasn't sure if people would give it a shot.

I decided to go for it anyways. I was pretty amazed at myself because I had just written something that was 100,000 words long, and people seemed to be liking it. (Of course, I never could have imagined that The Alternate Handler would double that. I definitely expected it to be about 20 chapters long like the first one.)

I decided that I wanted to get as much of The Alternate Handler finished before I finished posted Alternatively as I could, so that I could started posting The Alternate Handler right away. I felt that the best way to keep a steady readership was to make sure they could follow the next story right away.

That meant that I had only about 10 weeks to write as many chapters as I could. For all my stories, I had an outline of basic plot points, so I could keep track of everything I wanted to have happen. It was helpful, but also did not anticipate the scope of what would happen.

I had a general idea of what would happen, and I had vague ideas of scenes I wanted, but none of it was nailed down. As I wrote it felt like I was walking forward a few steps to illuminate the path I needed, and then snagging the right plot points out of the air.

Bucky's mindset also took some work to figure out. How do you write from the pov of someone who barely remembers anything? Does he know how to use metaphors? Does he know what a microwave is? How dependent is he? The first few chapters where Bucky is deep in his Winter Soldier programming took a lot of thought.

One of the fun things about writing this story was that I got to dive deeper into my headcanons of exactly how Hydra brainwashed Bucky. Before this I had some vague scenes and ideas, but this story really forced me to come up with a coherent timeline for Bucky's experience under Hydra, which is pretty cool. Once I had that, I could decide how and when I would reveal the pieces throughout the story.

Anyway, I managed to write 12 chapters of The Alternate Handler before I finished posting Alternatively. (Which is super impressive.) And somehow I managed to keep ahead of my posting schedule for twenty-eight more chapters.

I honestly can't believe it sometimes. I actually wrote a 40 chapter fic, and posted once a week for forty weeks, with only a head-start of 12 chapters. (And at the same time, I was like, finishing university and working. So no, I don't know how I survived.)

Reader influences: Unlike Alternatively, where I had everything written ahead of time, this story was still being written as I was posting, so the readership did have some influence on what I put out, which you may find interesting.

Bucky's arm: When I first started writing, I didn't have a concrete plan to replace Bucky's metal arm with something better. That may be a shocker, but that arc starts happening way later on into the story (around chap 32). Because of how long and intricate the plot and story is, there is simply no way I could plan every detail when I first got started. I didn't start offcially planning to have an arc around his arm until a reader mentioned in a comment that they hoped it would happen. (And I was like, 'oh yeah, that should definitely happen...eventually.' And made a note to work it in when it became appropriate.) The comment happened pretty early on in the story, so it was easy for me to start laying down the foundation for that arc.

Bucky's arm part two: Another thing a reader had a direct influence is the blue star Bucky has on his new arm. Originally I wasn't planning to have a star at all. I was going to have Bucky decide he didn't want one. But then I had a reader request that I keep the star, and I decided that keeping it would not upset any character development. I had already set up blue as an important colour in the story, so I decided to change Bucky's decision and have him request a blue star. I like it. It is a clear symbol of this Bucky, versus any other Bucky.

Surprises

One thing that surprised me while writing and posting this story, is the readership prediction for Bucky's choice of whether or not to fight. I posted a chapter that focused on Bucky watching himself react to being drafted, and then remembering himself choosing to follow Steve, and then cliffhangered on him having to decide if he wanted to join the Avengers.

I asked something in the author's notes about 'what do you think he will do?', and a surprising amount of people (to me anyways) thought that he would chose to fight. I had always planned to have Bucky retire from fighting, so I was a little shocked. I thought with a whole chapter about Bucky learning he never really wanted to fight at all, that people would think he would want to take a break.

I think the consensus came from the desire to see Bucky and Steve fight together like old times. I think Bucky joining Steve on missions is a common indication of him overcoming his past and avenging/revenging on Hydra, so in the end I am not surprised that a lot of people might expect that to happen.

Because of that response I was a little nervous people wouldn't be happy with Bucky's choice, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Bucky's arc and choosing not to fight is really important, and I think everyone is happy with how it went.

It took ten months to post all of The Alternate Handler. As I was writing, I was not planning to write anymore. I was mostly focused on finishing the story, and didn't expect to write a third part...

But, my traitorous mind whispered, this universe could fix everything. We can make Civil War less painful. We can keep them from fighting. We can do it properly.

To be honest, it didn't take a lot of convincing for me to give in and start planning An Alternate Approach.

Writing An Alternate Approach

I started posting this story Oct. 2020.

I started planning this with a lot of time to spare. I still had most of The Alternate Handler to write and finish posting when I decided to go for this fic too.

Some challenges were that I wanted to show the Avengers going through the same things as the original Avengers, but doing it better. I had already gotten rid of the Winter Soldier problem, and Tony knew about his parents, so we didn't have to deal with any of that, but I still wanted to do the UN bombing and that drama, because T'Chaka's death is very important to T'Challa's and Wakanda's development, so I felt it still needed to happen.

Of course...I had nipped Ultron in the bud, meaning Sokovia wasn't destroyed, and Zemo had no reason to go after Bucky.

Thankfully, I came up with the idea of having Rumlow do it in time to foreshadow it a little in The Alternate Handler (the fact that they never find him, even though they know he is out there etc.)

Like last time, I wanted to post The Alternate Approach as soon as I finished The Alternate Handler. It was a bit of a crunch time for me, but I managed to get all eight chapters finished in time. I basically finished writing The Alternate Handler and immediately started writing An Alternate Approach. I finished The Alternate Handler August 1st, and finished the last chapter of The Alternate Approach September 10th.

Originally I was expecting An Alternate Approach to be a bit longer, but things happened quicker than I thought they would.

A challenge for this story is that most of it happens during a movie. There was a lot of original stuff happening and interesting inner thoughts, but I was restricted in what I could do because of the script I still had to refer to. Also because this story was only eight chapters long, I didn't have as much space to work through character development.

Reader influences: Like with Alternatively, I managed to finish the story before I posted it, but the readers did have a little influence on the content.

Mostly it had to do with their reaction to Everette Ross. I think a challenge with this story is there is Everette Ross, and there is Thaddeus Ross. Thaddeus Ross is much worse than Everette Ross, but I think the readers mixed the two up sometimes because they share the same last name.

To top it off, I wanted to show Everette Ross' character arc a little, because he obviously changes from Civil War to Black Panther. There wasn't a lot of space to show the glimpse of his character and how he could be better than he seems. The readership really hated him at times, so I did edit his lines and facial expressions a little to try to make it clear that he thinks differently than Thaddeus Ross.

Actually, in chapter five, Steve has a nightmare about Hydra trying to wipe Bucky and trapping Steve in the SSR capsule he got the serum in. Originally, I was going to have the main villain in the dream be Thaddeus Ross, to symbolise how Steve was uneasy around him, and how Ross thought of Bucky. But the readership was already literally out for Ross' blood, and suspected him to be Hydra (which was not canon in the story). They really wanted something bad to happen to Ross, but I knew that wouldn't happen, so I decided to change Ross to Rumlow in the dream. This helped foreshadow Rumlow's later involvement, and it also didn't give the reader any more reasons to hate or suspect Ross.

If I were to write this again, I think I would try to make it more clear which Ross it which, since I think the same last names really didn't help the situation.

Writing The Alternate End

I started posting this story Nov 2020.

For a long time, I never intended to write The Alternate End. I had The Alternate Approach all planned out, but I was adamant that this time, I was 100% not going to write any more.

This not because I didn't like the series. I loved it, and my readers loved it too. But at the time, I hadn't finished The Alternate Handler yet, and I hadn't even started The Alternate Approach.

The thought of trying to write an Endgame fic felt a little overwhelming. I was worried I would run out of momentum at some point, and I would leave my readers hanging. I had been writing and posting a chapter a week for over a year at that point, and I wasn't sure if I would be able to keep it up for as long as I needed.

While I was trying to dodge plot-bunnies, I tried to convince myself that an Endgame fic wouldn't be interesting. I figured it would be just the same as any other Endgame fix-it fic. I was truly convinced that the readers would be satisfied by me bringing them all the way to Civil War, and then just, ending it there.

It makes me laugh to think about it now. I really thought I could just be like "The End! I'm sure you can imagine the rest" XD.

And then I was at work one day, thinking about the next chapter of The Alternate Handler, and thinking of how much I still had to write, including The Alternate Approach...and thinking pointedly that I was not going to write an Endgame fic...and then my traitorous brain decided to speak up again.

I had exactly two (2) thoughts that were my downfall. First my brain was like: What if we wrote it from Tony's pov? We've never written it from Tony's pov before.

And plot-bunny-brain was like "ooooh". But I was like, "No! It will still be a normal Endgame fix-it fic. People can read other fix-it fics if they want to know what happens."

And then my brain was like, What about the fact that they know about the time-travellers? What if they decide to leave a message about Thanos when they time-travel?

It makes me laugh to think that the simple warning message that Tony gives his alternate-self is the spark that got this story going. Once I started writing it, that scene was not what I looked forward to the most. But at the time, knowing about the time-travellers, and leaving a message behind was something completely unique to my AU, and so that is what I needed to jumpstart my desire to write this story.

As soon as I had those two thoughts, I knew I was done for. I actually stopped dead at work and stared ahead in betrayal and amusement. I was like, 'I really am going to write this, aren't I? I haven't even finished The Alternate Handler, but I'm going to plan out two whole stories to write after this, aren't I?'

And I did. I finished The Alternate Handler in the summer. Because I was already planning to write two more parts, I was able to set up some of what I needed for those parts in The Alternate Handler. (Such as Clint's family and Scott's introduction.)

I started writing The Alternate Approach as quickly as I could. I knew I only had a short window before school started again, and I wanted to get to The Alternate End as soon as possible so that I could get ahead on that.

Once I started posting The Alternate Approach, I had about eight weeks to write as many chapters of The Alternate End as I could. In the end, I managed to write ten chapters ahead of time, and I somehow managed to keep that lead for the rest of the twenty or so chapters.

I was a bit nervous about this fic, because it followed the movies for a while. I tried to keep at least one original scene in each chapter, and I thought Tony's pov was interesting, but I knew I wanted the Snap to happen. I also knew we had to start at the beginning of Infinity War, because we needed those scenes to establish character development and such.

Writing Tony was also its own challenge. Tony had already had a lot of character development, but we didn't see his side of it. He was in a better place than mcu!Tony, but I still needed him to be able to improve. It was a tricky balance trying to show the results of the character development he'd been having for three stories, while also making room for more.

Another thing about writing Tony is he has a lot more relationship dynamics to work with. In Steve's stories, his relationship dynamics are mostly between Bucky and Tony, and in Bucky's story the dynamics are mostly between him and Steve, and then eventually him and Tony, with a few snapshots of the other Avengers and his sister.

Tony has dynamics with Steve and Bucky, Rhodey, Pepper, and Peter. Plus any other Avengers who happen to be there. And then, Nebula and his relationship became unexpectedly important. It was a challenge to balance the relationships. I wanted to show Steve and Tony, because we had been watching it grow for ages now, but I also wanted to establish his relationship with Pepper, something we had only barely caught a glimpse of before.

On a different note, one thing I cursed Endgame for all the time was the sheer number of characters it has. In scenes with the whole cast I could be juggling 15-20 characters! It was a lot!

It took a lot of work, but I managed to finish The Alternate End three chapters ahead of time. It was a relief to finish, and I was excited for the approaching time I could start posting the oneshots I had planned for this universe.

Writing Alternative Options

I started posting this story May 2021.

I'm not sure exactly when I first got the idea to write oneshots within this universe. I think I had some readers suggest oneshots of different character's povs, and at that point I didn't even try to resist the plot-bunnies. I was just like, "why not?"

I had one reader request an alternate scene to chapter 10 of Alternatively waaaay back at the beginning of this adventure. It intrigued me, so I wrote it and shared it with them privately. I also had a scene I had to take out chapter 35 of The Alternate Handler, so since I already had those two documents sitting on my computer, it was nice to come up with somewhere to share them with everyone.

Also, like Bucky's pov in The Alternate Handler, I had a lot of extra content in my head of other character's motivations and povs that don't get spotlighted in the other stories. It's all in my head anyways, I might as well share it somewhere.

I wrote the first eight or so oneshots of Alternative Options whenever I felt particularly inspired. I wrote the very first chapter back in February 2021, but I actually wrote the second chapter way back in August 2020 (same with the onshot A Change in Protocol.) I rearranged the first eight chapters into what I thought would flow best.

Writing the oneshots was sometimes a nice break from my main project. I think the oneshots are a nice way to end off too, because there is less pressure on them. The story is done now, I can write and post the oneshots whenever I feel like it, but readers will always have a complete story to go back to.

Unexpected Things

Everything about this series was unexpected (even if most of the plot was pretty scripted), but some things still amuse me. As I got deeper into this universe, I was surprised at the amount of people who were concerned I would kill characters or end things angstily.

I remember when I announced I would be writing a Civil War inspired fic, many people were concerned that Steve and Tony would fight like they did in the movie. It didn't even occur to me to reassure people that this wouldn't happen, because it seemed so impossible to me.

To me it was obvious that I had fixed so many things already in this universe. It seemed so straightforward to me that certain things simply could not happen. (Of course, it would always seem obvious to the author.)

I think people were a lot more nervous for my Civil War story than I intended them to be.

And then, when we got to Endgame, people surprised me by hoping I wouldn't do the Snap at all. It had not occurred to me that people would hope that. I felt the Snap needed to happen. If it didn't happen, then we couldn't see any of the other painful things be fixed.

Then, people surprised me again because they were very worried that I would kill Tony and Natasha. I had basically spent the last two years writing a 500,000 word mcu fix-it series. I wasn't about to kill Tony and Natasha at the end.

Still, I am very good at pulling on angsty heartstrings, so I can see why people were concerned.

(That is another thing I did not expect, the amount of people who told my I made them cry with my writing. It touches me every time it happens.)

Take Away

If you made it to the end of this long post, congratulations!

What will I take away from this amazing experience? Well, first off, not to be intimidated by long story ideas. I probably wouldn't have written this if I had conceived how long it would be. Lucky for us, I dived head-first into this, and just kept swimming.

Another thing that I think is important, is you don't have to be a super experienced writer to write big things. I had written nothing even close to this when I started. And my writing improved a lot during this journey.

I think looking at the finished product it is easy to think that I am just naturally an awesome author, but two years ago that wouldn't have been the case. Don't be intimidated by the finished products of authors. That is the culmination of hours of work, and it does not mean you can't do the same thing if you feel a similarly insistent plot-bunny.

Finally, I would like to thank all my readers! If you've been around since I first started posting, then that is 94 weeks (plus whatever Alternative Options turns out to be) of reading a chapter a week from me! That is amazing!

If you joined later along the ride, that is just as awesome! Thank you for plunging into such a long series!

If you have any questions or want to chat with me about plot choices I made, or my thoughts behind certain scenes—or anything really—feel free!

I hope you enjoyed! :D

Tl;dr:

I never planned to write any of the stories after Alternatively, until about halfway through posting the preceding stories. Plot bunnies are really insistent, and I had stuff planned in the background anyways, so I had to share it. By the time I was about halfway through The Alternate Handler I had accepted that I was going to write two more stories in the universe.

It was a lot of work, and I had never written anything anywhere close to this giant project. It was a lot of fun though, and I'm glad I did it.

#fanfic #fanfiction #the alternative timeline #the alternate timeline #Alternatively #the alternate handler #an alternate approach #the alternate end #writing #writer #writers #long post #alternative options

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f0rever15elf · 4 years ago

Note

How do you see the guys dealing with an s/o that has nightmares and bouts of sleep paralysis? I don’t have them as frequently as I used to but I know they’re coming after a couple of nights of sleeping poorly. I had a friend joke that no one would want to share a bed with me if they had to deal with that. It really hurt my feelings. It’s not something I can control but I can try to minimize their occurrence, TY!

Oh sweetie, I’ve had issues with sleep paralysis and I know that personally, there’s nothing I would have wanted more than having someone there with me to help calm me out of that state. We can’t control it, I completely understand.

Sleep Paralysis: Typically occurring just before falling asleep or just before waking up. The mind is aware of it’s surroundings while the body is unable to move or speak. Symptoms include a feeling of dread, a heavy weight on your chest, auditory and visual hallucinations. Episodes can last anywhere from 20 seconds to several minutes.

Head Canon Masterlist

When You Suffer from Sleep Paralysis.

Whiskey: If you don’t tell him about it at first, then the first time it happens scares him because he isn’t sure how to help you. He’s no stranger to horrifying dreams after the death of his wife, so when he hears your strangled sounding whimpering from your paralyzed state, he tries to ask you what’s wrong. when you don’t move or respond, he gets anxious and tries to shake you (carefully) our of whatever state your in. If you tell him before hand, the first words out of his mouth are “if it happens, what do I need to do to help you.” He’ll hang on your every word of how to help you. He’ll also ask if there’s a way to help prevent them. When you tell him that you need to stay well rested, he’ll do whatever he can to help you get that; be it helping you keep your schedule or helping you relax before bed so you sleep better, Jack will work you through it all. He may even swing by and ask Ginger if she knows any way to keep things like that at bay, medically speaking.

Javi: He doesn’t usually sleep well, the horrors of work following him home in his dreams almost every night, and there are times where he’s woken up with that weight on his chest and unable to move as his eyes play tricks on him with the shadows. If you tell him you suffer from them, he tells you what helps him to keep them away, hoping it may help you, and then ask you what helps you. he wants you to walk you through your nightmares so he can help to keep triggers away. If you don’t tell him you suffer from them, the first night it happens it clicks almost immediately and he’s rolling you over into his arms, speaking to you in a soft voice as he slowly rouses your body from sleep, hiding your eyes from the room to keep you from seeing anything. Every night the paralysis happens, this is what he does. He’s going to keep you safe.

Frankie: Frankie has PTSD induced nightmares, but nothing that kicks him into sleep paralysis. He’s pretty freaked the first time it happens to you, whether or not you tell him, but that’s just because he doesn’t know what it looks like or what’s happening to you. He’s worried you’re having a stroke or something. He’ll try to get your attention, cupping and tapping your face gently to try and rouse you enough to speak. When your body finally catches up with your mind and you can tell him what happened, he’s SO relieved that he just sits there and holds you in silence for a very long time. The only thing that breaks the silence is his question “what can I do to help next time?” He doesn’t like that he panicked, field training taught him to keep a level head, to solve the problem, and he wants to use that to help you however he can.

Ezra: Ezra doesn’t really sleep enough to have these issues, especially not when he’s on the green. His sleeping is always light to the point where very soft sounds rouse him. If you don’t tell him at first that you suffer from this, the first time it happens and he hears you whimpering, he rolls over and asks you what’s wrong. When you don’t reply, he gets nervous and rolls you to him and when he sees you looking scared, he gets even more worried. When your body finally lets you finish waking up to the point where you can talk, he’s playing 20 questions. What was that? Are you ok? What causes it? How can I help prevent it? What do I do if it happens again? He knows waking people up from night terrors can be dangerous, so he wants to make sure he takes care of you properly. After all, you’re his stardust.

Oberyn: He’s use to easing people from nightmares. His daughters suffered from them and he would always be there to soothe them when they cried out in the night. In many ways, he treats you the way he did them, holding you until you relax and calm down as he coos soft praises and sweet things too you, letting you know he’s still there to keep you safe. When you tell him that days of poor sleep or little rest help to trigger them, he does subtle things to change your schedule. More walks, especially in the evening; relaxing baths before bed with oils and perfumes the please the senses and relax the body; massages from his strong hands; and other...more intimate things to help prepare you for a wonderful sleep. He also lets you sleep as long as you need, knowing it will help you. Nightmares and sleep paralysis don’t bother him at all.

Din: So it’s called sleep paralysis? He’s suffered from it a few times, but never knew what it was called. If you mention it in passing, he starts looking things up on his datapad, wanting to know how to help you with this, maybe some tips and tricks you hadn’t thought of or had the chance to try. The first time it happens, he’s startled away by your whimpering; he’s a light sleeper like Ezra. He calls out to you in the dark of the sleeping quarters, reaching to pull you against him when you don’t reply. He talks to you, keeping it so you don’t hear any of the noises of the ship to add to any hallucinations you might have. He knows life on the Crest isn’t the most conducive to a regular sleep schedule, so he does what he can to make it more comfortable for you to rest better, to keep the episodes farther apart.

Pero: He doesn’t quite get it at first, and the thought probably flashes through his head once or twice that maaaaayyyybbbeeee you were hexed by a witch or plagued by a demon or something, but when you promise him they’re just bad dreams, he nods and believes you. At night, when you whimper, he pulls you against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, soothing you. He doesn’t mind at all, this man has seen so many terrible things, his partner having bad dreams doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of things he won’t deal with. He never makes you feel ashamed of what happens, but he does ask you if he can do anything to help. When you tell him that sleeping more regularly or getting better sleep seems to help, he tries to help keep you to a schedule, urging you both to bed at a reasonable time before helping you to unwind and relax in bed.

Max: If you tell him sometimes you hallucinate monsters in the shadows he arches an eyebrow and makes some sassy comment about “babe you’re with a literal vampire.” He backs off when you give him the look that says “i’ll open the curtains on you, don’t try me.” He doesn’t really sleep, so at night when it happens he’s well aware, hearing your heartbeat pickup and smelling your adrenaline. He’ll pull you to him, turning you against his chest so you can’t see the shadow monsters as he rubs his hands up and down your back to help try and wake up your body. he’ll also toss out that hey, he could always turn you. No nightmares and no joint pain. It’s a win-win!

Maxwell: Maxwell doesn’t like excessive touching most of the time, except when it comes to you. He wants to take care of you, he does. When you tell him about it, he offers to send you to a have a sleep study done to see if maybe there was an issue with how you were sleeping that causes it. If you turn that down, he’ll continue to offer to take you places or buy you things to help. You’ll need to talk over him, cut him off to get his attention to tell him what it is that you need or want from him. If that’s him holding you when you have the nightmares, he’ll do it. If it’s making sure you’re allowed to sleep for a certain amount of time, he’ll see it done. Suddenly, you find yourself taking many more relaxing baths before bed, and the amount of scented soaps and bath oils in the bathroom triple when you tell him you just need to relax before bed so you can sleep better. Spare no expense for you.

Marcus: Marcus is familiar with it, in terms of knowing what sleep paralysis is, but he’s never experienced it himself. The first time it happens and he hears you whimper, he’s really groggy, trying to shake you awake against his better judgement. When he realizes what’s happening, he tries to curl you to him to soothe you. In the morning, he’ll sit down and have a heart to heart with you about what he can do to better help you when that happens, and how he can help keep you from having those episodes to begin with, because he knows it’s scary and he doesn’t want you to have to suffer through them like that. He’ll ask if you think you need to see a doctor, but he won’t push it, taking your answers at face value. Concern and care are the only emotions on his face during this. He’d never judge you for something you couldn’t control.

#hcs #tw: sleep paralysis #marcus pike #maxwell lord #max phillips #din djarin #oberyn martell #javier pena #ezra #frankie morales #agent whiskey #pero tovar #Anonymous

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mooncruiser · 4 years ago

Photo

Heyy!! I’ve been meaning to pin my testimony, so here it is :)

So, my life wasn’t really the greatest growing up. I mention C-PTSD in my bio, and that’s what I’ll get into a bit. I’ll try not to be too graphic, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be totally safe.

There were some questionable things in my toddler years, a neglectful daycare center for 3 months, my dad being in and out of my life due to fear of getting attached at first, him flying off the handle once with me (my mom got on him for it, so it never happened again) but I think the trauma started with my cousins leaving me stuck out in a baby swing twice, a near death experience with a dog bite, and a homicidal attempt on me and my mom by my sister, who was 16 at the time (I’m 5 years old).

There was also the dog cage incident I believe at…6 years old? Me and my brother were playing and he forgot me on accident. I pretty much accepted at this point that life was gonna chain me up and try to kill me lol, but it let up for a good while, and I had a pretty decent childhood. At 9 years old, there was the torturously loud school program in the gym I had to sit through for 2 hours, I think.

It was at 10 when things became chronically ongoing. Domestic violence at home from my sister (physical, emotional abuse on me and my family), more physical and emotional abuse at school from my assistant teacher because I was on an IEP for my autism. At 11, I was sexually abused by my female friend who was 12, and her female cousin, who was 13. I was abandoned by my cousins and aunt, and I was being placed in a seclusion room at school during standardized tests (which was sensory deprived solitary confinement) even after I was finished for the day. At 12 years old, I started being emotionally neglected by my mother.

I mean, I was so angry and depressed and secretly suicidal at 10, but by 12 I was severely dissociating (I had been dissociating during trauma at various times prior). I had so much fear and anxiety that by the time I was 13 I’d be feeling like passing out 24/7, so I got on meds, which only helped the more severe physical symptoms, I guess.

At 13, I started being groomed by this high school girl that liked me. She was a Sophomore, and I was in 7th grade. She noticed the neglect and told me she knew me better. She would give me gifts, teach me to ship gay pairings, gave me a gay pedophilic manga. Shamelessly told me she had sexual relations with her male cousin and his friends who were around my age. I blocked it out.

I also had a very abusive friendship with a girl online who had BPD. My assistant teacher, who came with me to middle school, restrained and tortured me with the marching band’s loud music in the hallway, which only intensified my dissociative symptoms (I was actually switching alters at this point regularly and having no idea).

I remember at 13 being confused about my gender and sexuality. My mom was no help and just wanted me to hide it from my family and everyone else, for reputation purposes and she didn’t want me bullied. That was actually how I decided to get in contact with my grooming abuser, which I wonder at this point whether that was my fault. I didn’t expect her to really take over like she did, but I was essentially brainwashed into accepting whatever I was feeling for her benefit. I just wanted advice and a friend.

I was so lonely, I had been desperate for friends for years, and I was desperate for someone to love me in any way, honestly. I was overeating. I’d spend hours daydreaming, in video games or entertainment to escape from school and everything else. During meltdowns, I’d be doing self injurious behaviors.

So by 14, I come out as a lesbian. Had a couple relationships with girls who just saw me as a sexual object (I remember saying yes to sexual things even though I didn’t want to, just so that they wouldn’t abandon me. Dissociating off and finding it disgusting), would cheat on me with multiple people, ignore me for new friends, etc.

The BPD friend I dated, when I broke up with her, immediately attempted suicide so that scarred me more into our trauma bond. She’d show me self harm pics she took from time to time. It scared me into making sure I didn’t trigger her again, but u know I never knew what triggered her in the first place, so, like with everything else, I had no strategy to life. It was either fight, run, dissociate or nod yes to everything. She took up the latter lol.

I came out as trans my Freshman year, and stayed that way into my Sophomore year. I was bitter about dating because of the whole sexual object thing, and full of shame at the same time, thinking no one would want me. I thought I was asexual. I tried out a career high school honestly just to get away from the memories of my old school.

Some feelings about being trans started to fade, but not entirely, so I went by genderfluid/genderqueer from 17-19. I was excited to make new friends at my new school, but my anxiety kept me from it. I opened up very awkwardly about my dating history to one girl (which tbh I shouldn’t have, but I had been brainwashed so lol) and she told all the girls in my lab, and I was excluded and bullied (and cyberbullied) from thereon.

I didn’t know it at first, it was so subtle. But once I knew, I tried standing up for myself and told the principal, which made them leave me alone for the most part. They’d glare at me, use me at graduation, cyberbully me one last time 8 months after graduation, and that was it. I still had to deal with domestic violence until I was 22, but once I graduated everything pretty much hit me.

I knew I’d be too stressed out to go to college or work. School indoctrination tried to teach me to be neurotypical and expect this, but it wasn’t happening. I was too afraid to leave my house for a year, and too afraid to be honest online for fear of being watched and bullied, or stalked. I was seriously considering suicide down the line. I thought I had nothing left to live for. I was useless. Nobody cared. Friends moved on to their new lives and I was dying.

That’s when Jesus stepped in.

I guess I started being curious about God again for the first time since I was 12. I always believed in God, was grateful to Him for being there for me during the domestic violence and never blamed Him for it. I found out about worship music and was thrilled, and a question came up. Was being gay a sin? My grooming abuser taught me that God made me gay, so it was alright. But I wanted to know for sure this time from the Word.

To my surprise, she was wrong. The Bible said it was indeed, a sin (the practice, not so much the identity aspect). I couldn’t piece together why, so I struggled with it for months. On my 20th birthday however, when I got done creating fanart of a gay pairing, I felt strongly convicted by the Holy Spirit that it was wrong. So I went to God.

I said, “If it is wrong, please change me so I can make You happy, because I love You. In the meantime, I won’t do anything in support of it for a while. If it’s not wrong, don’t change me, and I’ll know which way is right because I trust You.” When I look back on it, it was a pretty crazy prayer. Lots of people have said they couldn’t “pray the gay away”, and I do wonder what the difference was with me.

After 3 months, I stopped to check if I still felt anything, and the feelings were gone. My gender dysphoria was gone, too. I was way too afraid to tell anybody yet, but I remember when I did, one of the first people I told was my grooming abuser.

She was livid, tried one last time to intimidate me. Another time we crossed paths (she came out of nowhere saying hi, said she worked at that market, complimented me and walked away smiling) and I was triggered, I messaged her and told her how she hurt me and I couldn’t bear to be around her anymore, but I hoped she’d have a good life. She didn’t respond online, but she complained to my sister that I thought she was a predator, and by the end of the conversation tries to get her to tell me she said hi. When she had kids, she was planning on raising them to be nonbinary. Her husband was abusive to them, so she ended up losing them. She never bugged me again.

I was blown away by how God had changed me. How He opened my eyes to the truth. I prayed for Him to open my eyes to whatever else I had been blind to, and He slowly began lifting off the amnesia surrounding all my traumas, urging me towards recovery with Him. I realized I might have OSDD-1b recently as well, which is strange that I could have possibly had DID prior to losing my amnesia?

I have been on this journey ever since, journaling, blogging, researching, and finally in a wonderful therapy called EMDR where I truly release the traumas from my body, hear God’s new positive beliefs to replace old negative ones from my childhood, and experience loving extraordinary visions while processing that teach me to focus on Jesus, trust Him more, love and pray for my enemies, and have a real satisfying relationship with Him that’s unattainable with anyone on Earth, along with daily Bible study.

The picture on the left was me at 16 in my old life, the one on the right is me in my new creation :) God bless all of you, thank you for reading this far 💕💖

#testimony #long post

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justjessame · 4 years ago

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Starting Over Chapter 30

We spent the night at Bucky’s - not because he had so much to pack, or because it was cozy and we wanted to leave it with a good memory, but honestly because the idea of redressing after we undressed for the second time was repugnant to both of us.

“I do have a bed,” he teased, hovering over me where I was prone on his living room floor, but I shook my head and arched into him ending whatever push he was making for a move to another room, but getting him to roll onto his back and giving me full reign of our lovemaking.

Nipping his lip and getting him to laugh, I couldn’t help but take a minute to just appreciate how fucking gorgeous he was looked - the blue light flickering from the television highlighting all the best parts of him - which were all of him, to be honest.

“Come here,” I pulled on his shoulders, knowing that if he didn’t want to rise up with me I wouldn’t be able to make him, but he did, sitting up - chest to chest with me, my arms wrapping around his neck I stared into his eyes. “You are -” I wasn’t sure how to articulate it, to say just what he was to me. “I love you and it doesn’t seem like it’s -” but he didn’t let me try to finish, his mouth meeting mine as his fingertips danced down my spine. “I thought it was my turn to be in charge,” I murmured when his lips left mine, ghosting along my jaw to nip at my pulse.

“You weren’t really doing much with the power, Brooke,” he teased, his tongue tasting the hint of sweat we’d managed to work up since we’d arrived.

“Are you daring me, James?” I moved just enough to get a sharp inhaled breath - loud enough for me to hear for once, “well?”

Bucky’s teeth met my pulse and I swallowed just as loudly as he’d inhaled. He didn’t bite, he only let me feel them against my skin and I knew that he felt how that tiny pressure affected me all the way down to where we were joined. “Maybe,” his breath against my skin, those two syllables had me rock my hips once - earning a hiss from his lips.

My fingers slid through his hair and met at the base of his neck, tugging to get his gaze to meet mine again. “Come here,” I urged, and then our lips met again, but this time I rode him as our teeth and tongues dueled, and if I had been loud at the hotel in Louisiana, I made damn sure that I had company in the noise pollution here in New York.

He carried me to his bed, refusing to sleep on the floor after our exercise. Laying me down carefully on a blanket that felt brand new, he traced over my skin as if he was taking inventory. Just as I was getting ready to ask if he was planning on joining me, his fingertips stopped their journey, and I looked up to see him staring at where they’d landed.

“What is it?” I considered raising up on my elbows, but I was comfortable, even without being under the blanket or cradled in his arms.

“I bruised you,” he was worrying his lower lip with those brilliant white teeth of his and I almost teased him about how I was pretty sure he also left a bite mark or two on me, but his eyes were narrowed with concern so I knew now was not the time to mock his upset.

I let my own hand drift down to meet his, touching his fingers that were still laying gently against my skin. “Hey,” his eyes met mine and I smiled. “I’m pretty sure that you’re wearing a few marks from me, too.” I knew he was, not only the bite from the plane, but scratches and who knew what other marks I’d managed to make on his skin - he’d called me a hellcat and I felt certain I’d earned it.

Bucky sighed and started to pull away, but I was having NONE of that. My hand touched his, then I worked to hold on, getting our fingers linked in spite of his less than best efforts. “You really think that you could hurt me?” I shook my head and he sighed, letting me pull him down onto the bed beside me. “Physically?” His eyebrow was arched in a wondrous display of complete disbelief in my ability to cause him harm. ��

I shook my head at him. “No, I don’t think I can hurt you, Buck.” I sighed, and waited while he situated the pillows to his liking that way I could use him for MY pillow. Once he managed the feat, I pressed my cheek against his chest, next to his dog tags, where I could hear his heart pound soothingly. “I think that you need to understand that I’m not going to break because we got frisky,” he sighed again, but his fingers were back on my skin, sliding gently over the bareness, drawing designs again, brushing my loose hair out of his way. “Are you listening to me?” He hummed and I went on, snuggling into his chest. “A bruise here or there, a scratch or two or three? A bite or a mark? None of that matters, Bucky. It doesn’t because it wasn’t done in anger.”

Another sigh, with less force, but I knew that he was listening to me, so I waited for him to counter my argument. “I - I don’t want to hurt YOU,” his chin was on the top of my head, the heat of his breath was hot against my scalp. “My strength, I could so easily -”

“Hey,” I moved so my chin was propped up on his sternum, with his head on the pillows it was an awkward angle, but we made it work so we could look at one another. “You didn’t. I’m fine. Complete working order here, Bucky Barnes.” I smiled up at him, before I moved my face back down to face against his chest, kissing his skin. “I only LET you carry me in here like Tarzan because you seem to like manhandling me.”

That got a laugh, which was the point. Bucky getting tense over something as slight as a little discoloration after we had sexy fun times, which I planned on us having much more of I might add, wasn’t something I wanted to become routine. I knew he had baggage, who wouldn’t be given his past, but I fully intended to make sure that he knew that I loved him and he wasn’t broken or ruined. Together we were two slightly fucked up people, but I thought that together we might be able to figure things out and make our combined shit more manageable.

I left the next morning, after I had leftover Chinese - since Bucky had been out of town for long enough to make me doubt most of what was left in his fridge. He had to check in with his therapist - a reminder from me for that gold star so I could celebrate with him at the house later - and then he was coming back to his place to pack up to move in with me.

“Do you need help?” I would stay, I could stay, but he shook his head as his grin took my breath away.

“The only things that are really mine are my clothes and books,” he promised, and I smiled up at him as he put my bags into the Uber that had arrived to take me back to my - OUR - house. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way,” he held the door for me as I got into the car and then leaned into kiss me goodbye. “No more pineapples,” he vowed and I nodded.

“Gold star, mister,” I reminded him and he shook his head with a huge smile. “I love you,” I mouthed as the driver pulled away, and my heart stuttered as I watched him mouth the words right back.

I needed the time it was going to take him to check in with Raynor and pack up his humble belongings to get my own welcome home surprise together. I texted Connie during the drive from his apartment and was laughing as she texted me back almost immediately.

“Oh NOW you have time for me” the addition of a few choice emojis reminded me of my failure as a best friend, but then she sent another text. “How long are you alone before he’s back within sniffing range?”

I sent her my best estimate and she calmed my ratcheting nerves by reminding me that she had half days and she’d be over to help me set the scene for Bucky’s return. When the driver let me out, shucking my bags onto the porch, I took a deep breath and hoped like fuck that I wasn’t about to set off some trigger in Bucky’s PTSD reserves with my little surprise. That would suck balls, and it would ruin our first night as cohabitants in the house.

Looking around the living room once I got my bags inside, it sobered me when I realized that technically the wrong trigger with Bucky could actually fucking demolish the house. Oh well, I thought, putting as much forced positivity into the thought as I could - too late to back out now.

#bucky barnes/oc #the falcon and the winter soldier #alternate universe #slight smut #FLUFF AND SMUT #humor

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wtnrscap · 4 years ago

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Cursed Words- Freight Car

Pairings- Bucky Barnes x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Bruce Banner, mentions of past Natasha Romanoff x Clint Barton, mentions of past Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes.

Summary- Bucky begs a favour as the last week of treatment approaches. Steve offers you advise and the words become no more.

Warnings- (18+) Mentions of blood, death, injury detail, PTSD, panic and anxiety attacks. Swearing, fluff. Dirty talk, dirty fantasies. Eventual smut.

A/N- Accidentally brought past Stucky into this. Yes, it’s a lousy way to get the freight car in there. Offically, this is the last chapter but there’s also a smut epilogue to come and then, although it may be badly written, you’ll see the effects of reading fanfiction for 5 years. I am opening a permanent taglist for future fanfictions as well as putting writing on hold to sort out my masterlists. This will all be done when this series over, so don’t worry yet.

Also, look out for the Infinity War line! Taglist is open. Prompts list is here.

Cursed Words Masterlist

A small smile brightens your face as Steve reads the last word slowly. A few seconds later and Bucky produces a shaky thumbs-up. You sigh in relief, “Did that just happen? Did with just have a successful run?”

Steve nods his head and you squeal, jumping into his arms, hugging him tightly. Bruce releases the door as Tony pats you on the shoulder, “Which means the last stage of the treatment has arrived.”

“Reassociation...” the four of you say simultaneously. A brief silence. Slowly, you turn back to Steve as Bucky staggers out of the cell, “Guess you’d better pick some really strong memories, Cap. Ready to go, Bucky?”

Bucky nods his head. When you got back off the holiday, he’d insisted on walking himself out the cell. Something about building up strength and resistance. You hadn’t really been listening due to the fact he’d been parading around the military uniform again, trying it on for size. Or so he claimed. It wasn’t like the dreamy look you’d had on your face had gone unnoticed.

The cast had been off for 3 weeks and although Helen had told you to take things easy, you’d been wondering when you and Bucky would have sex. He’d said as soon as your leg was free but then changed his plan. He wanted the treatment to be completely finished. Which left you extremely sexually frustrated. Especially when he walked around in those stupidly tight shirts.

“Doll, you with me?” Bucky voice jolts you and you smile, clasping his hand and making your way back to his room, which, frankly, was more yours now.

“How are you feeling?” you ask as Bucky climbs out of the shower and you close the floor-length drapes. He shrugs and pulls on a grey shirt, the short hair falling across his forehead. When he’d had the long hair, hiding his eyes has been his defence mechanism but he couldn’t hide from you any longer. You sign, walking over to him and brushing the hair away, “You look tired.”

“I am almost 100, Y/N...”

“Really? What’s your secret?”

Bucky chuckles and you smile, sitting cross-legged on the bed, “What do you wanna watch? I really wanna finish the Harry Potter films so we can start Fantastic Beasts and--”

“Can I ask you something?” interrupts Bucky, his eyes no longer meeting yours. Immediately you can tell that something is wrong. A metal hand touches yours, “Please?”

“Yeah... yeah, of course. Anything...” a smile to hide the worry. He’d never know.

Bucky bites his lips slightly and you cup his cheek with your hand, “Stop overthinking. We’ve been together a few months. I trust you. Just ask me already.”

“Okay... Um... You know we have to do the reassociation bit?”

“Yes...”

“Well... I don’t want Steve to do it...”

“Bucky, who else is going to do it? You don’t have powerful memories with anyone else and--”

“You.”

Your mind goes blank, “What?”

“I want you to do it. We’ve known each other for a few years and have been dating a few months. My memories with you are so powerful. I daresay more powerful than the ones I have with Steve. Please. Can you do this one thing for me? As a favour?”

To you, it feels as though the world has stopped turning. How could he ask you to do something like this? Did he really think you’d just agree?

You shake your head, “No. Absolutely not.”

“Baby... Come on... I need this...”

You stand and go to the window your heart pounding. At his words, you snap your head around to stare at him in disbelief, tears slipping down your cheeks, “DON’T YOU DARE ‘BABY’ ME! I don’t care if you need this, Buck. What if it didn’t work, or went wrong? It would be my fault! I can’t do this for you! I’m sorry. Steve has already said yes, and you should be grateful for it!”

He stands too, arms outreaching, “Okay... Okay... I’m sorry. I want you to do this. I trust you completely. I know you won’t mess it up, but if you don’t want to do it, that’s fine. I urge you to sleep on it, but it’s your call, I promise. Just come back to bed, please.”

Admitting defeat, you slip back beneath the covers and Bucky turns the bedside lamp off, his arms slipping around you, “I love you, Y/N...”

“I love you too, Buck. I’m sorry I can’t be enough. I’m sorry I can’t be what you want.”

“You are more than enough, more than I deserve. You are all I want...”

Tony and Bruce allow Bucky a few weeks rest, letting memories be made and giving his mind a chance to reset. Bucky lapped up the relaxation. Weeks of electrifying torture and yet he still seemed to wear a bright smile.

You, on the other hand, were not happy. Bucky continued to ask you say the words for him. He’d ask on Monday, you’d say no and he’d ask again on Wednesday. The days were counting down till the last week of treatment and Bucky could no longer he wasn’t worried. He was getting desperate. So he went to the one other person he could rely on.

“Steve, please! I need you to convince her!” Bucky cries and Steve sighs, putting his head in his hands, “Why can’t you?”

“I’ve tried and now she’s starting to avoid me! And you’re her best friend and we both know that there is a big difference between friends and lovers!”

Steve flushes, remembering the summer of 1935 and the time he spent with Bucky. There was no going back to that relationship, but neither Steve nor Bucky had regretted it, as it had helped to develop them as people. He sighs again, “Okay, okay, I’ll talk to her.”

“Thank you!”

You sit on the roof watching the sun go down. It’s crazy to you that just a few months ago you had your first date with Bucky here. So much had happened since then. You sigh, fingering the dog tags, the last of the sun rays dancing across your face. A voice calls out to you, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Steve sits next to you on the ledge and you lean into him, nodding your head, “Yeah. I like it up here. Gives me a chance to think.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Bucky asked me to read the words.”

“Yeah, he told me about that. Apparently, you said no. Wanted me to do it.”

You nod your head, but it’s halfhearted. Steve notices, “Oh, you’re actually considering it.”

“I’ve had time to think about it...” you mutter. Steve smiles, “No. You know it has to be you. The memories I have with Bucky are powerful but you are his lover, and there is a difference between lovers and best friends. You know that as well as me.”

“Steve...” you look up at him with big eyes, “I want to help, I really do... But what if it goes wrong?”

“Want to know something interesting?” asks Steve, “I spoke to Tony and Bruce, and they said it doesn’t matter who does it because both our memories with Bucky are powerful enough. However, if I do the job, then that chances are, we’ will have to do it again. If you do it, we will only have to do it once. Do you understand?”

You nod your head as a peaceful silence descends on the two of you. You’ve had a few weeks to think about it and now, you know you’ve made your mind up.

“Steve, if I do this... You have to promise me a few things.”

“Anything.”

“If I can’t finish it, then promise me you’ll take over.”

“Done.”

“You have to let me use you in the association.”

“Done.”

“And finally, let me hold your hand. Let me squeeze it really tight and just be near me. Because I don’t think I can do this by myself.”

Steve stares you with his huge blue orbs and clasps your hand in his, “I promise. Absolutely.”

“Thank you, Steve, that means a lot...” you lean your head on Steve’s shoulder, enjoying what feels like your last night of sanity.

The lab is swathed in sunlight, but you sit in the darkest corner, away from Tony, and Bruce and Steve. You watch the cameras as the clasps tighten around Bucky’s wrists and ankles and the door closes with a snap, the locks clicking into place. Tony and Bruce mutter to each other as Steve watches you apprehensively as you hold the damp towel to your burning hand. You’ve just had the worst morning.

Bucky was overjoyed that you were going to read the words, and decided to pamper you all night long. Long baths and cuddles, lingering kisses and whispers of sweet nothings to reassure you, but come morning and you had 3 panic attacks.

One in the bathroom, sobbing quietly, trying not to wake Bucky. You thought you’d had it under control till you’d hit the floor. Bucky had woken and rushed to your side, carried you back to bed and comforted you.

The second one had been in the kitchen. Your hand had been shaking as you made coffee, trying to wake yourself up. You could feel all eyes on you as the pot brewed and when you poured some int a mug, the pot slipped, burning your hand bright red. With a scream, you ran from the room and began to cry, the pain triggering the panic attack. Steve and Natasha had followed you and comforted you through that one.

The third one had happened on the way to the lab. You’d tried to stay calm despite the aftershocks of the previous attacks still hitting you. Your tongue felt woolly in your mouth and your heart rate had sped up. Both Bucky and Steve could hear your heartrate and managed to shove you into a conference room before you broke down again. Once your breathing was regulated, you thanked your boys, giving Steve a gentle kiss on the cheek and Bucky a kiss on the lips.

“Are you ready?” Steve offers you his hand and you take it, squeezing it tightly. Steve rolls your chair to the camera and the mic, “That’s it... Squeeze my hand as tightly as you want. I’m a supersoldier, I can take it.”

“Until I crush your fingers...” you mutter which makes Steve laugh. The lights in the vibranium room dim and Bucky’s shaky voice comes through the speakers, “Ready when you are. Don’t worry, Y/N... You could never hurt me...”

“Really? How are you feeling right now?” you counter nervously and Bucky chuckles. Bruce turns around to look at Tony, “Are we good to go, Tony?”

“Ready when Y/N is!”

You glance at Steve and he nods his head, his fingers now squeezing yours. Tony and Bruce smile encouragingly at you and you turn back to the camera, looking at Bucky. He looks directly in the camera, “You asked me what I was feeling? It’s not what, it’s who. I feel you... I just feel you...”

“James Buchanan Barnes, when I first met you, you were cold and unsocial, but immediately, I was longing to know you. We both have such twisted pasts and I knew, despite that, your rusted heart was secretly golden. You’re a big softie. At seventeen you had your first love, our own dear Stevie... You shared a kiss at daybreak, do you remember that day? I bet it was beautiful. When I met you, you made me feel like a furnace, my whole face was on fire with embarrassment. I tripped over in front of you and you roared with laughter. Ever since that day, I tried to make you blush back, My record was nine times. I tried to be benign because you deserved a little kindness and love in your life. Do you remember when I told you about homecoming? You made me feel so loved and so protected, a feeling so foreign to me. When we went to that cabin, and we sat in front of the fire with hot drinks and smiles, I knew then. You were the one for me. You hit me like a freight car, and I wasn’t expecting it. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you, James Buchanan Barnes...”

Bucky grunts and growls, his arms twitching, sweating profusely. As soon as you’re done, he looks at the camera, “Steve! Read the words! Read the goddamn words!”

Steve leaps forward, “Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car! Soldier?”

Bucky screams, his arms straining to get out of the clasps. You throw your hands over your ears, falling to the ground, another panic attack coming. You begin to mutter to yourself, “It didn’t work... It didn’t work... It didn’t work...”

The whole room is plunged into darkness and Tony swears, “I think we just overpowered the grid...”

Steve is yelling your name, Bruce and Tony are arguing, everything is dark and cold and then... silence.

A voice rings out through the speakers, chilling you to the bone.

“I will never fucking comply again.”

Taglist:

@indecisivedolly

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thewalkingfanfictions · 5 years ago

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Teddy Bears and Memories -- Sam Winchester x Male!Reader

Teddy Bears and Memories — Sam Winchester x Male!reader

Description: (name) and his little sister are partnering with the Winchester brothers on a case. Everything's fine and dandy, they've already killed the creature and are hanging out at the motel for the night, when Maddie ((names) sister) decides to pull a prank on her brother, resulting in aggressive flashbacks, intense PTSD and a moose ready to comfort a crying friend.

⚠Warning⚠: IF YOU GET TRIGGERED EASILY, DO NOT READ THIS. This deals with descriptions of rape, (though I tried to keep it vague) PTSD, flashbacks, and a kinda sorta mental breakdown. Cursing, grammar errors, and also quite a lot of negative and toxic thoughts.

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Pairing: Sam Winchester x sexually abused!male!reader

A/N: this is... kinda awful. Like, it made me cold reading this. Seriously don't read it if you get triggered easily. Also, the first, like, quarter, I wrote in a huge hurry, so ignore how trash it is. And its kinda writen shitily, but whatever.

Words without A/N: 4382

Masterlist

<—————————————>

"You gotta watch this," it was my sister. I would recognize her voice anywhere, even though she was whispering and clearly trying to keep me from hearing her. "He's terrified of them, its hilarious."

I wonder who she's dragging with her this time.

Deciding to let her continue to think she was sneaking up on me, I kept quiet and never moved my eyes from the lore book that I'd been studying for the past half hour. Though the case was over now, I still figured it would be a good idea to learn as much as I could about the Leeds' Devil, that way I'd know how to deal with it if we ever ran into another.

I could hear her creeping up on me, thinking I still didn't know she was there. There was another pair of footsteps with her. One of the brothers, no doubt.

It was quiet for just half a second, and I figured she'd be popping up in just a moment to try and jump scare me or something. You know, typical younger sibling style.

"He's terrified of them, its hilarious."

Wait.

There was a quiet, girlish giggle, and I'm sure my eyes grew double their size as I figured out exactly what she was doing.

I flung my head to the side to see if she was going to do the thing I thought she was going to do (and desperately hoped she wasn't going to do), and immediately choked on air.

Tiny, beady eyes set high on soft brown fur. Little, round ears on top of a fluffy head.

No.

Rancid, green breath, so-brown-they're-almost-black eyes, sticky fingers touching places they should never be allowed to touch. Bookshelves full of teddy bears looking down on me with empty eyes and sown-on smiles.

I felt my entire body seize up, and before I could make myself come back down to earth, I was hurling the book in my hands at the furry little demon-bear in my little sisters hands and rolling off of the bed and to the floor. Flight-or-fight reflexes kicking in, I shoved myself back to my feet and fled towards the doorway. Away from the sound of heavy breathing and old-people BO that suddenly overwhelmed me.

And then it was in front of me, too.

Maddie, with that little ball of fluff and nightmare fuel in her hands, had darted ahead of me, between me and the only exit from the hotel room.

No.

Callased, rough hands, man-handeling me and shoving me onto my knees. Cold cuffs digging into my small wrists. Boiling breath ghosting over my too-cold skin. Hundreds of eyes staring at me from the shelves around us, none willing to help.

Fucking no.

Fighting past the urge to break into tears, I swatted the thing away from me, and (maybe a little too harshly) shoved my sister out of the way of the door.

"(Name)?" She called, like she didn't know what she was doing to me.

I locked eyes with someone for half a second, Sam, I think before I was out the door and down the sidewalk, towards my (favorite color) Chevrolet.

I heard Maddie call out for me one more time before the car door slammed closed, and I was taking off parallel to the sunset.

Before I even left the parking lot, I clicked on the radio and turned it up to its max volume. If I couldn't hear myself think, then I couldn't see the little black, beetly-like eyes boring into me as my youth died.

I don't exactly know how long I was driving, but somehow I found myself parked at a view point above the town, and the sky was now completely black, not even a hint of the sunset that had shined what felt like just a moment ago.

There were no lights to pollute the darkness of the sky, and the stars shown more brightly than I'd seen in a very long time. Shutting off the Chevrolet's engine, I pulled myself out of the door, and drug my body atop it's hood to look up at the sky. It's amazing how little I'd payed attention to how gorgeous the stars could be before now.

I settled back into the windshield and exhaled, forcing myself not to think for once. It only felt like moments, but it had to have been at least an hour I had sat there, and my arms were beginning to grow goosebumps from the cold. Wrapping them around me, I continued to study the sky; I didn't want to have to go back to the real world just yet.

Emotions were hard. They're difficult to understand, and even more difficult to explain. But something I had realized, I'm not entirely sure when, was that you can suffer from more than one emotion at a time, and that made life so, so much worse. Because, right now, I felt incredibly heavy. I was mourning the death of an innocence I never had the chance to get to know, and I felt completely devastated. Wrecked to my very core. But, underneath all of that, some stupid, small bubble of something resembling happiness, a feeling that had absolutely no right to be present now, grew just under my ribcage, and weaseled its way passed the smog of memories as the gravel behind me shifted with the wheels of a car, and the purring of the Impala's engine broke the relative quiet of the night.

I doubted it was Dean, he's never been very good at emotions, and it was definitely not my sibling, she knew to leave me alone when I needed quiet. That left Sam, and the thought of seeing the ridiculously tall man made my insides flutter cliché-ly.

I closed my eyes and followed the sound of the drivers side door opening, his feet planting on the pine needle-layden gravel. The soft close of the door, his steps growing, ever, nearer. Soon enough he was right by the drivers side of my car, and I could feel his eyes boring into the side of my face. I knew he had questions, but I just wasn't ready to tell.

"(Name)?" His voice was quiet, gentle. Barely a whisper. Like if he spoke to loudly he might shatter me like glass.

"Hey, you okay?" His steps were now right beside me, I could almost feel the warmth fluttering off of him.

'Not even a little.'

I nodded in response, not really trusting my voice to work without breaking. Finally opening my eyes, I refused to look over at him, instead opting to stare up at Ursa and her cub.

"Your sister," he started. Here we go. "She's worried about you. When you didn't pick up your cell, she was afraid something'd happened to you."

"Something did," I wanted to say. I wanted to scream, rant, and sob. But, of course, "I'm fine" was what passed my lips instead. The words sounded fake, even to my own ears.

I heard him sigh as he leaned closer, settling his hip against the hood of the car and staring down at me. I clenched my eyes closed; this is usually right around the time that someone would start asking questions with answers I didn't want to think about, or comment something snide about my stupid, irrational fear.

That bubble of happiness at his being there shrank.

"What do you want?" I asked, barely loud enough to be heard. I didn't care if I sounded rude.

It was silent for a second, like he was debating his answer, or just didn't have one.

"I," he paused, "I guess I just want to help you," his tone matched mine. "I saw the look in your eyes, (name), I know whatever it is, it's more than just a fear. I want to help you."

I was actually, truly speechless for once. He sounded so sincere, it was more than even my sister had expressed. Not that she'd ever actually shown any concern, she just thought it was funny that her big bro was terrified of teddy bears.

I couldn't tell him, of course, he'd just think me even weaker than he probably already assumed after seeing me have a meltdown over a fucking stuffed carnival toy. I shook my head.

"I'm fine."

"(Name)," he trailed off, his voice somehow even softer than it was before.

I wanted to tell him. I wanted to scream it at the top of my lungs just to get it off of my chest. It's a secret I've held since I was barely fourteen. Nobody knew, and I needed it to stay that way, but desperately wanted the pressure to come off of my chest. I don't know how much longer I can keep my silence.

I trusted him, that was never a problem. I trusted him with my life, and I knew he'd never hurt me with the knowledge, but it was still a huge risk. What if Maddie ever found out? I'd be devastated. She didn't need to know how pathetic her big brother was.

I felt words bubble up in my throat without my consent, spilling from my lips like molten rock.

"If," I started, clearing my throat to hide the break in my voice, "if I, uh, if I were to tell you somethin', would you promise me that you'll never tell another soul?" I sounded nothing like myself, even to me. "You can't...my sister can't ever know. She's-she's-she... she wouldn't understand." My voice was barely above a whisper, and cracked on every other note.

"Of-of course!" Sam said earnestly, moving to sit atop the hood beside me. I could see his hand move to grasp my shoulder, but pulled back at the last minute, afraid to touch me lest I break. I didn't blame him.

"Promise?"

I turned my head to look at him and wrapped my arms tighter around my body; whether it was to ward off the cold, or the oncoming pain, I didn't even know.

"Of course, (name), I wouldn't tell anybody, I promise."

Only after searching his eyes for his honesty did I let myself relax some. I trusted that he'd keep his word.

He looked slightly uncomfortable with the way his lanky frame was leant over the edge of the cars hood, like he was stuck on the fence between moving to comfort me and giving me my space. I sarcastically rolled my eyes, scooting over enough for him to climb on more comfortably. He warily pushed himself further up, then lay on his back to look up at the stars like I was. I finally turned my gaze away from him and focused back on the night sky.

They really were pretty out here.

"When I was," I gulped and paused. Not even the person I trusted the most in this world knew; I still can't grasp why I'm about to do what I'm about to do. Maybe it was the bubbling in my gut that told me that he'd understand, maybe I was just weak, maybe I just didn't want to be the only one with this secret anymore.

I made myself start again.

"When I was about fourteen, I was on a hunt with my father. There had been multiple disappearances of children around this one little area in Minnesota, and we had gone to check it out. It was terrible. The youngest kid was nine, and the oldest was fifteen and they'd all disappeared without a trace. No signs of struggle, no witnesses, nothing. Just, poof," I moved my hands to mimic an explosion, for some reason, "and they were gone.

"The local authorities believed it was a person kidnapping them, dad thought it was something else, understandably. Most of the evidence pointed towards something less-than normal. For once, the popo's were right." I laughed ruefully at myself, biting my tongue to keep the whimper that threatened to fight its way up my throat from escaping.

"I don't know how it happened," I cleared my throat and continued. "I don't remember getting split up from dad, I don't remember hi-him grabbing me, I don't even remember the drive there, but when I woke up, I," I choked, pulling my arms closer around me and trying in vain to hold back the burning in my eyes.

"I, uhm, I was," I tried again, with no more luck than before. Strong arms hesitantly wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into a warm side and gently petting my hair. I cleared my throat again.

"I was completely naked, tie-tied to a bench in a room with shelves from floor to ceiling completely," I choked on my words again, turning to bury myself into Sam's chest. I could still see the room if I closed my eyes. "entirely covered in, in, in, those things. Teddy bears. Their beady little black eyes looking down at me as I struggled against the ropes. I was so-so helpless, I couldn't move, or scream, or-or-or–" he pulled me tighter into him, his hand playing in the strands of my hair. I sucked in a deep breath and held it for a second before letting it out, trying to calm myself.

Why couldn't I just stop talking? He didn't want to hear any of this. I'm just annoying him, he'd rather be back at the warm motel with a book and slightly more mentally stable people. And yet I keep going.

"He... he raped me, Sammy, he fucking raped me and all of those teddy bears sat there with their beady little black eyes staring at me." I felt him tense against me, somehow pulling me even closer still. A small, ragged gasp came from the man. "Nobody found me for three days. He had raped and beaten and-and-and hurt me for three fucking days before he tried to take me out to kill me and dump my body, and dad found us. Three fu-fucking days," I was all but sobbing at this point, clinging on to him as I saw the walls covered in children's toys closing in on me. If I let my mind wander, I could still feel his hands groping me. I felt so small.

"(Name)," Sam shuddered against me, gently petting my shoulder as he held my quaking body. "(Name), I had no idea, I'm so–"

"Don't say you're sorry. Please don't say you're sorry. It's not like its somehow your fault. It sounds like pity, and I don't want your pity," I ground out into his warm chest, not letting go of him.

I didn't need anyone's pity, and I sure as hell didn't want anyone's pity. I felt him nod his head above me, before his long body turned on the hood of the car, and he pulled me tightly into his chest as the rest of him curled around my shaking frame.

I couldn't quite tell if the pressure in my chest was good or not.

I'm not sure how long we sat like that, cuddled on the hood of my car, but eventually, once my sobs subsided and I was brought back into the real world for a minute, I came to realize quite how cold it had gotten. It was still only March, and the nights were still cold, and the goosebumps told me I needed to get inside and get warm, but my mind wanted to stay there for just a bit longer. I didn't want to have to let go of the warmth and comfort that billowed off of Sam like hot air, and I don't think I could have forced myself to let go even if I wanted to. So, in all reality, it shouldn't have come as so much of a surprise when I felt my sleep-heavy body being picked up off of the cold metal of my Chevy.

"Sam?" My voice was low and hoarse from spending so long choked full of emotion, and I felt a little jolt of embarrassment run over my body.

Looking up, I could see it was him, but he didn't say a word, simply shooting a soft smile at me before looking back up to watch where he was walking. Not having the energy to try and determine what was going on, I buried my face in his chest and let my body relax farther in his grip. It was only when I felt him open a door that I looked up. Gently setting me in the passenger seat of his brothers Impala, he threw his coat over me before smiling again. Reaching out hesitantly, he ran the tips of his fingers over the side of my face, an action which I immediately found myself leaning into. His brows squinted tightly like he was thinking hard about something. Without even thinking about it, I reached out and smoothed the wrinkles between his brows with the pad of my thumb.

Locking eyes, I finally took notice to just how gorgeous his iris' were. Green and brown and hazel and gold swirling together like liquid fire. Said eyes darted away suddenly, and I somehow knew he was looking at my lips. Mine darted down to his for a moment as well.

I wanted that. Gol, I wanted that.

He leaned forward slightly, and I actually thought he would go for it. He drug his bottom lip between his teeth in debate before moving his eyes to focus somewhere behind my head and stood back up.

Fucking really?

Smiling down at me again, this time making it look almost sad, he tucked the jacket he had previously thrown over my body around me tighter. As he stood and moved himself around to the other side of the car to get in, my gaze tracked him all the way.

He didn't look at me as he started the car and shifted into gear, and the profile of his face held worry. Had I done something wrong somehow? He probably thinks you're weak for what you told him.

As he pulled away from the view point, I watched the back end of my car get farther and farther away.

"My car..." I whispered pitifully, I didn't want to leave it. I didn't actually think Sam had heard me, but evidently, he did.

"I'll pick it up tomorrow. It'll be safe 'till then."

And then he went quiet again. How did I manage to fuck this up, too?

Biting my lip, I curled in on myself, cuddled Sam's jacket to my chest, and let the purr of the engine lul me to sleep.

This time when I woke up in his arms, I made a point of keeping my eyes closed and my breathing steady. We were through the doors before I realized where we were.

The hotel smelled just the same as it had before. Beer nuts, sex, and mothballs. It certainly didn't help the painful rolling in my stomach.

I'd managed to ruin this relationship, too. How was I so good at that? I shouldn't have told him, he didn't need to hear, didn't want to hear. Now he thinks I'm some pathetic little wimp who couldn't so much as protect himself from a human. You fuck everything up, (name).

Somewhere in the back of my self-piteous mind, I was vaguely aware of someone speaking.

The more I tuned in, the more I wished I hadn't.

"—uck happened!? Is he okay?! What'd you do!" Came the accusational voice of my little sister.

Of course she'd have to see you like this. Pathetic. Now she'll surely think as badly of you as Sam does. What the fuck is wrong with you? Can you at least try not to break something for more than ten seconds?

"He's fine," rumbled Sam's voice from beneath my ear, "just tired. He fell asleep on the way here. Just– just leave him to himself for a bit, okay? He's had a rough night."

His tone was somber. His tone conveyed sadness and sadness meant pity and pity meant uncomfortable glances and tense silence and hesitant avoidance of touching. Of course you had to fuck up one of the only good things going for you. Good fucking job. Pathetic.

He was moving again (or maybe he'd never stopped in the first place) and I immediately felt the drop in temperature as he walked with me through the joint door to him and his brothers room. Dean must have been out somewhere, as I didn't hear his voice or feel his stare.

There was a bit more shuffling as he carried me to the bed, and I just don't understand how his arms aren't tired out yet. Soon, he's gently setting me down on the bed, and I'm so grateful that I'd managed to keep myself passing as asleep, because I don't know if I could handle the awkward not-conversation that was sure to follow.

I follow the sound of his feet leaving the room, and wait for the soft closing of the door before I let myself fall apart again. I put a hand over my mouth to muffle the sobs and curl into myself, wrapping one arm around my chest to try and hold off the pressure that's filling my ribcage.

Pathetic.

Weak.

Are you really crying right now?

You're such a pussy.

Why did you have to tell him that shit?

Now he thinks you're even more of a quivering quim than he thought before.

You can't go a day without destroying at least one relationship, can you?

How sad.

I don't really know how long I sat there and cried pathetically into my fist, but at some point my sobs turned to cries, which morphed into sniffles, and eventually evened into silent, hot, tears.

I was almost fading off again when I heard the door open again.

The hunter side of me wanted to immediately reach for a gun, but the realistic side of me told me that it was just one of the Winchester's coming to grab something from the room, or maybe Sam coming to check on me. Hah. Funny. However, when I felt the bed dip beside me, I couldn't help but tense up and open my eyes.

They were on the other side of my body, my back was to them. I was just on the verge of flipping around and sucker punching whoever it was, when a sudden, soft heat draped over me. A blanket.

Somehow, I knew it was Sammy.

For few quiet moments, we sat in companionable silence. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time, though I couldn't quite tell if it was the judging glare that I expected or not. After a good couple of minutes, I felt the bed shift again as he stood up, and I thought I heard him mumble something under his breath as he did, but I couldn't quite make out his words.

I immediately missed his presence as he moved back towards the door.

Why had I said anything in the first place? He didn't care, he didn't need to care. He probably feels so uncomfortable now. I probably made him so uncomfortable hugging him like I did, crying into his shirt. He probably hates me.

As the door cracked open, I found myself sitting up suddenly, "I'm sorry," I blurted.

He paused in the doorway, and turned to look back at me. I immediately averted my gaze, instead choosing to stare at his boots as I wiped my face of any remaining tears.

"I'm sorry," this time it was softer, a bit more broken.

The door clicked closed, and he was walking back towards me. Seating himself at the edge of the mattress, close enough that I knew he was there, but far enough away that he wasn't making me uncomfortable, he reached out and gently held one of my hands in both of his large ones. I guess he probably expected me to look up at him at that point, but I couldn't make myself look him in the eye, knowing that I'd only see that godawful pity, or worse, he'd see the tears that still threatened my eyes.

It wasn't until his hands left mine, and traveled up to my face that I looked at him, and was met with an expression I definitely wasn't expecting. His eyes were so, so soft. His face not full of pity, as I'd expected, but instead, some gentle version of understanding. A caring, almost loving look came to him as he wiped away the tear that managed to escape, soothing the red tenderness that came from the last however-long of crying.

As if he knew what I had been thinking a few moments before, his face again morphed expressions. A small, sad smile pulled at his lips, and he shook his head softly, "you aren't that at all," I could almost hear him say, though his lips never parted for the words.

His eyes once again glanced down, and, once again, I imediately knew he was looking at my lips. He leaned forward slightly, as he had in the Impala, but this time, instead of pulling away, he chose to look further into my eyes, like he was seeking permission.

A small nod, a painfully slow movement, soft, warm lips pressed gently against mine.

I sighed contentedly and leaned farther into him. The kiss was but a close-lipped peck, really, but somehow it spoke more than I'm sure a full kiss would have.

After a moment, he pulled away, thumbs grazing slightly at my cheekbones, and I found that I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes once again, but this time, for an entirely different reason.

~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later, Dean Winchester walked into his and his brothers shared room, only to find said brother's long body curled up tightly beside (name)'s.

A quiet "finally" echoed through the air as the eldest brother turned back and left the room, deciding he could handle sleeping on the couch in the other room if it meant his brother could have at least one good night of rest.

*fin*

#Sam Winchester #Sam Winchester x reader #Sam Winchester x Male reader #Sam Winchester x Male reader angst #Sam Winchester x male reader hurt/comfort #Sam Winchester x reader angst #Sam Winchester x reader hurt/comfort #Reader needs a hug #abused reader #victim reader #Sam comforting reader #angst to fluff #this is just kinda really sad #rape trigger warning #Teddy Bears and Memories

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justanother-unluckysoul · 4 years ago

Text

Working My Way Back To You 5/?

Killian gets captured. When Emma finally rescues him, he’s traumatized and nearly broken from the torture he endured. Angst and h/c galore as Emma helps him through it.

I tried to go easy on the whumpy side of it since it’s supposed to be for Comfortember, but it’s me so I probably failed lol

Thank you for your continued support of my little story! Today we have some Killian POV for the prompts “PTSD” and “Emotional Support Pet.” (because Emma's headspace is hard to get into for me lol) Killian is physically healed enough to leave the hospital, but his mental wounds remain…

No special warnings for this chapter.

Also, this is unbeta-d so forgive my errors.

If anyone would like to be tagged in future chapters so they won’t miss them, let me know :)

Read this chapter on AO3

Working My Way Back To You

PTSD + Emotional Support Pet

Killian wakes at dawn, tugged from the comfort of sleep by the throbbing in his fingers, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He’s so damn tired of waking up in misery. The doctor had decreased his medication, the one that dulled both the sharp edges of his pain and of his thoughts, leaving him clear minded at last, but hurting more than he’d ever let on. Emma’s still in the chair next to his bed, bent forward with her head resting on her forearms on the mattress, snoring softly. She’s supposed to have slept in the other bed, but after she’d woken Killian from his twisted dreams for the third time that night, she must have been too exhausted to move again. Killian closes his eyes, shame and frustration washing over him.

It’s been eight days since her and David dragged him out of that accursed cellar. The first few days, he mostly just slept, and wrestled with his nightmares, waking each morning feeling no better for the sleep he’d had. People – his friends – wanted to visit him but he declined them all after that first visit from Snow and David. Killian didn’t want anyone else to see him in this state, weakened and exhausted and flinching at every new sound, every sudden movement. His body felt like the string of a bow, constantly pulled tight, and the walks in the hospital garden didn’t help as there were always other people out there. He needed some quiet, and there was never a moment of that in this place. He needed some peace. Some release from this tension. Most of all, he just needed people to stop looking at him. And the stitches on his hand began to itch terribly as the wounds healed, further adding to his frustration. The doctor and the nurses bore the brunt of Killian’s dark mood, and he felt rotten for it, but he couldn’t stop himself lashing out. It was all he could do to remain civil with Emma.

But slowly, his anger had shifted into something like resignation – a hollow, empty feeling in his chest as he came to terms with what’s been done to him. Emma has hardly left his side since his rescue, and Killian feels so guilty that she must help him with everything now. His beautiful, perfect Swan. He’d tried his best to dispel the awkwardness, but there’s really nothing that can take away how humiliating using the bathroom is without a functional hand. Emma took it all in her stride, of course. She’d shaved his beard down the way he liked, fed him, dressed him, bathed him… And having Emma’s assistance with showering, now that was a bit of fun. She placed some manner of waterproof bag over his hand so the stitches would stay dry, tying it closed around his wrist to keep out the spray, and laughed when Killian commented on how brilliant the design of this ‘waterproof hand bag’ was. Because apparently, a hand bag was something else entirely, and this thing on his hand had actually been designed for a completely different use. But it worked well – as did Emma’s hands bathing him, and Killian smirks and his tongue darts out to wet his lips at that extremely pleasing memory, Emma’s stifled giggle and shut up, Killian, someone’s going to hear you. He definitely wants to experience that again in the privacy of their own home and this time he’d grab Emma and… The image in his mind falters because he still has the splints bracing his fingers, and the doctor says he can’t remove that for a while yet. Well, no matter, he’ll use his mouth then. And they could make as much noise as they wanted. Emma would-

“Killian, what are you thinking about?”

Emma’s looking at him with a sleepy, confused expression. He wonders how long she’s been awake.

“Oh, nothing, just… thinking how satisfying showering in our own home will feel tonight.”

And he lets his eyes blaze heatedly into hers as he slowly swipes his tongue across his lips, adding a little bounce of his eyebrows just to really make his meaning clear. It gets the reaction he’d hoped. Emma’s mouth drops open slightly and her face flushes, her mind obviously conjuring up a truly wonderful image of them in said shower.

“Killian,” she squeaks, glancing at the closed door in case someone has overheard him.

There’s nobody there, of course, and Killian gives her a wicked grin. She’s always been so much fun to tease.

Killian’s briefly agreeable mood evaporates when the doctor comes in after breakfast, for his final examination to ensure Killian is well enough to leave. The daily exams have been gruelling, the doctor’s touch triggering memories he’d rather not have, and it’s only Emma’s steadying presence at his side that keeps him complying with them. Now as the doctor presses his stethoscope against Killian’s ribs he has to resist the urge to fight. Or to run. He’s not sure which compulsion is going to win out in the end.

“Take a deep breath for me,” the doctor instructs.

Killian does, wincing slightly at the consequential jabs of pain. Emma had done a marvellous job healing him, but it seemed that by the time she’d focused on his broken ribs, either her magic or just her concentration had begun to waver, leaving him with an uncomfortable twinge when he drew too large a breath. It didn’t bother him enough to ask her to heal it further.

“How does that feel?” the doctor asks, “Still some pain there, hmm?”

“Only a little.”

He just wants this over with. He wants to be at home in his own bed with Emma tucked into his side. He wants to stand on the Jolly Roger’s deck and breathe in the ocean air with his arm around Emma. Honestly, he’ll be happy to do anything, as long as it’s not in the hospital and it involves him touching Emma in some way. Then the doctor moves his attention to Killian’s hand and the urge to flee ramps up tenfold. Emma’s hand is heavy on his shoulder, squeezing a bit harder than what is necessary, though he appreciates the fortitude she’s relaying to him through the touch because he seems to be running on empty these days.

“You’re healing well,” the doctor says at the end of his assessment, “I think we can organize a jail break today, what do you think? Home for Christmas.”

Killian’s too busy trying to pull air into his strangely uncooperative lungs and calm his racing heart, like always after his exams. And now the doctor is giving him a look that makes him feel exposed and vulnerable. He doesn’t like it at all. He glares back, drawing on that dark sort of intensity that makes lesser men cower before him. The doctor is a lesser man, it seems, because even in Killian’s current state, it works. The doctor immediately breaks eye contact and picks some spot on the far wall to look at instead, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

“That would be great,” says Emma on Killian’s behalf, seemingly unaware of the silent exchange between the pirate and the doctor.

“Do you mind if I talk to you alone for a moment, Miss Swan?”

Killian feels a surge of dread at the doctor’s question, at the thought of being left alone. But when Emma meets his eyes in silent query, he nods his assent. He’ll be fine, he doesn’t need her to metaphorically hold his hand. He’s fine. Emma and the doctor leave the room and Killian is fine. And he doesn’t know why he’s trembling. He closes his eyes, breathes deep enough that his cracked ribs pinch at him again, calls up a soothing mental image of a full moon over the open sea. He knows how to deal with fear, he’s just not entirely sure why he’s feeling so much of it right now. It’s a small comfort that Snow White had brought him his brace and hook, left it with Emma in the hall outside because Killian adamantly refused to accept her visit. It makes him feel a bit more like himself, although the doctor wouldn’t allow Killian to actually wear the hook on it and made Emma take it home. “It is a weapon, Captain, and with your mental state being what it is, it wouldn’t be safe for the staff.” Killian had felt a strong impulse to punch the man for that comment but the fact the splints stopped his fingers from curling into the necessary fist had quickly crushed that urge. The return of his hook is yet another thing he’ll appreciate about leaving this damn hospital. That is, if the doctor even lets him leave today. Calm yourself, mate, or he certainly won’t. Between one careful breath and the next, Emma is back at his side, looking down at him with far too much concern.

“Hey, Killian. You okay?”

Her hand comes back to his shoulder, gentle and light this time, slow and deliberate so she doesn’t spook him - that’s happened before, Killian flinching away before he could stop himself, and Emma had been so upset with herself. She’s been more careful with him since then.

“Aye,” he says with a cheerfulness he doesn’t feel as he stands up, “What did the doc say?”

“That you’re healed enough to go home.”

Killian knows immediately that she’s hiding something. It makes no sense for the doctor to take her out of his hearing just to confirm that Killian can go home today. And there’s was a hesitation in Emma’s response and in her smile.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,�� she replies too fast, but then seeing his disbelieving look she adds, “…that we need to worry about right now. Let’s just go home, okay?”

Killian looks into her eyes and sees hope and worry and love and he really, really can’t wait to get home. He presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.

“Let’s go home.”

Their house is deafeningly quiet after the constant bustle of the hospital. Henry’s staying with Regina for the night, and Killian’s thankful for that because he’s worn out from the day’s events already, although there are still several hours of daylight left, and he doesn’t think he could handle the lad’s exuberance right now. He sits at the table, his hook finally back in place, and appreciates the sounds of her making hot chocolate, driving away the silence. He’d found himself craving a drink besides water and since he’s apparently not supposed to drink anything alcoholic while on this pain medication, hot chocolate it is then. He’s rather come to enjoy the sweet beverage, the warmth comforting and calming now that he’s used to just how sweet it is – even without Emma adding the cream or the sugar, the way she made her own. It had taken him some time to get used to this realm’s obsession with flavours and sometimes he still struggles. Everything was just so much. Emma’s approach pulls him from his reflections.

“Here you go,” she says, placing a mug on the table in front of him, with a straw in it.

Right. Killian had nearly forgotten that he couldn’t even hold a damn cup at the moment. Trying to hide his frustration, he dips his head to catch the straw in his mouth and takes a sip. Then he straightens up and gives Emma his full attention.

“So are you going to tell me what it was the doctor said to you?” he asks.

She takes a slow mouthful of her own drink, very obviously delaying her response.

“You’re showing signs of Petey Essdee,” she finally says in a rush.

Killian just raises his eyebrow. He’s not heard of that term before.

“Of what? Sorry, Swan, but you’re gonna have to explain that one to me.”

“Oh. Right. Of course. Um.” Her face scrunches up a little as she tries to think. “It’s post-traumatic stress disorder. Shell shock? Battle fatigue? I don’t know what you call it where you came from.”

But Killian knows that term well enough. In his pirating days, he’d seen many a man lose himself in the horrors of what he’d done or seen. One of them had been part of Killian’s own crew and he remembers with a rush of shame how he’d snarled you bloody coward and thrown the shivering man overboard for the mermaids, without a shred of remorse at the time. But Killian’s far stronger than those men and he’s been through worse things than this. His eyes narrow.

“Do you really think so?”

Emma shrugs a bit guiltily.

“The doctor’s right. The symptoms are there. Nightmares, avoidance,” she ticks them off on his fingers, “the way you don’t want anyone to touch your hand-”

“Of course I bloody don’t,” Killian snaps.

“…irritability,” she continues, giving him a meaningful look before continuing, “anxiety attacks. Killian, he just recommended you talk to Archie, okay? Work through those feelings a bit.”

He wants to say no. He really, really does. What does the cricket know of suffering anyway? He can’t help with this – Archie’s likely never experienced anything more alarming than that time Killian threatened to dissect him. But Emma’s meeting his eyes with a look just as intense as his own, and in the end he’s the one to break off the stare, take another mouthful of hot chocolate, and agree to what she’s asking of him.

“Why didn’t the doctor tell me this himself?” he asks, after a moment of quiet.

“He was… a bit scared of you, I think. You’ve been kind of short tempered lately.”

Killian can’t deny that.

Though he has regained some of his strength through regular meals and plenty of rest, Killian guesses he still suffering from the effects of too little sleep and too many beatings, because his stamina is pathetically low – and it doesn’t help that his sleep is still interrupted by bad dreams. Because he fully intended to make full use of the shower that night, but he makes the mistake of lying down on the bed first (just for a moment, to gather his strength) and that’s the end of it. He wakes still on the bed, next to Emma, not long after dawn, the remnants of a dream he can’t quite remember making his heart race and his breaths shiver through him. Emma makes a quiet noise of displeasure as he carefully slips out from under the covers, although she doesn’t fully wake. Killian goes to the bathroom, snarls at his reflection in the mirror when he realises he can’t even splash water on his face, not without getting something to cover his stitches first. Bloody hell, he hates this with a fiery passion. Not for the first time since his rescue, Killian’s suddenly desperate to look upon the sea again and at least that is something he can do. He’d fallen asleep in his clothes, and Emma had obviously not wanted to disturb his sleep by stripping him, so it’s just a matter of slipping his boots back on and putting his hook into place. Then he awkwardly scribbles a note for Emma so she won’t worry when she wakes alone, with the pen tucked between his thumb and the rest of his hand. It’s legible enough, he decides, although far from his usual precision.

The sun is still low on the horizon, casting deep shadows across the harbour. Killian settles on the edge of the dock, his boots dangling above the water, breathing the cold, salty air deep into his lungs. There’s a school of brightly coloured fish below his feet, swimming in a pattern that’s somehow both chaotic and soothing, and Killian feels himself begin to unwind. Gods, he’s missed this. He sits there until the sun is much higher, revelling in the warmth of it seeping through his leather coat, the briny scent, the taste of salt on his tongue, the sound of water lapping gently against the dock, the-

“Hey, Killian.”

Killian jumps a little at how close the voice is. He feels himself losing his balance at his sudden motion and has a moment of panic when he can’t just grab the edge of the dock with his hand to stop his forward wobble. He stabs his hook into the wood instead to anchor himself. A hand catches his shoulder, further steadying him, and he absolutely does not flinch. (He does. Damn it. He wishes he would stop being so easily startled.)

“Sorry,” says Henry, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No harm done,” Killian assures him with a smile, pretending his heart isn’t trying to beat right out of his chest.

Henry releases Killian’s shoulder and sits down next to him.

“Mom said you were down here. What’s up?”

He peers into the water below them.

“Watching the fish, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s… calming. Being here. I’ve missed it.”

Killian doesn’t feel as much of a need to keep up his ‘tough pirate appearance,’ as Emma calls it, when it’s only Henry around. In fact, much to his surprise he realizes there are now several people he feels he can let down his guard around, for the most part. Emma, of course. David. Snow White. And he supposes he’ll have to do the same with the cricket fairly soon too. The idea brings a dark cloud over his thoughts again.

“Yeah, I bet. Hey, we should get some pet fish,” Henry says, “You know, maybe having a piece of this place at home will help and you won’t have to run off when you get nightmares.”

Henry immediately realizes he’s said the wrong thing. Killian’s muscles have tightened, his teeth biting down on the immediate defensive response he wants to give. He’s not sure why Henry’s flippant comment has bothered him so much, but it has. Maybe because he makes it sound like Killian is a coward. Running off when you get nightmares. And Killian can’t deny it because that’s exactly what he’d done, wasn’t it? Maybe he is a coward.

“I-I mean… Not that coming to the docks is wrong, I just…” Henry scrambles for words.

Killian takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, watching it hang in the air in front of his face.

“It’s alright, lad, I know your intention,” he says, careful to smooth the irrational anger that’s trying to sharpen his tone, “And it’s not a bad idea either, if you can convince your mother.”

Emma’s right about his outbursts. He hasn’t felt so out of control in a long time, the darkness twisting its way through his very soul, erupting hot and vicious at the slightest provocation. A shiver runs up his spine and he busies himself with working his hook out of the boards.

“Great!” Henry flashes him a grin. “And don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll agree.”

And that’s how, about a week later, Emma and Killian’s house becomes home to a decent sized glass tank full of colourful fish that Henry calls “Killian’s emotional support fish.” And Henry had been right; watching them is calming. It’s not the same as being at the docks or on his ship, of course, but it does help. He’s grateful for the lad’s idea especially that time he wakes in the night with fear twisting his gut and realizes it’s pouring rain outside, freezing cold, and Emma would have his hide if he attempted to visit the docks in this weather, he puts Henry’s theory to the test. Later, Emma finds him sitting on the couch watching the fish across the room, breaths carefully slow and when she tucks herself against his side, he manages a smile that he actually means.

To be continued...

#comfortember 2020 #cs ff #hurt/comfort #angst #ptsd #killian jones #emma swan #henry mills #captain swan #my fanfics

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nanamithighs · 5 years ago

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I’m here - Steve Rogers

Steve Rogers x Stark!reader

Warnings: I’m still kind of new to this. But I do write about panic attacks here and you can probably tell Steve suffers from ptsd. So there will probably be some triggers. If these kind of topics trigger you and affect you negatively please don’t read.

Author’s note: I’m sorry if I don’t address ptsd appropriately and how to resolve this problem correctly. If you guys see something wrong about how I write about ptsd please let me know.

“Hey have you seen Capsicle?”, you asked Sam as you walked up to him in the Avengers Compound hallway.

“Uh no. It’s been four since we’ve gotten back”, Sam said confused.

That was weird. It was tradition for Steve to come back from a mission and immediately go see you. Especially coming back from a two week mission you would’ve thought he would come sprinting to your dad’s laboratory, where you were usually stationed at.

“Maybe he’s in his room”, you said with furrowed eyebrows.

“Alright if you don’t find him let me know kid”, Sam said empatheticlly.

You made your way to Steve’s room and knocked on the door with your usual four rhythmic beat to let him know it was you. Upon hearing nothing you let yourself inside. You closed the door quietly and didnt see Steve. You made your way to his bathroom and saw the door was shut. You heard some muttering. You went to open the door but the door was locked.

“Rogers...are you in there?”

You hear the click of the door unlocking. You slowly opened the door and saw your boyfriend sitting on the cold tile floor of the bathroom with glossy eyes and red nose. You immediately rushed to him kneeling next to him and grabbed his hand. At the sudden contact Steve flinched and pulled back his hand.

“Baby what’s wrong. Talk to me please”, you whispered.

Steve pulled his legs into his chest and buried his head. You’ve never seen Steve in this state. You’ve only been dating for 4 months but have been friends with him since your dad, Tony Stark, joined the Avengers and got to meet him at the Stark Tower. So you’ve known him for around 3 years but I guess you didn’t know him as well as you thought. Steve always presented himself as the strong and confident leader, who lead the team with grace. Who always had a serious serious face when working but would crack a smile when a joke was said. Steve was the person the world could rely on to help save the world and rarely showed weakness. Yet you see the blonde man so fragile and lost.

“Sweetheart please say something”, you urged with a whisper.

You tried once again to hold his hand but instead he reached out quickly and gripped your hand tightly. You thought for sure your blood circulation was going to be cut off.

“Steve stop you’re hurting me. Steve quit it!”, you yelped trying to release from his iron grip hold.

“Steven let go please”, you raised your voice and Steve’s attention quickly went to your face. Steve was here with you but the look on his face could say otherwise. He began to have shallow breathes and his once glossed and blurred eyes were quickly erased. He looked at his hand holding your wrist and let go immediately with a horrified face. His chest began to heave and his body was slightly shaking.

“Y/n I can’t breathe”, Steve said as he was taking rapid breathes.

You forgot the stinging pain on your wrist and quickly held his hands.

“Baby, breathe with me, you gotta calm down and breathe with me. Listen to my voice and breathe”

You went over the breathing exercises you learned from your dad and put them to good use with Steve. Awhile later Steve had finally regained his normal breathing but was still shaking slightly.

“Stevie”, you said gently.

“I’m sorry y/n. I’m sor-”, Steve couldn’t finish his sentence before he erupted in sobs. You catched him in your arms, wrapping them around his shoulders. Steve sobbed uncontrollably and was limp in your arms. You held him tightly and whispered into his ears that you were there with him and you loved him while one hand would stroke his hair. It broke your heart to see your strong boyfriend crumble. Those walls he held up so long were nothing but dust now.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“Steve you don’t have to apologize”, you whispered grabbing his face with your hands, “I just wanna help you right now”.

Steve’s eyes were tired red, and swollen. His nose brightly red and cheeks tinted against his pale skin. His lips were now chapped and nose runny. You’re sure your shirt is wet and dirty with his snot but that doesn’t matter at the moment. You just want to help him.

“Y/n you’re too good for me. I don’t deserve you”, Steve said hoarsely and voice cracking.

“Baby no don’t say that. You are an amazing sweet man who always looks out for others. You are a selfless and brave man. You are smart and fearless”, your voice was full of admiration and love. There was a moment of silence as you rubbed his cheek.

Steve started softly, “I had flashback from when I was in the war. They filmed the war like it was something to be proud about and full of victories but y/n the war was not always like that. Since I’ve woken up I’ve had these nightmares about failing to save people”.

You kissed his knuckles and held his hand tightly as you listened to him.

“This last mission I took with Sam and Nat, it left me shaken up. I’ve tried so hard to keep up the golden boy image who has no problems. But after this mission, I just can’t do that”, Steve looked like he was going to start crying again but instead places his head in the crook of your neck, stifling another sob. You once again wrapped your arms around your boyfriend. You didn’t want to push Steve with details on the mission and make him feel worse. But you had another idea instead.

“Sweetheart”, you said softly while rubbing his back, “I think I know what we need to do”.

Steve pulled away from your neck and looked at you, face full of exhaustion from his panic attack and crying.

“How long have you been having these nightmares and dealing with these flashbacks”

“Since I’ve woken up from the ice”

You kissed his forehead every so gently and said, “can I suggest we find some professional help. Maybe a therapist to help with this”.

“I don’t know Stark”, he said voice full of vulnerability.

“We don’t have to go right now but I think sometime this week or soon”, you said while kissing his rosy cheek.

“Maybe”

You kissed his palms and gave Steve one more tight hug. You loved this man and would do anything to help him get better.

“Let’s take a bath baby” you said while standing up. You held your hand out and helped him stand up. He towered over you and you gave him a small smile. You knew things were going to get better for Steve with time and patience.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: to the person who made the gif and drawings you are incredibly talented

#captain america imagines #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x stark!reader #steve rogers imagine

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inspirationdivine · 4 years ago

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Take My Hand || Remmy and Lydia

Timing: Current Parties: @whatsin-yourhead @inspirationdivine Summary: Lydia and Remmy take time to talk wounds and fears. Remmy comes home Triggers: Mention of food poisoning, head trauma

Lydia’s phone buzzed with a picture of Remmy at the front gate. She was lying on a recliner in her garden, with a glass of lemonade. She had a large evening gown on, covering the brown thick chitinous layer that had covered her back. She was settled on her front with a parasol and very dark shades. It was a step up from a few days ago, certainly, but the pain that raked her body was still unbearable. She looked up at one of her security guards standing just enough feet away to not be looming, but close enough to feel secure. Unfortunately, he was The Mime, and wasn’t a great conversationalist. “Can you go and get Remmy and invite them into the garden, please?”

Remmy had let Morgan drop them off halfway down the block and walked-- well, walked at first, then broke into a paranoid sprint a few seconds later-- up to Lydia’s place. They needed to learn to be okay being outside again, that they were safe. That, yes, something could happen, but they would be okay. Everything would be okay. Remmy rung the bell, flowers tight in their hands-- Nell had given them a nice assortment, some white, some gold, a few purple-- and waited, looking up at the camera she’d had installed. Gave a little wave. After a moment, a stoic, silent man opened the door and ushered them in. They followed slowly at first, before their eyes caught the staircase-- and remembered nail marks and bloody footprints-- and the hallway-- where there had been a pool of blood large enough to slip on-- and the doorway-- that had sagged with its broken frame-- and they scurried faster, past it all, and out into the garden where the man pointed them. Lydia was on a recliner, seemingly basking in the warm sun. She looked relaxed, if a bit tired, but Remmy knew better. “I um--” they looked over at her gadren, where flowers were sprouting, then down at the ones in their hands, “--brought you flowers.”

Lydia pushed herself up onto her elbows to look at Remmy with a soft smile. The blackened bruising had turned yellow on her face, at least. Dr. Oakfield was happy with the healing of her hand, ankle, and the fracture along her jawline. Seeing Remmy in the flesh was different than seeing them as icons in the screen. She knew they weren’t going out much at the moment, that they weren’t leaving Deirdre’s house often at all. To see them here, at the site of two of their recent traumas? It was astounding, and a tragedy, and a reminder of how much she’d failed them. “Thank you darling. Mime, could you possibly pull out the other recliner?Wonderful.” Why was his uniform the only one that was striped? How was he supposed to blend in like that? Lydia had no idea, and no desire to ask. He was the easiest to ask to do errant chores, that was for certain. “How have you been, Remmy?”

Remmy felt their eyes scan Lydia’s face before they managed to look away. It pained them to see her like that. If they’d just stayed with her, this wouldn’t have happened. If they’d just been able to get over themself, they couldn’t been there to stop whoever did this. Their hand tightened momentarily on the flowers, before the Mime dragged a chair over to them and they sat in it. He took the flowers and put them in a vase. Remmy didn’t like looking at him. They turned to focus back on Lydia. She was smiling, but they knew she was in pain. After all the kindness she’d given them, they’d failed her in her one time of need, and now they had no idea what they were supposed to do. “Um...better, I guess?” they shrugged, looked down at their stomach, swallowed. “No one’s tried to gut me recently, so that’s nice.”

“No one has drowned me this week, so things must be on the up,” Lydia replied with a blasé smile she didn’t quite feel. She held out her hand, which was almost entirely healed by now, for them to take. “I love you, you know. I hope you’re finding what you need at Deirdre and Morgan’s.” Lydia hadn’t, but that was because in those five days at the doctor’s, a new pain had grown, radiating out from her chest. It had started dull, and had grown sharply with each passing day. To be away from the humans she had attached herself to was as painful for her as it was for them, and when she’d returned, she’d held them close until that pain had healed. She felt no safer here than she did at Deirdre’s, but this was the place she could keep her secrets.

Remmy took Lydia’s hand and fought back the urge to squeeze it. It looked like it still might hurt, even if it was healing alright. They looked over at her, not all too surprised by her nonchalance about being attacked, although they knew the fear was still there. They knew because it was still there for them, too. In their gut. Their chest. Their fingertips. They shifted in their spot. “I know, Lydia,” they said quietly, “I love you, too.” They didn’t know how to answer the second part, because they didn’t know what they were looking for over at Morgan and Deirdre’s. Safety, they supposed, but if they could’ve been poisoned inside Lydia’s home by someone they trusted, what was stopping anyone from doing that over there, too? “I’m...trying.” They glanced sideways. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

In a single breath, Remmy reminded Lydia just why she loved them so much, and why at the same time she wanted to shake them. THey really did have a truly pure heart, and it was a terrible thing that that was killing them. “I don’t think that was an accident, Remmy. I think a night was chosen where you weren’t there deliberately, so that I was alone and helpless. Which is why I’m paying multiple people to ensure that isn’t the case ever again. Even if one of them is, well, a mime. Turns out they’re much more frightening than I had given them credit for.” Lydia squeezed Remmy’s hand tightly. “It’s not your job nor your duty to be everywhere to protect everyone. Don’t apologise for having a life, Remmy. I’m sorry that this has made things worse for you.”

Remmy was silent. They watched Lydia as she talked, but their brain hadn’t come up with anything to say yet. She always had a way with words, always knew what to say to them. And even if it didn’t immediately make them feel better, they knew they were true. They squeezed her hand back. “You know I did used to work security,” they teased quietly, shifting a little closer. They almost wished they could lay down next to Lydia and just feel the warmth of another person beside them. “If I can’t apologize then neither can you. This wasn’t your fault, either. It was just...shit timing, I guess.” And shit circumstance. If Remmy ever saw whoever did this to Lydia, they weren’t sure they’d be able to hold back the anger and pain this had caused. They stiffened a moment before letting their muscles relax. “But we’re both okay. We both survived. And Morgan found out who tried to--” they stopped mid-sentence, shook their head. “Who did that to me and is making sure it’ll never happen again.” Whatever that meant.

“Mm, but I’d enjoy your company much more as a friend than as someone towering behind me.” Lydia replied with a soft laugh, shifting her weight slightly on the recliner, so that she was almost resting on her side rather than her front, elbow propping her up. She nodded, conceding their point. “Fine, I won’t apologise anymore,” Lydia said with a small smile. “Shit timing sums it all up. But with the fence being installed and all the extra security, we’ll keep this place safe as can be.” Just not safe enough by either of their standards, not anymore. “Morgan found out who it was? Who was it, Remmy?”

Remmy quieted. How were they supposed to tell Lydia they didn’t feel safe in her home anymore? How were they supposed to believe she did? How had people so easily ruined that for them both? They squeezed her hand subconsciously and glanced away. “Yeah, it does. It will. Be safe again…” they rubbed at their face with their free hand and felt the patch still on their eye. How many months had it been? Since Morgan died. When would any of them get a break? “It was-- “ they started, then stopped, “someone I thought was a friend. It’s...it’s okay, though. It won’t happen again.” The thought of it stung their chest and Remmy thought of Nadia and her smile and her motorcycle and the betrayal that had seated itself in their heart from her actions. “I just wanna...move on.”

For all their many virtues, Remmy wasn’t a convincing person when they weren’t convinced. How could they be, when Lydia barely was. “We’ll figure it out. In time. There’s always a home for you here, Remmy. You don’t have to use it, but it is always here for you.” But in her gaze, even through the sunglasses, it was apparent that Lydia would understand why Remmy wanted to stay away. They’d seemed so light when the collar had come off, but even then, the poisonous vines of their PTSD had lingered, and it had only been exacerbated now. They needed help, and Lydia was no longer the best person to give it. “I’m so sorry, my love. But that’s alright. We can move on.”

“I hope so,” Remmy said under a whisper, hoping Lydia’s words would sink in further and actually take root. They hadn’t yet, but maybe soon. Maybe soon. They sat a little closer, held her hand just a little tighter. “How do you do it?” they asked after a long silence, chancing a look over at her. They couldn’t quite see her eyes behind her sunglasses, and if this was pushing her too much, but they needed an answer. They needed to know what to do next. “Stay here? Isn’t it-- don’t you--” see him everywhere? Did his shadow not exist inside her mind, everywhere she looked? Remmy’s shadow never left them alone. They were everywhere and everything and everyone. “Will it get easier, you think? Staying here?”

Lydia took a deep breath, that rattled through her chest, trying to think of an answer that might satisfy the truth, and satisfy Remmy. “I see him everywhere,” Lyda agreed. “I can’t use the bathroom in which he drowned me anymore. I can’t-” Lydia paused, “I can’t stand the sound of Chopin, which has a certain ring of irony.” She laughed weakly. “But it hurts more to be away than it does to be here. He took my wing, I can’t let him take my home.” She rubbed her temples, her smile wavering into grief. “I hope it does. It has to. I will do anything in my power to make this place feel safe for me.”

Something ached deep down inside of Remmy and they curled their knees up to the chest, holding onto their legs tight with their free hand. “Why do people do things like that?” they asked absentmindedly. It wasn’t really directed at Lydia, a thought that just drifted from their mind into the ether. “Why do people hurt other people?” They remembered the first time they’d been asked to hurt someone. It was a gun and a quick pull trigger and it was to protect someone else. It had still felt violent and wrong. Every shot after hurt more. Sometimes their bones still ached at the thought. “Would it feel safer if I came back?”

“I think it made him feel powerful,” Lydia quietly, although she wasn’t convinced Remmy had been looking for an answer. It wasn’t as if Lydia wasn’t asking herself that constantly, from the moment she’d realised he was following her. Sure, the first meeting had been chance, but what had she done to draw so much of his attention? It was more than the promise, more than her faeness. Something about her screamed target of a serial killer Russian vampire, and Lydia had no idea how to even begin to work out what. Remmy’s question gave her pause, as she stared into the far distance, trying to work out what the true answer was, and what the answer Remmy needed was. Whether she could make them overlap. Did Remmy want to feel useful? Or were they just offering to feel better themselves? “I don’t want you to come back to make me feel safer. You’re not my shield, Remmy, you’re my friend. You’re like family.”

That was true of a lot of people, wasn’t it? The need to feel powerful. It was why Remmy had fought in the Ring, wasn’t it? Why they’d kept going back to that place? It gave them power. It gave them purpose. As much as they hated the thought now, it had been true at one point. It grated their insides to know that. “I just want to feel like I’m good for something,” they finally said, not looking over at her, “that I’m not just wasted space.” That they kept surviving these things for a reason. There had to be a reason they were the one that got bit, right? That they were the one who woke up. That they were the one who Jax chose to save when he could have let that gargoyle tear them apart and be none the worse for it. That they were the one who had survived being poisoned. There had to be a reason for it all. “You’re my family, too, Lydia. I’d be so lost without you.”

“Why do you think you’re wasted space?” Lydia asked softly, squeezing Remmy’s hand as much as she could. “I don’t mean that to tell you you shouldn’t feel like that, I want to understand why.” They had been through so many things, and Lydia had seen as each one had torn them apart a little more. For someone supposedly so indestructible, they had been so close to destroyed so many times. “Don’t worry, you won’t lose me.”

“Because I’m not--” Remmy started, unsure of how to explain. “I’m not the best at anything, or like...the smartest. I can’t do magic like Cece to help and I’m not good at talking like Morgan. Everyone has these qualities that make them better and good people, and I’m just--” useless, as their father had said. A waste of space. Underachieving, below average grades, no extra cirriculars. Remmy had never been extraordinary, had never stood out. So why did they keep getting these chances? “--I don’t know why it was me that woke up that day. I don’t know why I got to live and everyone else had to die when I can’t do anything to help anyone.”

“Is Morgan good at talking?” Lydia scoffed slightly. The woman was excellent at projecting her assumptions on other people, and if that was what some considered empathy, well. That was concerning. Lydia didn’t see it that way at all. Despite that small interjection, she was listening to Remmy, trying to piece it all together. It was so very human of them. Everything had to have order and reason. Everything had to have a purpose, even them. Lydia wouldn’t say it, but it was a truth about Fae, they saw the world as it was. Chaotic, unpredictable. There didn’t have to be rhyme or reason to random perturbations. “Can I ask you something?” Lydia said softly. “Is it not enough to bring joy and comfort to other people’s lives?”

Lydia was being oddly quiet and Remmy could feel the anxiety buzzing under their skin, like little bugs. They worried they’d said too much or said something wrong. They were so used to putting themself in a little box and tucking in the corner. They had to always live such a contained life. Make themself small so they didn’t take up space and disturb the people around them. Being invisible was better than being hurt. Taking up space without having a purpose meant they should be punished. So when Lydia asked her question, they didn’t have an answer. Not one that they liked and not one that they wanted to tell her. “It doesn’t feel like enough. How-- I--” they looked over at her. “I wish I was like you. I wish I’d known about this world earlier. I want-- I want so bad to help people, but I don’t know how. And no one ever let’s me. They all look at me with those sad eyes, like I’m too fragile.”

Lydia smiled softly. "So what I hear is that you're being unkind to yourself for circumstances outside your control." There was a delectable irony to her commenting on that, she knew, as her friends had made clear many times. The attack wasn't her fault, they had explained, over and over. Similarly, Remmy not knowing until recently that this world even existed was not their fault. "Remmy, you have so much time to learn and change. You'll get there, one day. But the truth is that you're new to this, and you are still struggling with the recent terrible things that happened to you. Both of those things are okay. Both take time. It's important for you to help yourself too, right?"

“I--” Remmy started, but paused mid word when the thought hit them and they realized-- Lydia was right. She kind of always was. They knew she was, but convincing themself was a whole other thing. They wanted to try though. For Lydia, they wanted to try. They scooted over closer to her, turning to look at her, this time square in the eyes. They weren’t often good at that, meeting others’ eyes, but they knew this was important to say to her, face to face. “I want to move back in with you. You’re-- you feel like home. And I-- want all those things you said. To help myself, to be...to get better.”

Lydia held Remmy’s gaze for as long as they were comfortable. Eye contact was easy for her, but she knew it wasn’t for them, so she tried to keep her look mild and welcoming here. “I want you here.” Lydia replied, squeezing Remmy’s hand. “You have all the time you want in the world. We’ll heal together, hm?” One step at a time. They deserved someone they could trust unconditionally.

#wickedswriting #para #chatzy #remmy

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 25

Warnings: mentions of PTSD, anxiety, depression, panic attacks, alcoholism, drug addiction (pain medication)

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007

Kyle arrives shortly before eleven; shirt untucked and wrinkled, carrying his shoes in his hands as he takes the beach back instead of the street.

From where he stands at the kitchen table braiding Millie’s hair, Tyler can see him as he stands by the side of the pool; cheerfully greeting the twins and Ovi –with Declan in his arms- as they splash around. It’s trouble waiting to happen; whatever is going on between Kyle and the neighbor. As angry and annoyed as he is at Nik for years of drama and issues she’s tried to cause in his own relationship, she doesn't deserve to be treated like that. No woman does. Why cheat when you can just cut ties and do things the right way? There are no kids involved, no worrying about visitation schedules or child support or the long-lasting effects of a broken home. Whatever is going on, it won’t help well for anyone involved. Nik will be hurt and jilted, and she’ll end up on his doorstep. And that’s the last damn thing he wants OR needs.

“Where have you been?” Millie inquires, as Kyle wanders into the house. “And why do you look like shit?”

“Amelia...” Tyler frowns. “...what was the one rule for today?”

She sighs dramatically. “No bad words. But it’s true. He does look like shit.”

“Busy night?” Tyler asks his brother in law; hands working at twining and twisting his daughter’s thick hair together.

It’s a far cry from what his hands used to do, when they were primarily used for inflicting pain and punishment on others. When his knuckles would be torn apart; broken, bleeding, swollen. And as he gently drags the brush through Millie’s hair, he finds himself horrified that he’s even thinking about the job. That his brain is playing the ‘then versus now’ game while his own flesh and blood sits in front of him; his ‘rainbow baby’ as Esme calls her. The very life that he’d help created while on the job. That had kept him going on the darkest and most trying of days.

He tries to fight it. That urge to get back into things. That powerful craving for something more. The intensity and the exhilaration. Even the danger.

“Ow!” Millie cries, and tilts her head back to look up at him, fixing him with a furious glare. “That hurt! Why’d you pull my hair so hard?!

Fuck. He’s losing it. Or at least he feels like he is. First Ovi with his ‘wanting to try his hand at the job’ bullshit and then the reappearance of Nik in his life and the fucking nightmares and the incessant and desperate cravings for the Oxy and the booze. Now THIS. The reminiscing and the longing for his former life. This is not what he wanted. This is FAR from what he’d wanted. When he’d had his mental breakdown and walked away from New Zealand, he’d been determined to leave it all behind, the blood, the violence, the danger, the death. Content to be ‘normal’. More than happy to finally settle down and enjoy his role as a husband and a father. He wants to be the man they need. The man they want him to be. The man they deserve to have.

Now he’s slipping. All of his control, all of his willpower, all of his strength and his confidence. All abandoning him. Threatening to turn him back int the old Tyler; the one that couldn’t function without the booze and the pills. The one that willingly put his life on the line and took on whatever suicide mission he could; praying one day he’d catch a bullet and his miserable existence would be over.

And he knows if he goes there...if he follows that path...this one will be lost to him forever.

“That hurt!” Millie pouts. “Why’d you do that?!”

“I didn’t mean to,” he attempts a lame apology. “I didn’t realize I was holding it that hard. I’m sorry,” he presses a kiss to the top of her head; right on the spot that she’s been gently rubbing. He turns his attention back to the task at home, but finds his hands are now trembling; shaking with an intensity that both surprises and terrifies him, and he lets the brush fall to the table with a loud clatter. “Why don’t you go and get your mom to finish up,” he suggests, nervously wringing his hands together, tightly squeezing one, then the other; anxious for the tremors to stop. “She does a better job than I do.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Millie scoffs. “And she’s busy. With Addie.”

“I’m sure she’s got some time to finish your hair.” Tyler sees the way Kyle is watching him; the way his head is cocked to the side and his are both curious and concerned. And he quickly shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Go ask.”

“I don’t want to,” his daughter argues. “I want you to do it. I want...”

“Amelia!” he snaps, harsher than he’d intended. “I said go and ask your mom!”

She blinks, then her mouth settles into a firm, grim line and tears glisten in her eyes. The guilt hits him immediately. She shouldn’t be the one paying the price for his issues; she doesn’t deserve to face the consequences of his burdens and his demons. She’s just a kid. A baby still. Innocent and pure. And none of this bullshit is her fault.

“Millie...I’m sorry...” he attempts to make amends as she shoves her chair backwards and springs to her feet. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I didn’t mean to...”

“Leave me alone!” she bellows, then stomps out of the room, both her angry, pounding footsteps and her sobs seeming to thunder through the house.

“Fuck me...” Tyler mutters, and rakes his hands through his hair and runs a palm down his face. The cravings are back; that crippling need for alcohol. Or the meds. Maybe even both.

“What the hell, man?” Kyle scowls. “That’s your fucking kid. Why talk to her like that?”

Tyler fixes him with a cold, harsh stare. “You need to mind your own fucking business.”

“That’s my niece. My sister is her mother. That makes Millie my business.”

“You don’t even have kids. Until you do, keep your mouth shut about mine. You don’t know what it’s like. This life. Being a dad.”

“I know that wasn’t you. That you’re not that kind of dad. The one that snaps on his kids. You’re usually the calm one. Patience of a saint. So what the fuck?”

Tyler sighs, hands on his hips as he briefly closes his eyes. There’s going to be hell to pay: a pissed off wife and a hurt, angry little girl. Kyle’s right. He IS usually the calm and patient one; he can count on one hand the amount of times he’s lost it on the kids. But his nerves are shot; the last remaining shred of sanity feeling as if it’s barely hanging on.

“You okay?” Kyle asks. “What was that with your hands? The shaking.”

“It’s the meds,” Tyler lies. “One of the side effects.”

His hands used to twitch and move in his sleep; to the point it would wake Esme up. She’d said it was like he was back on the battlefields in the Middle East or still on the job; hands and fingers going through the motions of handling a handgun or a rifle, loading magazines, pulling the trigger. There are times it STILL happens. He can be completely relaxed while lying in bed or sitting on the couch or lounging on the beach and his right index finger moves on its own accord. And he actually has to focus and concentrate on making it stop.

“Haven’t you been on those for years?” his brother in law inquires. “If you’re still having side effects after this long, I’d get your ass to a doctor."

Tyler’s annoyed. On edge. And it causes him to immediately lash out. “Shouldn’t you still be out fucking the neighbor?”

Kyle smirks. “So now you’re going take your shit out on me? I may not be able to take you, but it won’t stop me from trying to kick your ass.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Tyler retorts. “Why are you even here?”

“Esme called me. Asked if I’d help Ovi with the kids while you guys went out for a while.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean why are you HERE? In Australia.”

“I’m here to see my sister. And my nieces and nephews. I don’t get to do that very much since you decided to just pack them up and move them to the other side of the goddamn world.”

Tyler scoffs. “Don’t start that shit with me. I didn’t force your sister to come here. I didn’t put a gun to her head or give her some kind of ultimatum. We decided this together. She was the one who suggested it.”

“Same way she suggested it the first time?”

He frowns. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m talking about when she decided to give up her entire life to stay here. For some guy she’d just met.”

“She gave up a life?” Tyler gives a dry laugh. “What life? A mother that’s treated her like shit for nearly her entire life? Who stayed friends with an ex-husband that that used to beat her and force himself on her? You mean THAT life? She had no fucking life.”

“And you gave her one?” Kyle challenges. “Some guy that saw her as nothing more than an easy fuck and spent five days taking advantage of that in some shit hole motel in Bangladesh. Who probably wasn’t even going to bother with her once he got out of there?”

“You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. You have no idea what went down between me and Esme. Just what you want to believe. Or what mommy dearest put into your goddamn head. I had every intention of continuing things with her. We had all kinds of plans; for what we were going to do after Dhaka. But we never got that chance, did we.”

“Yeah, how convenient,” Kyle snorts. “Things go completely to hell, she ends up staying here to play nursemaid to some guy she barely knew, finds out she’s knocked up...”

“Don’t talk about my wife or my kid like that,” Tyler interjects. “Don’t EVER talk about them like that.”

“And then you decide to do the right thing,” his brother in law continues. “The honorable thing. I’ll give you that much; you stepped up at least. You didn’t leave her alone and pregnant and make her a single mom.”

“Is that what you think I did? That I ‘stepped up’ and married her because of Millie? I married her because I loved her. And I stick around because I still love her. Because I’ll always love her.”

“Or because you’re too far in it now. Five kids make it pretty damn hard to walk away. Or is it your way of keeping HER from walking away? I mean, what better way to keep her around? Keep putting kids in her, keep her barefoot and pregnant...”

Tyler takes a step towards him; nostrils flaring, fists clenched at his sides. “You’re way out of fucking line, mate. Neither of us are stuck here. Either of us could walk away if we wanted to.”

“What mother is going to leave her kids? Tell me on mother who would do that. I’ll wait.”

“You think she sticks around because she feels like she has no other choice? Are you listening to yourself right now? You have no fucking clue what things are like between me and Esme. I stay because I love her. Because I want to spend the rest of my life with her. And I know...beyond the shadow of a fucking doubt...that she stays for the same reason. So fuck off with your bullshit. This is my house. You’re a guest here. So don’t walk in here like you own the place and start shit talking me. Or my wife. Or my kids. Because I will put you on your ass.”

“You threaten her like that, too? Is that how you keep her here? Scare her into being a perfect little submissive housewife? Does it make you feel like a big man picking on a little thing like her?”

Tyler’s nostrils flare once more; fists tightening so hard that the wounds on his knuckles -that he’s gained while working the heavy bag in the gym so hard- actually crack and begin to bleed. He feels how tense his shoulders are, how tight his jaw is clenched. And he knows Kyle is one more word...one more breath...away from getting himself into a situation he can’t possibly handle.

****

“That’s enough!” Esme snaps from the doorway; holding a despondent Millie on her hip. The soon to be six-year-old is long and lanky; legs dangling well past her mother’s knees, toes almost touching her shins. “Kyle...what the hell...?”

“We were just having a discussion,” her brother says. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Bullshit. I was in the hallway. I heard almost all of your little discussion. How fucking dare you.”

“Mommy...” Millie mutters into her neck. “...bad language.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Esme lays a hand on her daughter’s head and presses a kiss to her brow. “Do you think you could go outside for a little bit? Just for a few minutes. Mommy has some things to say and she doesn’t think you should hear them. Can you do that for me? Please?”

Millie nods.

“Just for a few minutes,” her mother assures her, as she places her on the ground and then holds her face in her hands, pecking her lips. “And say out of the sand. You don’t want mess your dress up before grandpa gets to see it, okay?”

“Okay,” Millie agrees, and then sidestep her father’s hand when he reaches out for her. “No daddy. I’m still mad. I love you, but I don’t like you very much right now.”

“Wow...” Kyle comments, as his niece stomps from the room and throws the patio door open –and slams it closed- with enough force to rattle the glass pane. “Six-ish going on sixteen-ish. Wonder where she gets THAT attitude from.”

“First off, fuck you Kyle,” Esme snaps. “Fuck you and your self-righteous, mom like bullshit. Coming here and thinking you can say the shit I heard come out of your mouth.”

“What I said? You know what he said?” he gestures towards Tyler. “To his own kid?! How he made her cry?”

“Oh, she told me all about that. And believe me, Tyler is going to catch shit for it, and he knows it. When we’re alone and we don’t have nosey, judgmental assholes all up in our shit. It’s none of your goddamn business what goes on around here.”

“You’re my sister,” Kyle argue. “That makes it my business.”

“Like hell it does! I’m a grown ass woman. With children. So treat me like one. And second of all, fuck you again. For talking about me like you were. Never mind that, for talking to my husband like you were. Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Did you hear anything he said? Or just me?”

“He was defending me. Defending US. Don’t try throwing Tyler under the bus when I heard nearly every goddamn word. An easy fuck? That's how you see your own sister?”

He sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that...”

“Tyler didn’t take advantage of me. Not in the slightest. We were two consenting adult and we wanted to fuck each other so we did. What we did during those five days has no bearing on you. None whatsoever. You have no clue what went on. The things we talked about. The plans we made. And we had them. Plans. To get to know one another the right way. To travel and to spend time learning about one another. But we never got that chance.”

“Esme...I....”

“You weren’t in Dhaka,” she continues, and wanders over to the sink; dampening the dish cloth and offering it to Tyler; so he can clean the open wounds on his knuckles. And he accepts it with a small, grateful smile and leans back against the island. “We were. You weren’t on that bridge You have no idea how bad things were and how bad things got and how worse they could have been. So keep your goddamn mouth shut about Dhaka.”

“All I was trying to say was...”

“I’m talking now, Kyle. It’s my turn. You’re in my house. And you will not disrespect me and you sure as hell will not disrespect the father of my kids. I stayed here after Dhaka because I wanted to. Because I wanted to be with Tyler. Because he needed someone to be there for him. Because busted his ass to get me out that god awful shitty mess and the least I could do was stick around and make sure he didn’t die alone. Because he almost did. Not just on that bridge, either. I stayed because I wanted to. Simple as that.”

“Fine,” Kyle throws his hands up in exasperation, and moves towards the patio door. “You did what YOU wanted. You didn’t care about the people you left behind. You were immature and selfish and...”

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” Esme steps in front of him. “You got yourself into this mess, you’re going stick with it until the bitter end. You come in here and talk shit? Well now you’re going to get it right back. I had a shitty ex-husband who liked to rape and beat on women and a narcissistic bitch of a mother and older brothers with their heads so far up her ass....”

“Baby...” Tyler steps forward, using his shoulder to shove Kyle out of the way so he can stand in front of her; hand settling on her hip. “...settle down, okay? Just stay calm. I know you’re pissed...”

She ignores him. “I made a life for myself in Australia,” she informs her brother. “I became a wife and a mother and I’m sorry if you think that’s selfish of me for choosing that over my shitty existence in Colorado. And selfish? Because I did what I wanted for a change instead of what everyone else expected of me? That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re just upset I’m not under your thumb anymore. That’s all you’re pissed about. You and mom.”

“You’re going to resort to shit talking her? She’s practically on her death bed and you’re going to stoop that low?”

“I don’t give a shit about her. The second she wished death on my husband...the father of her grandchildren...it was over between us. She’s not my mother, Kyle. She hasn’t been my mother in years. Maybe she never was. And I don’t care that she’s dying. Maybe it’s karma. Maybe she finally is getting what she deserves.”

“Okay...that’s enough...” Tyler gently orders. “...let’s not say shit you know you’re going to regret.”

“It’s too late for that,” she says. “The second my brother opened his goddamn mouth when it comes to things he has no clue about. I’m not trapped here, Kyle. He's not some fucking predator like Mark was. What do you think Tyler’s doing? Hiding my birth control or poking holes in condoms just so he can get me pregnant? That is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard a lot of dumb shit in the past thirty-five years.”

“Baby....stop...this has gone too far...” Tyler’s hands are on the side of her face, thumbs brushing away the tears she hadn’t even realized she was shedding. “...stop, okay? You’ve said enough.”

“He has no clue! Absolutely no clue!”

“I know. And you getting this upset is not going to change that. Just let it go. It’s not worth it; getting this riled up.”

“He has no idea. What we’ve been through. What went down in Dhaka and on that bridge.”

“We don’t need to talk about that. He wasn’t there. He doesn’t know what happened. And he doesn’t need to know. It was almost seven years ago. Let’s not talk about Dhaka.”

“You almost died,” her words manage to come out through choked, angry sobs. “On a dirty fucking sidewalk with my fingers shoved in your neck trying to stop you from bleeding out. You almost died right in front of me.”

“But I didn’t,” he firmly reminds her. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

“And you almost died in the hospital. During surgery. Twice. And he has the goddamn nerve to act like it was no big deal? That is so fucking disrespectful to you and what you went through and what you still go through.”

“Esme....” Kyle attempts to step around his brother in law but meets resistance. “I’m sorry. I....”

“Don’t touch her,” Tyler calmly orders. “Don’t even talk to her. You have no clue what’s going on right now. Stay out of it. I’ve got it under control.”

“You do? Because it doesn’t fucking look like it.”

“Would you just shut the fuck up and go and do something else while I deal with this? You have no clue what she’s talking about or why she’s talking about it. So back off.”

“She’s my sister! If there’s something I can do for her...”

“Leave her alone. That’s the best thing you can do for her. Leave her alone and let me deal with it. It’s PTSD, you fucking idiot. You can’t just jump in and fix shit. Fuck. Just let me deal with it.”

This hasn’t happened in months; where the mere mention of Dhaka triggers such a powerful reaction. The last time had been at the therapist’s office, when Esme was asked about her most painful memory of the last ten years. That had led to a full out meltdown complete with hyperventilating and vomiting. After that the therapist had helped them come up with ‘plan of attack’; highlighting the warning signs and how he could either help talk her down before things escalated, or calm things once they got out of control.

“I just want him to leave,” she struggles to draw breath. “Make him leave. Please.”

“He’s just worried about you,” Tyler attempts to reason. “He’s your brother and he loves you and he’s worried about you. Don’t even pay attention to him. Pretend he’s not even here. Pretend it’s just us in the room and no one else.”

“I can see him though,” panic is starting to set in. “I know he’s here.”

“Close your eyes, then,” Tyler cradles her face in his hands and tilts her head up towards him. “Just close your eyes and listen to my voice, okay?”

She nods, her hands coming up to tightly grip his forearms as she allows her eyes to flutter closed. And he presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose and rests his forehead against hers.

“It’s okay, baby...” his voice is quiet, keeping the volume low and the tone steady and soothing. “We’re not in Dhaka anymore. It’s over. It’s all behind us now. We don’t ever have to go back there. We made it out. Both of us. We’re both here. And that’s all that matters. We both made it.”

*****

Within minutes she’s settling; her body ceasing to tremble, her tears stopping, her breathing returning to normal. And when the crisis has passed, sweat is glistening on her forehead and her skin is a pale, deathly gray.

He kisses her forehead once more, followed by her lips. “You okay now? You gonna be alright?”

Nodding, she manages a small smile.

“Go outside and get some air. You’ll feel better. I’ll get you some water and your meds, okay?”

“Okay,” she feebly agrees, and he places his lips against cheek and runs a hand over her hair.

“Leave her,” he snarls at Kyle, when he attempts to step into her path. “For fuck sake, just leave her alone.”

Kyle backs off, holding his hands up in surrender. Then waits for his sister to step and is out of earshot before speaking again. “What the hell was that?” he asks, as he follows Tyler into further into the kitchen. “Like what the fuck?”

“It happens every so often when she’s stressed about something. Usually it has to do with Dhaka. When some fucking shit for brains brings it up.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kyle mutters. “Was it really that bad?”

Tyler scoffs. “Oh, I don’t know, mate. She had to stick her fingers in my neck so she could pinch a vein off to stop me from bleeding out all over her. What do you think?”

“I guess I didn’t. Think.”

“Yeah no shit. You have no idea what went down over there. Everything she went through. Everything she saw. Especially on that bridge. So do me a favor and don’t bring it up. Ever.”

“I never realized it was THAT bad, I guess.”

“How could you not have realized it? You know I almost fucking died. That she was the one that saved me. She’s your sister. How could you not realize that would have fucked her right up?” He yanks the fridge open, snagging a bottle of water before shutting the door with his hip, then grabs a prescription bottle from a cupboard near the stove. “She was dealing with it just fine until all this shit with Ovi started. And let’s not even get into what happened when Nik decided to pop back up.”

“You know she says you guys were fucking, right? Within the last six and a half years. Since you and Esme got married. She told me. That you her and have been hooking up. Least a dozen times. If not more.”

“She’s full of shit. I haven’t fucking touched her since I met your sister. I wouldn’t cheat on my wife. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a cheater.”

“I’m not saying I believe her. Not in the slightest. I don’t think you would. Fuck around on Esme. I mean you’ve done some shitty things, but I don’t think you’d do THAT.”

“I wouldn’t. Ever. Not even in the six months when we were separated did I even think about cheating on her, let alone actually do it. I’m not crazy. I know what I have. I’m not losing it.”

Kyle nods slowly as he considers Tyler’s words. “I just thought you should know. In case she calls her or shows up trying to cause shit.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck have you done?”

“What I should have done that night after Esme called Nik out at dinner. I told her it was over That it just wasn’t going to work. That we’re just too different and her career doesn’t exactly leave room for a marriage, let alone a successful one.”

“So it’s done? Totally? You and her?”

“It never should have started in the first place. It was a bitch move. Getting mixed up with someone who tried to ruin my sister’s life.”

Tyler smirks. “You think?”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad she didn’t. Screw things up with you and Esme. I mean, you can be a real dick, but I know you love her. And I know she’s happy here. That she’s happy with her life. As a wife and a mother.”

“I like to think she is. Happy. And she’s amazing at both. I’m lucky. Even if that’s something I don’t say often enough.”

“It’s all I want for her, you know. To be happy. Especially after all that shit with Mark.”

“We try not to talk about that around here either. And look, no offence, but when I tell you I’m dealing with something...when I say I’ve got things under control...fucking listen to me the next time. Because I live with her. I’ve been living with her for almost seven years now. I’ve been the one with her through all the bullshit and all the hard times. All the nightmares and the panic attacks and the freak outs. I’ve been the one dealing with all of that. You just made shit worse. I would have had her talked down a lot sooner but you just kept escalating shit. When I tell you to back off, just do it.”

“Fair enough,” Kyle agrees.

“You and the neighbor, huh? Is that the real reason you broke things off with Nik?”

Kyle follows him through the kitchen, out into the living room and towards the patio door. “There’s nothing between Salena and I. Nothing serious, anyway. We’re just having a good time.”

Tyler smirks. “You mean your dick’s having a good time.”

Kyle gives a sly grin.

“Mine had a good time last time last night too, so...”

“Jesus Christ,” his brother in law scowls. “That’s my sister.”

“I’ve made five kids with your sister. I think it’s obvious we have sex.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to hear about it. Or think about it.”

“Look...” Tyler pauses, fingers curling around the handle of patio door. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and the neighbor and I honestly don’t give a shit, but I’m going to be pissed if Nik shows up to cause problems. I don’t need that crap. Esme especially doesn’t need it. We’ve got enough going on without having to put up with her.”

“I told her not to bother you guys. To leave you both out of it.”

“Yeah? And when does Nik ever do what she’s told? You trying to tell her what to do probably just pissed her off even more. I just don’t want that shit here. Around my wife and my kids.”

“Think she’ll call Esme? Tell her the same thing you told me? That you guys were hooking up.”

“She better hope she doesn’t. And you better not say anything to your sister, either. Because it’s not true. I’ve never cheated on her. I never will. So if you don’t keep your mouth shut....”

“Won’t say a word,” Kyle promises. “I don’t understand how it even got this far. Nik wanting on your dick for this long.”

“Well if you saw my dick, you’d understand. I mean, it’s kept your sister around, right?”

Kyle smirks. “So did she catch the feels or something? Nik?”

“Guess so.”

“But you never did.”

“I never saw her as anything more than a boss or a friend. We used to fuck. That’s it. Nothing serious. I never wanted it to be. She never got like this until after Esme and I got together. It pissed her off that we were fucking on the job. And then it pissed her off even more when things went further than that. Guess she thought I’d never settle down.”

“Or if you did, you’d settle down with her.”

“Who knows. Doesn’t matter anyway. I never saw her that way. I never saw anyone that way until your sister came along. I’d already done the marriage thing. Once was enough. I pretty much avoid forming any kind of connection with someone. No one needed to get mixed up in that kind of mess. Never met a woman that could put with it; the job and everything that came with it. It needed to be someone pretty fucking strong. No one I ever met fit that bill.”

“Weak women need not apply, huh?”

“Pretty much. Then your sister came along and...” he shrugs. “...I don’t know...here we are.”

“Almost seven years and five kids later,” Kyle concludes. “Think there might be a six?”

“Why are you so hung up on us having another kid? Addie's only three weeks. Still new.”

“Make it a nice even number,” Kyle reasons. “Half a dozen. You haven’t thought about it?”

“A couple times, maybe.”

That’s a lie; over the past three days he’s thought about it at least a few dozen times. But he’s not sure if he actually wants a sixth one, or that the idea of getting dragged back into the unpredictability and the danger of the job makes him feel as if he NEEDS to have another. A way of ‘cementing his legacy’.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to talk your sister into it,” Tyler says. “She already gave in the last two times I changed my mind.”

“This thing that happened...” Kyle gazes out the window, nodding towards where his sister sits at the top of the patio stairs, arms wrapped around her slender form. “...the PTSD or whatever. She’ll be okay, right?”

“She usually is. Takes about a half hour, hour, before she’s back to normal.”

“Will it ever go away? Or is just something she’ll have to learn to live with?”

“It’s pretty damn permanent,” Tyler reluctantly admits.

And he both blames and hates himself for it.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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hearthandhomemagick · 4 years ago

Text

The Cottage Witches Journey Journal 18+ Trigger Warning (discusses adult situations and mentions abuse, assault & suicidal thoughts)

I would like to start this journal entry with who I am. My name is Carly, and my spiritual practice is focused on my Hearth and Home. I am writing this to kind of freely express myself, my experiences, and even speculations I may have. Feel free to follow me through this journey, or even offer conversation if you have a thought. I’m open for human connection and communication!

So, I’d say my journey started at a very young age. I grew up along side a river in Florida, where my family has owned land next to the water for quite a few generations. I grew up with a sizeable family and a lot of spiritual survival practices, including identifying plants and herbs for healing purposes, learning to read the land in front of me, and cleansing my heart in the current of the river when I am hurting. These were a part of my nature, and the tree bent by Native Americans, directing the flow of the water, was an asset to the land that felt like magical anytime I touched it. I was raised under the Christian faith and followed it for many many years, until I reached college. But, before I get fully into my religious transition, let me describe the woman I used to be.

As a young woman entering the world on her own for the very first time, I felt as though I had to prove my morals to the world. I felt a longing to prove to everyone why my approach to life was the best approach, and often fought with no thought to the other person in order to get my point across. I used to be fierce in my beliefs and would argue my corner until my lungs gave out. While this is admirable as a trait in defense, it is not admirable in a trait of happiness.

You see, I was learning that fighting for what I thought was right was more important than anything else, including myself. But if I am not fighting for myself, then who am I truly fighting for? The fight for “justice” took precedent over the fight for my own sanity. This was a reoccurring contemplation that passed through my mind effortlessly one day, creating an immediate explosion of, “What is Justice to me, for me?” Now, I am still no where near knowing exactly what Justice means to me. I don’t believe I will ever have a clear answer for that question, either, because it will be forever changing and growing as my understanding expands and grows. With that urge to fight my corner, I was also very extroverted with people in general. Being bullied as a kid, I never wanted anyone to feel the way I felt, so I never held back from giving positive compliments or speaking my truth. This saved and hindered me all at once because while I loved human interaction and never met a stranger, I never truly picked up on negative gut feelings for people and gave so much of my energy to everyone that I had no energy for myself. Throughout that stage of my life, I was selfish and insecure all at the same time. My roommates were from India and China in college, and were smarter than me on paper because they had better educational opportunities than I did. I say this not because I’m jealous or envious, but because they pointed it out frequently. I could feel the insecurity of my own intelligence washing over me and their comments about me being overweight didn’t make me feel any better. These insecurities caused a heavy layer of selfishness, where I wanted to only worry about my own feelings & thoughts. While a fun period I am happy to have lived in my life, it was also a side of me that should have been put into check much earlier.

At some point, I couldn’t go back to college due to finances and was thrusted back into my hometown in Florida. This sent me into an anxiety filled depression which rocketed me into fits of self hatred, lack of motivation, lack of confidence, and staring at the pill bottle sitting on my bed side table. Through this time, I was forcing myself to pray to God that everything would be okay, & that I wouldn’t hurt anymore. I prayed, and knew I didn’t believe the words I spoke.

Let me repeat that. I prayed, knew it wouldn’t work, and still I prayed. This feeling of disconnect from my beliefs and religion rocked everything I had imagined, and yet forced me to fix my problems myself. Because I didn’t believe some magic man in the sky would magically fix all of my issues, I started contemplating whether I was connected to any spirituality at all.

Now, when I had moved back to my hometown, I started looking for friendship and found drama. I would go to karaoke at a bar with my older sister, singing is something I breathe for, and grew tired of the criticism given to people who enjoyed what they were doing, but never met the standards of professionals. My sister started talking shit about people, and I wasn��t for that energy or drama so I stopped going. I started hanging with my friend Raven, but she moved to Jacksonville shortly after I moved back. I then started hanging with a high school friend named Jordan, whom took me different places to interact with people every once in a while. Jordan knew an old high school friend, Logan, and invited me to smoke cannabis every once in a while on the weekends. While hanging out with Jordan and Logan, Logan and I started getting closer. While my mind felt as though it was packed full of passing negative thoughts and deterioration, Logan was teaching me my morals again.

At this point, my faith had been falling apart, but I had not vocalized it until I told Logan. The moment I went over to his apartment and started expressing that I felt religion was beautiful and yet not for me, his eyes lit up and a spark flew. We talked for hours that night, and for hours the nights after. He taught me to be an individual and made me feel as though I was smart again, he made me feel worth it. We eventually got into a relationship together and started working together to build a heathy foundation of trust, understanding, communication & sustainability. He is my equal, and I started my spiritual journey with him by my side.

Fast forward to the end of 2019, I’m in Gainesville (Florida) with my best friend, Tiana, for Christmas shopping. We had stopped in a few stores prior and decided that going into a spiritual store would be cool, so we sought out the Bodhi Tree. This shop was a sizeable metaphysical store that I had been in every so often when in town. Once we got there, I was immediately pulled to the back of the store where the divination tools & books were located. I had always found interest in magic and the elements, especially as a child, and caught myself eyeing the oracle cards in front of me. I could feel an energy pushing me towards a specific deck, but I couldn’t figure out which it was. So I stood for a moment, contemplating why I was attracted to that area with no interest in the decks presented to me. That’s when I noticed a blue box sticking out from behind a different deck. I picked it up & observed the lovely Angels & Ancestors Oracle box in front of me, and knew from that moment on that they were meant to be mine.

As they called to me, I found myself taking them to the check out counter and purchasing them without a second thought. I had no preface of what to expect from this, nor did I know whether this was even something I would be capable of committing to. All I knew was that my body and mind owned them before I even paid for them. The Universe confirmed the connection was meant to be when we then went to a book store and discovered an array of tarot and oracle decks & books. I bought a purple velvet tarot bag, and everything started falling into place.

After a month of playing with the cards, connecting with and enjoying their messages and images, I proceeded to buy my first ever tarot deck, The Herbcrafter’s Tarot. I fell in love with this deck, even though it was hard to read. It was my learning deck and I started recognizing what my spirituality meant to me.

Over time, I remained Agnostic in terms of Religion, and focused on the energy I held & self expansion. I didn’t know what to believe, think or even how far or long I was going to venture this path. Eventually, though, I recognized why I put a besom over my door and felt protective of my home and its comfortability. I started seeking more spiritual energy in my home and was beginning my path to becoming a Hearth Witch. I got with my cousin and at the beginning of 2020, I started my spiritual awakening journey.

It started when Logan didn’t have a job to go to. I was working as a Sexual Violence Outreach Advocate and, after a few months of struggling financially, got a second job as a CBD Store Associate on the weekends. I worked harder than I ever have in my life and learned my own independence in the process. Spiritually, my vibes were low and I was experiencing anxiety, depression and PTSD from the re-traumatization of counseling Sexual Violence Survivors. I even went through a horrible time where for months on end I would wake up throwing up non stop. The doctors couldn’t figure out what it was and I lost 50 pounds from the malnutrition. I was at my lowest, and felt like focusing on myself was destroying me more than it was helping. I took shadow-work as self hatred and criticism, and forgot to put honey on my tongue before looking in the mirror. I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out why I was as sick mentally and physically as I was.

Then, something happened. After a terrible event between my cousin and nieces, where my cousin told my nieces that chopped up dead children were in the walls of their brand new home, I recognized the importance of boundaries with everyone. Now, a lot more happened between my cousin and I prior to this, including her assuming my boyfriend was abusive because she received a reading that she felt was meant for me, but never was. So, after the drama settled, I ghosted.

I left everyone’s problems to themselves and started worrying about the things in my life I can change. This resulted in actual self reflection, self awareness & peace of mind. My tarot card readings became more clear and precise, and tarot decks started being given to me as gifts. Eventually, I noticed that my job as an Advocate was a huge problem in my life.

I experienced Sexual Violence in the past, and in my year as an Advocate, I had been paid $11 an hour to counsel up to 7-12 different Survivors in a week. I was asked to do everything, including my Supervisors job, and went above and beyond with little to no credit going towards my work. I didn’t even feel safe making a mistake or two, simply because I watched Advocates get fired for having a quiet personality or making mistakes and asking too many questions. The days leading up to my final day at that job, I was throwing up everything in my stomach every morning until 5 minutes before I had to leave, so I was late for work everyday.

The day after my last day as an Advocate was my first time not throwing up in months. And I haven’t thrown up since I left.

Logan started a new job that gave him ample finances, and I was making more in a week at my new job than I was as an Advocate. This is where my healing started. I started giving my mental more attention, speaking softer to myself, and appreciating the people around me. Logan even started showing me more affection, and being nicer to himself.

Spiritually we were growing together.

Ugh, I have so much I want to discuss and talk about with others!!!! There will definitely be more thoughts and entries as time goes on. Especially with the end of 2020.

So, this is where my journey begins. I am here because I like to talk, to speculate & even debate certain things and ideas. I love energy, and the energy people bring forward is always fascinating. So please, drop an ask, message me, or let me know your thoughts!

#tarot #spiritual #shadow work #religion #witch #kitchenwitch #hearth #hearthwitch #witchcraft #metaphysical #selflove #oracle #story #journal #witchy #spiritwork #witchdiscussion #babywitch

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