#how his perception of time is skewed and we go from one desperate moment to the other

[zykamiliah]

#finally watched s2 and while i have so many issues with it and i agree with 90% of the criticism..... these two got me THEY FUCKING GOT ME#i was so neutral about them in s1 like i'd reblog pretty art but i wasn't invested and now they have me in a chokehold wtf#jayvik nation i owe you an apology i was not familiar with your ship's game/potential but i've seen the light now#they went from lab partners to best friends to enemies to starcrossed lovers to monster romance to soulmates to doomed (OR IS IT?) yaoi#fucked up and codependent divorced couple#soft but also madscientist4madscientist and unhinged4unhinged who love each other more than anything in the world#'in all timelines in all possibilities only you can show me this'#in every universe in every life i will find you and choose you and love you#not to me. not if it's you#like??? are you fucking kidding me?????#HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS#anyway the forehead touch and viktor caressing jayce's forearm.....goodBYE#i'm gonna go set up a camp in their ao3 tag now (via @peppermoons)

We finish this together.

[the-ghost-king]

love seeing ur tags on my posts it means i get to think 🥰🥰 anyway mostly agree but at least to me nico’s constant need to prove himself is a sign of feeling like he’s not worth other people’s time and effort and he has to MAKE himself worth it. he does all he can in the hopes that people will notice him and tell him that he’s good enough because he relies on the approval of people he loves. he thinks love is something conditional for him and that he always has to be earning it because he doesn’t have enough worth to have it just granted to him. again this is more my own interpretation of his character and possibly a bit of projection

(Post)

I will not fail to acknowledge that I might also be projecting somewhat onto Nico, what is media but self reflection? I think there's a couple ways you can see Nico that are canonically "correct"

What I personally think happened with Nico is that he was aware he was worth more than the treatment he was receiving, but because so much rejection occurred he eventually just assumed he was the problem. There's things on this I would rewrite now but it holds up okay in what I'm about to try and explain.

The thing about being rejected is that the first time you argue it's the other person. And the second time you'll argue it's still them. If you're still arguing it's other people the third time, maybe but it's thin ice... But eventually you just have to accept that you're at fault.

I think this is something that really describes Nico. He is never able to nestle himself in the comfort of sameness after a certain point. He is not given authority in his own story in the beginning, he is thrust into solitude, he is told he is a monster already and if not then he has no choice but to become one.

And he takes this blame upon himself, believing that it's him who has to prove himself. He doesn't acknowledge that maybe other people have their own biases against him, he says "I have to prove them wrong," and then does his best.

It's important to note that Nico is definitely grappling with Childhood Emotional Neglect, he's in a broken situation- and he recognizes that nobody wants him around, and that he's just more stress for an already stressed group of people, so he just backs down and starts to figure stuff out for himself. We see him accept some help and friendship from The Stolls in TTC but eventually he stops doing this at some point.

His leave from camp and time with Minos is when he is used:

you unknowingly wear your heart on your sleeve and people will see this and take advantage of your trusting nature and unconditional love and they’ll never really love you they’ll just see you as an easy tool to be manipulated and used how they see fit and you won’t recognize that this is a bad thing because you don’t believe you’re worth anything more than this

This is something I would say is very true about this time period of Nico's life. Minos emotionally exploits Nico, emotional neglect and abuse (possibly physical abuse, who knows) are defining characteristics of their interactions. Nico talks about how Minos will just randomly leave him for extremely long periods with no assistance, and about how when he's around he's always telling Nico to try harder, to do better, do more. Note the time he tells Nico "you have no power over me", he's definitely holding things over Nico's head. I don't think it's wrong to assume comfort is a part of that, Nico is alone all the time at this point, and I'm sure he's starved for touch, and support, and connection- and he will take whatever he can get whether or not it is good or right.

At first he doesn't do anything against this, and it might be because he was so starved for attention that he was willing to endure abuse to receive somewhat a consistent form of it. I also think there's some evidence that points to the idea Nico was getting something from Minos, training and similar stuff, it's possible he was willing to form and upkeep a toxic relationship with him in order to gain experience.

However, I do disagree with "and you won’t recognize that this is a bad thing because you don’t believe you’re worth anything more than this" because Nico does realize eventually that his situation isn't sustainable and that he has to do something- so he takes his narrative back into his own hands:

“Minos laughed. "You have no power over me. I am the god of spirits! The ghost king!" "No." Nico drew his sword. "I am.” (X)

So Nico, if he ever thought he was worth the treatment of being used for someone elses personal gain, he definitely overcomes some of it here, if not all of it. Nico is manipulated and used for Minos's personal gain, but he recognizes that it's not sustainable and makes a stand for himself. And this is the first time in the series where Nico truly is able to take control of his own narrative, everything before this moment is Nico being forced, or Nico with something looming over him, Nico crowning himself is him claiming his story.

So let's consider Hades in all of this, I don't think Hades manipulated Nico to the extent Minos did- but nonetheless, he did manipulate and abuse him, and this hurt Nico more than when Minos did it. Again, in the situation with Hades this is also true, "you unknowingly wear your heart on your sleeve and people will see this and take advantage of your trusting nature and unconditional love and they’ll never really love you they’ll just see you as an easy tool to be manipulated and used how they see fit and you won’t recognize that this is a bad thing". By the time Nico and Hades truly start interacting, we see that Nico's heart hasn't been fully removed from his sleeve, but it may have been lightened.

Here's the thing about the way Nico approached Hades, it's not naïve to trust family. The text in multiple places implies that Hades was around for at least a handful of years when Nico was a kid, it's not unlikely that Nico may have taken naps on his shoulder, held his hand to cross the street, maybe called him "Papa", "Dad", or "Tata" (Italian, English, old Greek). It makes sense that Nico goes to him, what doesn't make sense to Nico at first is that Hades would manipulate him. Unlike many of the other demigods, Nico knows he was a choice, and that at some point he was something wanted, so he expects some level of okay treatment from Hades. Hades loved his mother, and Hades if not wanting of Nico would have wanted Maria's wishes fulfilled, and Nico probably remembers Hades treating him warmly- or at least not harshly. The way Nico went to Hades makes sense, he wasn't expecting open arms surely, but he also wasn't expecting abuse.

Hades emotionally exploits Nico by using information about Maria, what would a little boy want more than the safety of his mother? He's so starved for human contact, who ever held him more than his mother? Who ever loved him more than her? Once Nico delivers Percy to Hades, his father crushes him, not only by harming Percy but by exploiting Nico's trust through Nico's mother- one of the things he's most desperate for.

We see Nico's heart come off his sleeve at this point, maybe not fully, but enough to where a stranger couldn't recognize it at first glance, and in a way where he has the means to hide it from most.

Except we don't see much of this, because the series is narrated by Percy- and Nico can't hide his heart from Percy.

Almost everything Nico does, everything he tries to do, is for Percy. Nico is so desperate for contact that he is pliant, but in Percy's hands Nico actually wants that contact, he's not interested in imitations of love or substitutes- he's looking for the real thing.

And Mr. Oblivious does-Annabeth-like-me Jackson isn't in any headspace to realize that a boy might like him, let alone Nico. This concern that Nico will join Luke, isn't entirely because Percy is misreading signals, but it's definitely part of it. Nico likes Percy so much that at one point he is willing to go to Tartarus if not entirely for him, then partially for him.

If Percy had realized, and rejected Nico- maybe he would have joined Luke, or at least he definitely would have been more likely to. The perception of Nico we get in PJO from Percy is unreliable, because Percy looks at Nico through the lenses of a concerned older brother, and Percy feels guilty in some way for the situation Nico is in. This gives not only a skewed, but slightly falsified narrative of who Nico is.

The original post of mine I linked, although yes, I would like to rewrite aspects of it now it holds up in the sense that Nico is always trying to prove himself, and this is a bit different than being a puppet. Nico is so starved that it is present in everything, @/arabnico gets it right:

nico’s longing is just so raw it consumes him whole and he cannot hide it at all because it reflects in absolutely everything he does and is nico’s just the means of the way for them and he settles for being it because he doesn’t think he can be much better or even deserves to it is sometting so twisted because nico has this innate utalitarian desire to be useful and to do something and to do the right thing but in the game of things he’s reduced to that puppet in the hands of fate and deities millennia older than him that see a wounded wandering soul doomed to be forever alone by a destiny so cruel it keeps him on his knees

Nico, in PJO especially, has little control over his own narrative. His mother is killed in punishment for his father's "wrongs", Nico is forced to endure this. Bianca grows tired of caring for Nico and leaves him behind, this is not Nico's fault but Nico is forced to endure the consequences of her actions. Bianca's fate is decided on a quest Nico isn't even able to go on, he is forced to endure the results. Nico then breaks the cycle, declaring himself The Ghost King, and dethroning Minos. Nico is forced to endure Hades's manipulation only because he did not see it coming, this wasn't an aspect in which Nico didn't have his narrative (he had already taken ownership of his narrative) but a blind spot in his rational.

The place where we vary is why Nico behaves this way, we can agree that it's because he's starving for human connection- but you believe it's because he has no confidence he is willing to submit himself, while I see his submission as an act of desperation.

Personally, I think to argue that Nico is like this as a result of lack of confidence does a disservice to his narrative (obviously it's fine to view him however you wish, and I wish you all the fun in doing so!). To boil this down to starvation and lack of confidence removes some level of Nico's autonomy in his own life, but also strips him of one of his strongest characteristics- those qualities of him which are like Orpheus.

Nico willing to go to the ends of the earth for love is not a weakness but a strength, his ability to carry on beyond the point in which he needs a rest is not a weakness but a sign of strength. His ability to go to the ends of the earth to right wrongs, and to show his love:

"... Cupid struck, slapping Nico sideways into a granite pedestal. Love is no game! It is no flowery softness! It is hard work- a quest that never ends. It demands everything from you- especially the truth. Only then does it yield rewards."

Cupid is explaining Nico's idea of love in this scene, we see Jason say he prefers Piper's idea of love- but Nico only knows love in the way cupid describes, working desperately for a few moments with Bianca, working just to hear any scrap of information about his mother, always trying to prove himself to Percy- to overcome the way he feels about Percy (and boys in general).

Nico has only known love as something you walk to the ends of the Earth for, but he never stops fighting to be loved and acknowledged. Lesser men would give up and lay down, accept they are unworthy, but Nico keeps pushing to be acknowledged and accepted- to be recognized and loved without having to walk to the end of the Earth, but Nico knows he has to walk to that edge and face it before unconditional love will come to him.

To imply that Nico seeks love the way he does because he's unconfident in his ability to receive love ignores the idea that he's had his life forced into this position because of the fates. It loses acknowledgment to the strength it takes to pick yourself up and walk to the end of the Earth time and time again, because if he was unconfident then he would eventually lay down and accept he shouldn't be loved ever again.

I don't think confidence doesn't play into this at all though, it definitely has some impact on Nico, he does view himself as inherently less (he is overly self sacrificial- think Tartarus :/), and he does try to remove himself from others:

You yourself said: you blame yourself for the way people have hurt you, taken advantage of you, and abandoned you. they exploit your love and your naïveté time and time again. you tell yourself, surely, there must be something wrong with you. because—you are convinced—that people are good. “if they hurt me, it is because i am flawed. it is because i am weak. people will always hurt me—even people i love. it’s an inevitable truth for me.” (X)

And this connects to what I said: "The thing about being rejected is that the first time you argue it's the other person. And the second time you'll argue it's still them. If you're still arguing it's other people the third time, maybe but it's thin ice... But eventually you just have to accept that you're at fault."

I do think there's a reason Nico makes himself so "utilitarian", because he hasn't been handed unconditional love since Bianca. But again we disagree on the why, I see Nico's behavior in his utilitarian example of love as caring, the way more people should be in love. Too many people see love as something given without restraint, and yeah, love should be unconditional but in order for love to be unconditional you have to do the work to lay good foundation. To be utilitarian in loving is not an act of weakness, or a symbol of lack of confidence, it is a showcase of more care in love than most have to offer. We care for things, and place value on them determined by how much love and care goes into those things.

I also don't see Nico's self blaming for what happened as flawed, it's logical in his situation, and a common result of CEN. This self blame shows care and kindness, and this coincides with Nico's arcs, "If I am bad, how do I improve? If I have no choice but to be evil, how do I still be good?". Nico is always fighting not to be recognized for good or bad, but to be recognized for what he is.

Trust is not naivety either, the only reason Nico is regarded as naïve is because of the extreme circumstances of his life. People shouldn't have to expect abuse from people who are supposed to love them, people should have to accept abuse in order to receive love. If Nico's life had turned out different, his naivety wouldn't be viewed as a weakness but a strength- a kindness.

We're not actually viewing Nico all that different, there's this space where his character blurs together, and it becomes an individual duty to determine at what point a flaw becomes a strength, and a strength a flaw. Nico's stubbornness is a flaw if we're thinking about grudges, but it's a strength in his work ethic. Nico's ability to stand on his own is a strength in terms of questing, but it's a flaw when it prevents him from experiencing love in fullness.

[cyokie]

Jack Vessalius as a Symbol for Depression

Ever since I first read PandoraHearts, I have interpreted Jack Vessalius as at least a partial symbolic representation of depression, especially in his relationship with Oz. 

(Skip to “keep reading” to go straight to the analysis; this beginning portion is little more than a disclaimer.)

Jack is a complex, fascinating character, and it is precisely due to this that I believe any number of interpretations regarding him contain merit. Whether you view Jack as an abuser, a manifestation of mental illness, or an extraordinarily-written character that does not require a figurative understanding to be interesting, I think this is valid. 

I am saying this first and foremost because I want to be clear: this is not a persuasive essay. I am not trying to change anybody’s minds about liking or disliking Jack Vessalius, nor am I trying to devalue any other interpretations of this extremely nuanced character. Some points may be a bit vague and connections disjointed, though I attempted to minimize this. Any discussion of mental illness and abuse is based on either my personal experiences or those of people I know. I do not intend to offend anybody. 

This post is simply the product of years of disorganized yet in-depth thoughts about this concept. I hope some of you will be interested.

Major spoilers for the entire manga below the cut. Manga panels are from the Fallen Syndicate fan translation. This...is going to get very long.

Emotional Abuse

Jack exists within Oz’s mind. When these two interact, it almost always occurs within Oz’s head, providing every conversation with an inherently emotional and symbolic element. 

Jack initially appears to Oz as an unknown but crucial figure. Whether he is trustworthy or even harmful remains to be seen, but his input is necessary. He is the only insight Oz has into his lost memories; he knows something Oz does not. Oz is suffering an identity crisis, realizing he has endured something he does not completely understand, something that could potentially change his entire life once he does understand it. And yet, this mysterious voice within his head understands it.  

This desperation makes it almost irrelevant whether Jack is credible, whether his advice is well-intentioned. Normally a rather cynical and distrusting young man, Oz follows Jack from the beginning despite wanting answers. He does indeed receive answers, but they are perhaps not quite what he bargained for, in more ways than one.

Once Jack’s true nature is revealed, the extent to which he has used Oz’s memories and emotions against him becomes apparent. Jack does present Oz with new insights into his experiences, but he only ever provides Oz with enough information to convince him to act a certain way. He never willingly gives a fair, all-encompassing portrayal of an event from Oz’s past. He manipulates Oz’s perceptions of his memories to fit a particular emotional narrative, one that is inevitably perplexing and demeaning to Oz. 

This bears a resemblance to the way depression warps how we view past events. When we look back at our experiences, we don’t see the entire picture--though we are convinced that we may. We see a skewed version of an incident that actually occurred. Perhaps this incident proves little to nothing about ourselves in reality, but viewed through the lens of depression, everything about it seems to scream that we are useless. And it is nearly impossible to try and perceive these events any differently, because when depression overtakes our minds, this perspective appears to be the only one through which it is possible to examine any of our pasts. 

By the time Jack’s intentions have been exposed, he is also explicitly emotionally abusive towards Oz. It is easy to recognize Jack’s statements as not only psychologically damaging, but disturbingly similar to what we hear in our own heads when suffering depression. Think about these assertions without the very literal plot elements that support them: Jack declares Oz less than human, insists that nobody loves him, and claims that he has no future because the only thing he’s good for is hurting those around him. He convinces Oz that he is useless, hopeless, and worthless. 

Jack drills these ideas into Oz’s head when he is at his most vulnerable. This is when Oz breaks down and becomes convinced that all of Jack’s statements are true. He is not who he thought he was; he never has been, and so his life is meaningless. 

This is arguably when Oz reaches his all-time emotional low. While it was already addressed that he had been struggling intensely with his mental health and was probably suicidal, up to this point, he always retained some level of self-preservation (however slight). Now, he silently accepts that the world would be better off without him and offers no physical or emotional resistance to his own execution. Jack’s words worm their way into his heart and corrupt his self-image to the point where his only reaction to Oswald’s sword swinging towards him is a blank, unflinching stare. 

Trauma Response

It’s not uncommon for Jack to manifest during catastrophic moments--that is, whenever a situation triggers (or comes close to triggering) overwhelming memories of Oz’s trauma. When Oz is losing control over his emotional and physical faculties, Jack often encourages him to make the trigger disappear using the quickest and easiest method available. Unsurprisingly, this method generally takes advantage of Oz’s extraordinary powers. In other words, the “tactic” Jack advises Oz to use is simply mindless destruction.

In the second half of the manga, Oz is at his least emotionally stable. It is not a coincidence that this is also the point during which Jack gains the ability to completely hijack Oz’s body. This development allows Jack to commit impulsive acts of aggression through Oz, while Oz himself retains little to no control.

Jack overwhelms Oz with unnecessary flashbacks to traumatic events and makes an excess of harmful connections between past and present circumstances. Oz’s panicked, distressed responses to this are tools he uses to further coax Oz into acting in a self-destructive manner. These tendencies may not only connect Jack to the concept of depression, but the concept of post-traumatic stress disorder as well. 

Identity Crisis

Although Jack is introduced extremely early in the manga, one of the story’s main mysteries is the exact nature of his connection to Oz. This relationship shifts several times, especially with regards to who is “in control” and who is the true “owner” of the physical body. 

Once it becomes public knowledge that Jack is “within” Oz, the identity of the former overcomes the identity of the latter in the eyes of the general populace. Figures who never before gave Oz a second glance begin to pay incredibly close attention to him; many directly address him through his connection to Jack rather than as a separate entity. 

Oz is deeply troubled by the way others ignore him in favor of an aspect of his identity that he feels does not truly represent him--an aspect of his identity that is at least partially out of his control. However, he is also relatively resigned to being judged in this manner. He lacks knowledge of how to change this circumstance because even he does not truly understand the extent to which he and Jack are connected. 

It is true that at this point in the story, Jack is practically worshipped. His destructive actions and devastatingly selfish nature have not yet been exposed. Because of this, Oz as Jack’s “vessel” is typically viewed through a positive lens. Still, this situation reflects how people with depression are sometimes reduced to nothing more than a mental illness by their peers. Because others do not understand (and mental illness is stigmatized), they start to see us as “different” in some indefinable but undeniable way, and our existence becomes that particular part of ourselves in their eyes. 

As time passes, the line between Jack and Oz becomes more and more blurred. Questions are raised about whether they are the same person or, on the contrary, whether they are similar at all. At what is arguably the climax of the manga, Jack declares that Oz’s body is, was, and will always be his possession; he claims that in reality, there is no “Oz,” only “Jack.” 

This thought haunts Oz intensely and sends him into a rapid downward spiral. Like the sentiments expressed near the end of the “emotional abuse” section of this analysis, the idea that Oz’s body belongs to Jack is backed up by rigid, literal plot elements. However, if we view this emotional catastrophe using a symbolic perspective, it is a representation of yet another common struggle endured by those with depression.

We come to ask ourselves who we really are. Was there truly a time when we weren’t “like this?” Could we truly escape this misery in the future? Who would we be if we were to stop feeling this way? Do we even exist without depression? Does Oz even exist without Jack?

Visual Symbolism

It is a classic literary device to represent hope through light and despair through darkness. The manga is rife with this exact type of symbolism, utilizing it to describe how the Abyss has changed throughout time, Break’s dwindling eyesight, and the oscillating emotional states of various characters. 

As I stated previously, Jack and Oz interact almost exclusively within the latter’s mind. The landscape drawn in the background of these conversations initially possesses a watery, clear appearance. However, as it becomes increasingly clear that Jack’s presence is deeply damaging to Oz’s psyche, this same landscape becomes overwhelmingly tainted by dark, ink-like shadows. 

Closer examination reveals that this “pollution” originates directly from Jack--and it reaches its peak once Jack’s intentions have been fully disclosed. Not only is Oz’s mind visibly corrupted by darkness, but Jack himself appears as an almost inhuman figure composed of these shadows. 

There is another level of visual symbolism as well--namely, the fact that Jack becomes increasingly physically aggressive and disrespectful towards Oz. In the first half of the manga, he primarily speaks to Oz from a distance, occasionally reaching out a hand in his direction. This is clearly not so in the second half of the manga, at which point Oz begins to defy his influence and it becomes vital that he subjugate him as quickly as possible.

By this time, Jack is almost always seen either restraining or caressing Oz. Even in the latter situation, when his touches are lingering and vaguely affectionate, they are possessive and constraining. In other words, though they appear different on the surface, both actions are ultimately methods of forcing Oz’s submission. It can be said that this represents his desire to gain complete control over all aspects of Oz’s being, as well as his total lack of respect for Oz’s physical and emotional autonomy.

It can be argued that both of these aspects of symbolism reach their pinnacle even before this point. Oz realizes his own worth when Oscar says he loves him and reveals that his greatest desire is for him to be happy. When Oz is at last able to grasp that he is loved and there is hope within his life, Jack immediately reaches out to grab him. And in one of the manga’s subtlest but most poignant moments, his hand crumbles to dust upon touching Oz. 

What follows is an extremely impactful display of Oz’s character development. He recalls Jack’s previous statements declaring his achievements worthless, denouncing the love he received from others as fake, and degrading his worth. Then he furiously rejects all of them, thrusting out a hand to push Jack away from him and consuming Jack in an explosion of light. 

The conclusion to be drawn from this is that Jack essentially lives off Oz’s misery. When Oz understands and is able to accept that he is not worthless, Jack is suddenly rendered utterly powerless. 

The manga culminates in a scene that coincides with this symbolism. This late into the story, Oz has succeeded in transcending Jack’s influence almost entirely, but Jack is not quite ready to let go. Though they stand together within a void, glimmers of light linger around Oz--despite everything, his life has come to be surrounded by hope and love. 

As Oz floats towards the path of light above, Jack reaches out and takes hold of his wrist. But his grip is feeble and hesitant, representing how little control he truly holds over Oz at this point. Perhaps attempting to provoke guilt or regret, Jack asks Oz if he is certain that he is prepared to move on without him, but Oz has grown too much to succumb to this manipulation. 

Without delay, Oz replies that there is no reason for him to stay, and Jack finally releases him. He escapes into the light--into a world full of people who care about him, into a life where he is happy to be alive. 

[panharmonium]

there’s a flashback to this sequence during an S9 episode focused on sasuke’s impending crisis, and after i watched it, i had to go back and gif the original, because the way the flashback differs from the actual scene above is really interesting.

the above is how the scene plays out in reality.  sasuke and sakura watch as naruto begs kakashi to teach him the chidori, and kakashi, after initially declining, humors naruto, even though he’s perfectly aware naruto won’t be able to do it.  it’s very clear to us as the audience that a) naruto can’t master this technique, b) kakashi knows naruto won’t be able to master this technique, and c) kakashi is only letting naruto try it in order to make him realize that he can’t do it, because naruto is the kind of kid who won’t listen to words and only learns through experience.

however.  in the flashback to this same conversation, what sasuke is shown to be watching looks like this:

which is, first of all, completely disconnected from reality.  and second of all, it’s fascinating, because it shows how wildly sasuke’s perception of the world has been distorted by his internal turmoil.  

when i watched the episode containing this memory in S9, i remember thinking to myself, ‘that...felt weird.  i don’t remember that happening,’ which is why i went back to check the original.  and the truth is that it didn’t happen like that.  the original scene is so...benign.  kakashi and naruto aren’t goofing off at all.  kakashi is just standing there, doing his normal tired teacher routine.  he’s not laughing.  he’s not even smiling.  he certainly isn’t prancing off into the sunset arm-in-arm with naruto, having the time of his life.  and yet when we see this again in the episode that’s focused on sasuke’s growing struggle, it looks completely different.  it looks like kakashi and naruto are happily skipping away without a care in the world, having a grand old time, oblivious to anyone and everything else.  

this is relevant to sasuke’s later confrontation with kakashi, because sasuke, in that moment, says, “all the laughter.  every one of you is laughing.  itachi sacrificed his life, but you’re still laughing, cackling together like fools - you’re just ignorant of everything!”  this distorted flashback of naruto and kakashi is such a clear illustration of how warped sasuke’s perception has become.  there are ways in which what he says is true, of course - everybody in the village IS ignorant of what really happened to itachi; there is literally no way anyone could possibly know the truth (and, importantly, no way they can be blamed for NOT knowing) - but there are also ways in which sasuke’s perception of the world has been severely distorted by his anger and his pain.  he’s not seeing things the way they actually are.  this whole barrel-of-laughs, partners-in-idiocy, best-friends-forever moment between naruto and kakashi never happened.  kakashi never treated naruto like this.  in reality, kakashi spends virtually zero one-on-one time with naruto in shonen jump (FAR less one-on-one time than he spends with sasuke, in fact) and when they are onscreen together, they're not gleeful or goofy or attached at the hip.  but sasuke’s mind right now can only focus on how much he’s hurting, and so it creates a false narrative for him where everybody was hurting him, all the time, which isn’t remotely the case, but is very much how he feels.

the crux of the matter here is that sasuke needs everybody to be culpable.  if he acknowledges that they aren’t culpable, it means he’s not justified in taking the actions he feels desperately compelled to take.  and he has been so unwell for so long that his own mind has become an unreliable narrator by now, interpreting events in ways that don’t accurately reflect reality, even if his skewed perceptions do accurately reflect how much pain he’s in (and, particularly, how wronged he truly has been, even if he’s projecting the blame for that onto people who had nothing to do with it).

[vidalinav]

Why? Why? WHY? Rant 2.0

ACOSF is very interesting to me, because there was absolutely no reason to have any of them be so antogonistic to Nesta when she was at rock bottom unless it’s to set up that they’re still going to be problems with Nesta in later books. That’s what SJM set up whether she meant to or not and only time will tell. But If the IC and the sisters had said nothing and were more neutral and the plot stayed the same... it would have been a better book. If they showed an ounce of compassion, it would have been a fantastic book. If there was a mixture of different views on the matter, it would have been a realistic book. Except in the narrative we got, the amount of antagonism is too strong for what didn’t happen to negate that, which is also why I have such a bad feeling about this healing arc. Let me explain.

Let’s say they said nothing. They told her about the intervention. Nesta agreed albeit still feeling a bit betrayed because she wanted more time to heal. Rhys was quiet, not sneering. Mor didn’t say anything. Amren was civil maybe business like. They were a bit pushy about using her powers, but Nesta conceded after learning about the baby. They were never directly antagonist. Elain stayed away, but we’d obviously know why from Nesta’s POV. We would also know why Feyre is not there, because Nesta doesn’t want to see her. Cassian would then be there to segment the romance and be the person she leans on, when she is healing. Maybe she’s a bit mean, but he takes it. He challenges, eventually he shows the more caring part of himself and the romance begins. Everything else can stay the same, mostly Cassian too. IF that all happened, then I would be more inclined to believe that the intervention was necessary, that Nesta had a skewed perspective, that they all might have tried to help at some point but Nesta was the one pushing them all away and did so up to this point. She would have her revelations, her epiphanies, and realize hey perhaps she is mean sometimes, or she would still have her personal hatred, and it would be about accountability, but no one is actively proving her right about her skewed perspective. The consequence is then not that she is being shamed into healing, but that without healing, she would lose her relationships and she wants them. She grows to want them. I would then be inclined to believe that the IC were waiting her out, possibly having Feyre or Cassian in their best interest if not Nesta, and that they were minding their own business until they directly needed Nesta involved. Not hostile, but wary perhaps. And then when Nesta did start healing and opening up, then their reactions would have made sense in that they were lightly friendly but not close, and it was up to Nesta to really fix those relationships. And when she did sacrifice her powers, then it would have been purely internal, that Nesta was proving to herself and to others that she’s open for love and that she loves them, particularly Feyre. The entire healing arc then would have been more internal because it focuses on Nesta and not the IC’s involvement with Nesta, and the outcomes and the ending are still the same. 

Opposite wise, let’s say that the IC/sisters were empathetic, as in the arc that would be more external. Healing not just for Nesta but for the relationships. A reciprocal sort of love. Feyre would tell her that they’re intervening, but because they care for her and she’ll learn in due time. Rhys would maybe be more hard-pressed, but we would see instances where he understands the darkness, the hollow feeling. We would have Amren who looks deeply concerned for Nesta, because she had been her friend at some point. We’d have Elain, who would come to the library desperately seeking comradery and even though she cries at what Nesta says, she understands that Nesta is hard-pressed and only recently started healing. Cassian would possibly be getting frustrated, but there would always be this internal monologue of I want Nesta to heal. I want that girl back. I understand as a soldier if nothing else. Having this deep sorrow in his chest from perhaps not being able to do anything but wait. Mor wouldn’t have to be nice, but she would see how Nesta fits in the library, know the pain of growing up in a gilded cage, would perhaps see Feyre and Cassian and feel compassion for her friends and want to perhaps help for them, so she offers to teach Nesta how to dance. Nesta then would slowly open up to them, open up to love, and all of the ugly parts of herself, the hateful, angry parts would then be juxtaposed with the action of everyone else, with the love that she needs to feel for herself, the love that came even at the last moment with her father. And when she sacrifices her powers, it’s just proof again, that she loves, and she wants to love, and she’s willing to be hurt for love, because she wants to feel it all. And then the relationships at the end would then be open to be made, to be healed more completely, but then I would understand this hopeful sort of ending where her story is complete, but also just beginning. 

Third option, is that we could get a bit of everything, because why does everyone have the same opinion as it seems in the book? Perhaps it’s Feyre and Cassian who completely show compassion, empathy. Elain could still have the problems, but either show empathy, or completely be antagonistic. Azriel is fairly neutral, Rhys is maybe more neutral where they’re waiting it out, but there are no bad opinions towards her. The antagonists could be Mor and Amren. Any of these people could be switched in that role, but the point would be that a few are neutral and more business like or minding their own. A few could possibly have bad intentions and it would be clear. And some would be undeniably empathetic, and I don’t mean to be kind--I mean that they understand, they have viewed Nesta through her eyes, and understand what she is going through and are unwilling to give up on her. The empathy would be the important aspect. But the point would be that none of them change their characteristics. The antagonists would still be fairly antagonistic. The mind your own’s would be open to a friendship, but the friendship would need work but there is a foundation for it. The empathetic would be completely close to the main, because they have stood by her, they have fought, and Nesta would realize this in her own personal journey. They have segmented a bond. The plot would be the same, except we’d now see that some characters suck more than others, and there’s definitely character arcs and growth that need to be made, but it would lead to future books that that might be highlighted and therefore leaves the door open for the rest of the series. 

HOWEVER, what we got is very odd. 

Because all of these characters start off antagonistic. All of them have some comments that are goading (except for Azriel). We have Feyre who makes the embarrassment comment, Rhys who... is antagonistic in many places. I won’t list them all. We have Mor and her lines. We have Amren and her lines. We have Elain and her lines. And no variation with anyone. Nesta gets proven right about her wrong perspective. She has an internal healing arc that seems to just morph into another odd perception, because she’s never proved wrong about herself, but she’s proven right about how good Cassian is (rolls eyes). She notes that she might like who she's becoming by the end, but how? Why? What has occurred to disprove her irrational thoughts? At the end, she is still very much irrational. Nesta still thinks too highly of Cassian, and she thinks too highly of everyone, and very little for herself. She is ripped wide open emotionally though, but that happens after the solstice scene where life suddenly looks very good. She apologies to Amren, who probably least deserved the apology, and to Cassian who also makes comments, but keeps making comments until the end where he means to apologize but doesn’t get the chance to by plot. Oh wait, she does apologize to Feyre about telling her about the baby, I think, but that situation is just swept under the rug for how dramatic it ended up being. Her not wanting to exist is also one and done. The necessity of the intervention is never highlighted, so the reader questions if it was necessary. I question if she might not need an intervention from them. Some of them stay the same throughout (Azriel, maybe Elain... maybe Feyre). Some of them miraculously change to neutral, even if nothing happens to change their mind (Mor). Some of them just change completely (Amren). Some of the relationships are only really fixed because of the baby plot (Rhys and Feyre). And Cassian is probably the only one who has the most reasonable scenario on why that relationship blooms, but it’s questionable if it was truly satisfying because ultimately the only person who really had growth was Nesta even though there are two POVs. And at the end, no one still has shown empathy. Well actually Gwyn and Emerie showed empathy, so perhaps the motivation in healing with Nesta was just added friends, a mate, and distraction. Which I guess... but why then involve so much of the opinions of the IC/sisters if they don’t mean too much? Why emphasize the danger of Nesta, the badness of Nesta, the problems with Nesta, and not negate any of these in scenes with the people that are perceiving her like that. Especially if the goal of this is not to just heal but to heal relationships, as it seems like that was the goal or should have been the goal if the perceptions of others were emphasized. So the end was almost too happy, too hopeful for an arc that started off with such deep trauma and every relationship seemingly failing to a point where the others are antagonistic, and who the narrator received the bare minimum at best to facilitate change... It’s a balance issue I’m telling you.

And, I am making general statements about what happened for good reason. I am trying to show how this could be more satisfying, if the aspects of the story was changed just a teeny bit. I have never read a book so deep in good and bad things. So easily arguable and all it took was how other people affected the narrative. So, I ask why? Why not make the IC/sisters empathetic or neutral or a strong variation of all three (empathetic, neutral, and antagonist). Why have all of them start fairly antagonist, very obviously antagonistic actually, and then have no major scenes of disproval? Because if you start that dramatic you need dramatic scenes throughout to facilitate the dramatic ending. If you start very low or very angry and the ending is suppose to be higher than rock bottom, the middle scenes should be a tug of war. So where was it? Why do it? 

WHy? why? WHY???????

[chateautae]

elphie anon 🐘

I read MID ch7 instantly when you posted it and had to take a couple of days to just to comprehend... uhm, some... feelings. So forgive me, since I've bottled this up and will result in a long message ... but the work is just so good I can't resist showering you with praise.

You live in my mind rent free.

I can't describe how cute and domestic everything was in the early parts then hOt, then just ditty dotty destroyed me in the later scenes.

The smut was... *clears throat, wipes forehead daintily*... it made me feel stuff that I should otherwise be used to in esp in this site, but when mid Tae told YN to behave I think it took my brain minutes to comprehend that I'm just reading a wonderfully crafted piece. And that no, I should not feel my knees to weaken and toes curl, but they did anyway. Gotta say, the mind is a powerful thing.

But as it turns out, SAMMY IS SO MUCH POWERFUL.

The whole trip with Jimin really solidified what was coming in the end of this chaoter, it tastefully and comprehensively vocalised the conversation about this whole feelings ordeal first with YN, and paved way for that earth shattering ending. I can't help but remember thay quote from The Perks of Being a Wallflower when I was reading: "we accept the love we think we deserve."

Damn, really. While it hurts to see and more on resonate with how hard it is to accept love from others after certain unfortunate relationships (yn), I really commend you on choosing to write this realistically. I think her mindset towards this type of stuff, while not really the best, is well-built enough to show how hard and conflicting it is to see yourself have worth for love. And it isn't easy to change in a matter of moments, but it is worth changing this perception just as it is worth seeing and admitting when you love someone.

For me, it's also worth seeing that sometimes the love others give us are dependent on how much they treasure us, and that's theirs alone. It's not something that we get to decide no matter how much we think we shouldn't hsve it, but something that, at least here, is something they spend just as much thought and effort to ensure and choose.

Tae felt it in every chapter, intensely too, with his friends as witnesses. Of course deceit can always happen, but sincerity too. You can't punish yourselves for the deciet that others do. it's their lie, faulting the victim (hate u kiseok) won't do anything, and carefulness doesn't always mean you're always right about others' intentions. I cried so much for both of them, but I guess that we can't always understand love from each's point of view as clearly as they can; we just have to learn to accept it. And trust that maybe, or surely, that they do love us, and us them.

Your talent and hardwork speaks so genuinely to my mind when I read your work; I can't say enough to thank you for letting the world see this.

... And is it true? The murmurings from the street, the rumors falling from lips? MAKE-UP SEX? YN BTCH U BETTER HEAL THAT HAND fully OR I WILL BE THE ONE TO CAREFULLY MEDICATE U SO TAE CAN FUCK YOU INTO THE DEEP DIMENSIONS OF HIS LOVE AND CARE FOR U. AND U DO THE SAME TOO BTCH BETTER KISS ALL UR FEELINGS INTO HIM.

cuz if u don't, then i shall join forces with jimin and hana.

sorry for such a long mssg huhu, and for the bad interpretation chahahzhJJJjssjjakwks

NEVER SAY SORRY FOR LONG MESSAGES I’M A CERTIFIED WHORE FOR THEM 😤

“You live in my mind rent free” Showering me with praise??? I’M- I’m crying?? I don’t even know what to say omg 😭 ASLDJLDKJ please dom!tae has that power, and it’s really only a sneak peek of what happens when you disobey him because let’s be real, Y/N will do it again sksksk. Oh God, you’re so correct, I think it summarizes perfectly what’s going on between these two. In a sense, they’re both rejecting each other on the premise either of them is not deserving of the other’s love. “We accept the love we think we deserve”, such a beautiful quote that can explain two broken people trying to find a way to love each other 🥺

You’re correct again, the human mind is a wonderfully intricate system, and oddly takes a few seconds to destroy yet years to rebuild. Y/N’s mindset comes from not only years under the emotional (and sometimes physical we’ve seen) abuse she’s endured from her mother which can largely impact any child, but also from someone she was in love with for a long time only have that love taken advantage of and abused as well. It’s crippling to anyone’s mentality and skews the idea of love for them almost eternally. 

Taehyung is different because he’s never been in love before, it’s new and shiny and bright and so he fell hard and fast, he has no qualms about admitting he’s in love either because he doesn’t know the painful experience of falling in love and desires to finally be in love (only until this argument ofc) while Y/N denies it because she knows love is painful and doesn’t want to go through it again. 

Though you’re correct yet again, it will present itself in future chapters but ultimately, love as pure as theirs is unconditional and cannot be changed nor forgotten. It won’t matter what the other thinks, because the other will love them unconditionally, or love them until they believe them, because love is ours to give and cannot be defined nor appraised by any price. But alas, we can never truly know how someone else feels about us, so another great point, love is scary because we must trust in the depths of our hearts somebody loves us the same, and we must see how these two decide to trust each other on that.

You’re so kind for even taking the time to write such a long message elphie anon omg, it took me days to reply to you because I didn’t even know how to begin, but I had the stupidest grin reading your lovely message 🥺💕 thank you so much, truly, for always being so sweet and interactive. 

ALSO WAITTT “SO TAE CAN FUCK YOU INTO THE DEEP DIMENSIONS OF HIS LOVE AND CARE FOR U” WHY AM I CACKLING AT THIS I FELT THIS IN MY SOULLL OMG but yes I’m currently writing the smut scene and all I have to say is there’s a LOT going on, YES it shall be categorized as rough and nasty yet soft and passionate makeup sex because I'm a desperate whore😌

[blackroseraven]

Thanks for the support, from the people who reached out one way or the other. Even the small gestures mean a lot to me.

It’s hard sometimes. Like yes if it wasn’t obvious already on top of the everything-else wrong with me I have a cocktail of depression, anxiety, and paranoia bubbling away in my brain. It sucks ass.

Usually when I’m sad I just plod forwards because I’m used to being sad all the time. That’s why horses are such an escape for me, it’s like, in all my life I’ve never been happy doing something like this. It’s impossible to put into words the way it makes me feel, the drive and purpose I have, the way I wake up from the furor and the fugue, if just for a little while.

It’s like the world is everything it was promised to be when you were a kid, if just for a little while.

But it also creates a point of vulnerability I’m agonizingly aware of. If things go wrong at horses for whatever reason, then it bypasses all those defensive barriers we sad people have and goes right into my heart and it’s like I’m a little kid again, trying to learn to cope with the fact that my whole world is nothing but pain and disappointment and all the hands that were supposed to help me just exist to shove my head under the water for a little longer.

It’s a fragile balance that requires a bit of kindness from strangers, and to bear in mind how my perception of things is often skewed, like a funhouse mirror. A sadhouse mirror, I guess.

Today I made a mistake and let the anxiety and the sad eat me up. Like, I tell you all these things about how I love horses and you’d think I’d always be raring to go there, but that’s not how the mind works. Anxiety hits hardest before I leave the house. I think about how I don’t belong there, I worry I’ll be “in the way” - a side effect of having always been “in the way” growing up, and when you tried to stay out of the way “not helping out enough” - and I worry things will Go Badly in some undefinable amorphous way.

On most days I can swallow that because the logical part of me recognizes that voice is a dumbass and I’m going to be fine 90% of the time, and even if things don’t go great my regret at not going will be horrible.

I regret not going today, but I’m going to put this pain in a little box and remember it, so that the next time I don’t want to go I’ll remember how much I regretted not doing so.

Paranoia is different from anxiety. Anxiety is loud and not subtle in the slightest, and it’s omnipresent. It doesn’t shut up and it doesn’t go away.

Paranoia is a spider. It chooses its moment. I’ll be humming away in the morning going through my usual chores and then, out of the blue, Paranoia will tell me in a soft, matter-of-fact voice: “your partner is dead, you know.

“He died in his sleep last night. Go and see for yourself.”

Of course it’s always wrong. Out of context, it’s ridiculous. But it chooses its moment. And it makes everything else so much worse, and in that moment, that long moment until I either give in and see if it was right - which makes it stronger, rather than settling my nerves - or fight through the urge it whispers in my mind, it is all-consuming, and it speaks reality, not lies.

I don’t have a lot of support systems. I’m lucky to have a good doctor and a lot of pills, but pills by themselves aren’t the answer. I use a lot of CBT, which does not stand for cock and ball torture which is what I always see when I write it down, but rather Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy. I don’t really have “friends.” I have the horses. I buy little treats for myself. I do things that force me to interact with people, almost always ending with a positive outcome, to quiet those voices in my head further.

But it’s an endless fight.

Sometimes bad things happen, and sometimes you lose the fight for a day or a week or longer.

You have to pick up yourself and keep going, though. Not because it’s the “right thing to do” or anything dumb like that, but because of the simple, selfish fact that if you don’t learn to deal with it, you don’t learn to pull yourself through these battles, your life will never get easier, and eventually it will consume you, and it will tear you down and tear down everything and everyone you care about with you.

The “everything-else” wrong with me makes it harder to fight some days, but pain and migraines and the bad wiring in my brain isn’t an excuse to not try and fight off the bad chemicals that are also up there. The truth is ultimately simple: deal with it, or don’t. Whether it’s fair or not, one way gives you a shot at a better life, and the other way does not.

And... trust. Learn to trust, learn to speak up, learn to reach out. Trust that the world isn’t the dark and terrible and awful place all the voices say it is. If you do nothing but look into the abyss, then of course that’s all you’re going to see: endless oblivion, endless darkness. 

Look away. Look at the sky. Look at the faces of your loved ones. Look at the beauty in the world, rather than all the garbage we see.

Trash is a veneer. Bad things cover up the good, but remember the good stuff underneath is what’s really there, holding up the whole world, and the sheen of slime and barnacles on it cling so desperately because it wants to be all you look at, wants to intimidate you, wants to be all you see so you don’t dare try and wipe it away and see the good beneath it.

One of the worst people I’ve ever had the displeasure of dealing with once said something that I’ve grudgingly never forgotten: “when everything is really bad I just say I’ll do it tomorrow.”

And there’s always a tomorrow. That’s the scariest, hardest blessing about this stupid world. There’s always a tomorrow, whether you want to move towards it or not, time keeps moving forwards.

You might as well make your tomorrows better ones instead of worse.

[justacouplebandfics]

We’ve got scars on our future hearts (Jalex) - Chapter 3

Description: Alex dealt with self harm when he was younger, that’s over now though- he’s better, until he’s not. Struggling with the idea of self harming as an adult Alex keeps the issue to himself, but living on a tour bus with your band there’s only so long you can keep something a secret.

Warning: Contains graphic descriptions of self harm

It’s also available here on Wattpad, and you can find the masterlist here. 

Alex's POV

The show went great, well, in my mind it went great. The alcohol slightly numbing my system might be skewing my perception. Jack seemed a bit on edge, understandably- but it looked like he hadn't told any of the guys. We all joked around, Jack joining in occasionally but mostly staying on the side lines, the crowd all seemed super into it- if there was any visible animosity between me and Jack they definitely didn't pick up on it.

"Damn Alex, what'd you get up to this afternoon?" Rian asks as we all walk back towards the tour bus "I've not seen you that pumped in while."

I think about it for a moment- telling them I was solo drinking in the middle of the day is probably a bit of a red flag, especially after this morning with Jack. But I don't have to completely lie "I found this Mexican restaurant in town, they serve you a beer with each taco- I guess I just kinda lost count a bit" I laugh.

Rian joins in "Does this mean you're coming out with us tonight then?" I look over at him, and Zack behind him looking on expectantly.

"Yeah I guess so!" I say without really thinking. I'm not sure more drinking is the best thing for me right now, I should probably take the evening to process what's happened today, but before I can revaluate Rian and Zack are already running towards the bus to take the first shower, leaving me with Jack.

I hear his footsteps stop falling in line with mine and turn around to see him standing still staring at me, we make eye contact and the tension is unbearable- neither of us want to speak first but we both know something needs to be said. With the remaining liquid courage in my system I decide I'll break the silence "What?" It comes out a lot harsher than I intended, and I cringe internally as his face drops a bit.

"What do you mean 'What?', I understand that you don't like talking to people about your problems Alex but I'm not okay with that- I'm not comfortable just pretending this morning didn't happen"

I can feel the same uncontrollable wave of emotions building inside me as earlier, but I try to push it down and diffuse the situation "Jack, I know I flew off the handle a bit earlier, and I'm sorry- I shouldn't have done that. But what you saw isn't anything to worry about. They're old blades, I honestly forgot they were in there- I'm fine" I tell him, putting on a smile. Nice, nailed that.

But Jack doesn't think so "That doesn't add up and you know it, don't lie to me."

So much for controlling the emotions- words start coming out of my mouth before I have a chance to think about them "Can you just stop Jack? I don't need this pity, and I don't want it- I didn't ask for you to go rooting around in my stuff this morning." Jack looks taken aback, and before I can stop it "Just leave me the fuck alone."

I turn and start walking to the tour bus, the moment the words left my mouth I regretted them, but I'm still so consumed with emotion that I don't know how to process that, let alone rectify it. Fuck it, maybe getting wasted is exactly what I need.

Jack's POV

Alex is drunk- not regular Alex-letting-off-steam drunk, not even first-record-deal-party drunk, Alex is beyond wasted. Sure- it's a laugh, and I'm sure if this morning hadn't happened I'd be right there alongside him, but it wouldn't be happening at all if this morning hadn't happened.

Me and a few of the crew are standing a bit off to the side, nearer the bar so the music is just quiet enough that you can have a conversation if you really try. They're talking about some show that's just come out, I smile and nod in what I think are the right places, not really trying to hear what they're saying- I think they're mostly involving me in the conversation to be polite anyway, I'm much too focussed on Alex.

He's out in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by the guys, he looks like he's having the time of his life- but every now and then he stops just for a moment and he gets this blank look on his face, but as soon as it comes he's right back into it. Maybe I'm reading too deep into it- maybe it's just because he's drunk, but there's something about it that just doesn't sit right with me.

I decide I'm not doing myself any good by watching him and go out to the smoking area, I don't even really want a cigarette, I just want some fresh air and a clear head. I light one up anyway and lean against the barrier, taking some deep breaths- I think about how to talk to Alex without him blowing up on me again. I was a little hurt by what he said earlier but the rational part of me knows he didn't mean it, he's just overwhelmed, he doesn't know how to handle what he's going through. I'm disrupted from my thoughts when a group of girls come out into the smoking area, all loud giggles and screams- I give them a smile and quickly finish my smoke, stubbing it out and heading inside. I'll take pounding music over drunken screams any day.

It takes a minute but I find the group again, they've moved off the dance floor and are now over by the bar- I notice there's no Alex.

"Where's Alex?" I ask Matt, not caring how desperate it sounds.

"Oh dude you just missed it!" He laughs "The kid was wasted, threw up all over Rian's shoes and started babbling on about how sorry he was for everything"

"I tried to tell him it's just a pair of trainers, I can get them cleaned but he didn't seem to get it" Rian adds, I look down to see him in just his socks, shoes kicked off to one side and looking definitely worse for wear.

"So where is he?" I ask again.

"On his way back to the bus, I guess he must've got all the booze out of his system when he threw up on Rian 'cus he was with it enough to call an Uber"

"You let him go on his own?" I shouted.

"Dude chill, Zack offered to go but he was adamant he was fine- seriously once he quit the crying he seemed pretty sober."

None of this was sitting right with me at all, something about Alex's behaviour was just so wrong. "I'm gonna go back too, I'll see you guys later" I told them, not waiting for a response before I started jogging towards the exit.

Alex's POV

I stumble onto the bus, throwing my jacket down on the sofa- I'm not even that drunk, yeah I threw up but whatever that happens all the time when people drink. That's not the reason I needed to come back, I needed to come back because I realised I am the problem, the way I spoke to Jack, the way I treated him when he was being nothing but kind to me- it's disgusting. I'm disgusting. I'm this huge, pathetic burden on everyone I'm around.

I make my way to my bunk and grab my sunglasses case, bringing it to the bathroom with me and slumping down on the cold tile floor. I open it up and tip it upside down, but all that falls out are the sunglasses- frowning, I tilt it back up and pry open the back pocket, there's nothing in there. "Fuck sake Jack!" I shout, realising he must've got rid of them after this morning- I don't know why I expected them to still be there, it makes sense. I bang my head back against the cabinet and think for a moment.

It's not that I'm planning on killing myself, I never cut deep enough for that anyway, I just feel like I deserve the pain tonight. Opening up the cabinet behind me I have a look around to see if there's anything I can use- I see an unopened pack of razor heads, taking one out and smashing it open with the corner of my phone case I pick up one of the blades. Its so much thinner than anything I use, I lightly run it along my finger and it cuts right through the top layer of skin- okay so it's a lot sharper than anything I use too.

I take off my jeans and throw them against the door, hiking my boxers up on the right side. Taking a deep breath I position the razor on a clean patch of thigh, dragging it across my skin- its light, barely even breaks through the first layer of skin, so the next one I push harder, then harder. The alcohol's thinning my blood so I'm bleeding way more than normal, the floors a mess- I'm not sure how I'm going to clean this up before one of the guys get home.

With far too much alcohol-induced confidence I push down deep and do one final slice on my thigh- it looks different and I immediately know I've fucked up. Bubbles of fat are popping up through the skin and it's bleeding bad, this is so much deeper than anything I've done before.

"Oh fuck" I say to myself, I keep repeating it again and again just staring at it- I'm hyperventilating and I have no clue what to do, I start to cry, salty tears streaming down my face, snot bubbling out my nose. I press tissues to it and it starts to stop the bleeding but that only means I can see the fat better now- it's terrifying. I used to think when I hit fat I'd finally feel content with my self harm, that it would feel like some kind of achievement, but the reality couldn't be further from that.

I'm so caught up in my own mess I don't notice Jack entering the bus until he's swinging open the bathroom door, he looks down at the blood and the tissue I'm pressing to my thigh and then up to my face. "J-Jack" I sob, no idea how to deal with this situation, "Please help" is all I can think to say.

"It's okay" he keeps repeating "It's gonna be alright," normally I hate when people say that but now it's okay, it's what I need. I need someone to tell me it's going to be okay. He kneels down beside me and takes the razor from my hand, I didn't realise I was still holding it, and leans over to grab the rest of the broken razor head from the floor and throw it in the bin.

He takes a deep breath and moves my hand holding the tissue, by this point mostly soaked with blood, pulling it away from my thigh. I watch his face as he looks down, his eyes go wide for a moment "Oh god 'Lex, I think this might need stitches" he looks up at me and back down to the cut.

"No please Jack I don't want to go to the hospital, I don't want people to know" I plead with him, he looks at me with so much emotion in his eyes, and after a sharp sigh bends over to kiss me on the forehead.

"Alex I don't think that's the right decision but it's your decision- I know we have some butterfly stitches in the first aid kit out front just give me a moment I'll go get them." I nod, tears still falling from my eyes, but at least I'm breathing somewhat normal again. He returns with the butterfly stitches and some bandages- looking back down at the cut I've noticed it's stopped bleeding, they all have. "You're gonna need to get cleaned up before we can bandage this up, do you think you're able to get in the shower?" he asks, turning it on so the water heats up.

I stand up slowly, putting my weight mostly on the clean leg and hobble towards the shower "Yeah, I think I'll be able to manage it"

"I'll be right outside the door, just shout if anything goes wrong." He makes a move towards the door.

"No wait, please stay" I beg, catching his arm. "Please, I don't want to be alone." He looks at me before pulling me into a hug, I wrap my arms around his waist as he wraps his gently around my shoulders.

"It's gonna be okay 'Lex." He buries his nose in my hair for a moment and pulls away "If I'm gonna be in here while you get showered I'm going to grab some cleaning stuff and start clearing this up- I'll be back in a second okay?"

I nod and take off my boxers and shirt when he leaves the room, stepping into the shower- grateful that the steam fogged up the glass so Jack couldn't see me. I start to wash off the blood, some of it dried, some of it still fresh- I can vaguely see Jack's figure on the floor, scrubbing at the blood. I feel bad, I should be the one doing that.

"I'm all done out here when you're good" he calls out after a while "there's a towel and some boxers on the toilet, just let me know when to turn around" he calls out over the shower door.

"Okay, I think I'm done- turn around." I step out the shower to see him standing in the doorway facing away from me, I quickly pat myself dry, taking extra care on my thigh so as not to make the cuts start bleeding again, and slowly pull on my boxers; Stretching the right leg to the absolute limit of its elasticity so it doesn't touch any of the cuts- unsure what to do I sit down on the toilet lid. "All dressed" I say kind of awkwardly, and Jack turns around.

He immediately kneels down in front of me and starts working on my leg "Okay so I did a little bit of googling and I think we need to close up this big one with some butterfly stitches, and then the rest we can just cover up with bandages" he looks up at me as if asking me to confirm, I nod weakly, it all sounding right to me, and watch as he takes out a couple butterfly stitches.

"I think this might hurt a little, I'm sorry" he says, pushing either side of the cut together so it closes up, I wince a little in pain but keep my leg still- there's no point jumping around and making this take longer. Sticking one side of the stitch to one side of the cut, he moves his hand and tapes the other piece to the other side, closing up half of it- he repeats the same process again and the cut looks a lot less scary. Still not great, but it could definitely be worse. He cuts off a piece of bandage and tapes it down, covering all the fresh cuts.

Once he's done he simply holds my thigh in his hands for a while, looking into my eyes "Jack I'm scared" I finally break down again, hunching over into a sobbing mess.

"I know 'Lex" he tells me, standing up and scooping his hands under my knees, picking me up to carry me to his bunk. He sets me down on the edge and climbs into the bunk, scooting backwards against the wall; pulling up the covers he gestures for me to come in and be the little spoon. With my injured leg facing upwards I get under the covers next to him, he wraps his arms around my chest and pulls me back, holding me tightly. "I'm always here for you." I break down into another fit of sobs, but Jack calmly runs his hand through my hair and shushes me until I fall asleep in his arms.

disclaimer: If you hit fat ALWAYS go to the hospital guys, it's not an option- it leaves the risk of infection insanely high if you don't get it professionally stitched. Remember, this is just a story.

[chibikinesis]

some surrender/redemption!ending Sean/Jacob ideas because my shit brain just can’t let that shit go, son. Body wasn’t even cold and my brain was like ‘kay now so how can your rarepair-ass ship still possibly work after all that?

Borrows from my idea that Sean’s taken to wandering/drifting for a while maybe because he’s just sort of struggling to acclimate himself back into society, let alone everyone’s lives, and he’s just sort of lost. He struggles with the needs to be self-sufficient and the need to talk about it, but feels like a bother when he tries to talk to those he’s close to. He hopes maybe something will spark along the way. (I guess Michel has confirmed that part about Sean taking to wandering again so that’s cool)

Also borrows literally everything from this list of my headcanons about Jacob and Sarah’s lives after fifteen years.

This starts out like... a super lite fic and will probably end in bullet points/drivel but it’s... what I’ve got for now. This got longer than I thought <<; ♥

It’s sometime in the winter when Sean finally stumbles upon the town they’re living in. He stops at a store there to buy a few more supplies, and he sees a young woman, around Daniel’s age, who seems vaguely familiar to him. She has long,wavy, brunette hair and a beauty mark under her left eye. She calls out to, he assumes, a friend of hers, a few displays across the way, where he sees a head poking up.

“I’ve gotta’ go, my brother’s leaving! See you tomorrow, okay?” She turns on her heel, arm extended to wave them goodbye, and calls out to, he assumes, her brother. “Jake, wait up!”

Sean looks and is taken aback by another familiar-looking face, with more tidy facial hair than he remembered, a few more creases, and a somewhat different hairstyle, and some glasses that feel new somehow, but he stands, stupefied, for too long to act. He’s not entirely sure he wanted to anyway. The girl and her brother head out the door, and Sean wonders if he made a mistake in not acting. He’s not entirely sure if it’s actually them, or if it’s just his mind is so desperate for a connection that it’s looking for things that aren’t really there. But he proceeds through the checkout and makes his way towards the door, a bit disoriented and distracted by it all.

So disoriented, in fact, that he crashes into another incoming patron as he exits - muttering a couple profanities before apologizing profusely. The customer apologizes as well, and bends down to help Sean pick up his things from the cold concrete.

“Wait a minute... Sean? Is that you?”

The voice draws him back to reality and he looks up to see the same man from before looking him square in the eye. The man has suddenly forgotten why he was coming back into the store in the first place. He looks hopeful, but he’s also second-guessing on the off-chance that he got it wrong. He hopes he hasn’t, but he backpedals a bit anyway. “S-Sean Diaz?”

Maybe he wasn’t imagining things after all. “Holy shit...Jacob?”

The man releases a pent up air in his lungs in the form of a breathy laugh and a big grin. “It is you!”

It’s only a moment before Sarah gets out of the car and comes to investigate. The two barrage him with questions, and end up inviting him back to their house. “Are you in town for a few days? Do you have anywhere to stay yet? Why don’t you come have dinner? You’re more than welcome to crash with us for a bit.”

Jake is asking half out of the urge to catch up and spend some time with and old friend (and to pay him back for helping them out all those years ago), and half out of his sense that Sean’s just... not okay. Jake also has a vague sense that he’d probably just sleep in his car otherwise - and it was too damn cold for that.

Sean reluctantly accepts.

He gets in his car and Jake leads him to their home. They’ve made a nice little life here. Their place is small, but it’s cute and cozy and very lived-in. It’s comforting to Sean.

He and Sarah cook a nice meal for the three of them. They all share some photos - Sarah pulling out her phone to flip through, and suggesting he look at Jake’s album. It helps Sean to feel less empty for a little while, but as the evening winds down, he’s left thinking of all the time he missed out on with Daniel and his family. All of the stories and moments he didn’t get to be a part of. All of those voids that’ll never be filled. It feels selfish of him, and he doesn’t like feeling this way, but he can’t really help it either. He grows quiet and pensive.

It’s starting to get late and Sarah retires to bed. Jake offers to take the couch so that Sean can have a bed to sleep in, but Sean of course denies. Jake’s not the least bit surprised, so he smiles to himself, and goes to fetch some blankets and a pillow for him.

He comes back with those, and an old-looking envelope. He lays the blankets on the couch next to Sean and looks a bit sheepish as he fidgets with the crinkled old edges. “Another reason I was glad you came back here tonight was... I had something I wanted to give you.”

Sean looks a bit dumbfounded as Jake extends it to him.

“I know you never gave this to me with any intention of me having to pay you back, but... I wanted to. There’s a bit of interest in there, too. Or maybe just call it accounting for inflation. I saved it back... damn, probably eleven years ago or so. Just on the off-chance that I... might finally see you again.” 

“You didn’t have to-”

“I-I know, Sean, I... I wanted to. Because you did so much for me and Sarah without even realizing it. And I want to be able to do more. That’s why I opened our home to you. You’re welcome here... anytime. And I mean that. You can stay here as long as you need, or even just want.” He offers a warm, sincere smile, but it falls to something that feels more bittersweet. “And... forgive me for assuming, but you seem... downtrodden-”

“- I’m a fuckin’ mess, Jacob.” Sean scoffs quietly. He’s not angry with Jake for assuming - he’s more upset that it’s so obvious.

“I want to help you with that, too. If... if you’ll let me.”

“You don’t owe me shit-”

“- I owe you my life, Sean.” There’s a new intensity in his tone as he cuts off Sean’s sentence, but it’s not malicious. Jacob’s eyes grow misty and his expression shifts between three or four different emotions. He draws a shaky breath, trying to keep his composure. “Because if you and Daniel hadn’t come into the picture... if things hadn’t happened the way they did, and if we didn’t get them out of Haven Point... if anything had happened to Sarah, I can honestly say that... we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. Because I’d probably be in some makeshift grave back in Humboldt somewhere. And I still think about that so often.”

Sean’s surprised by his bluntness, and he’s not sure what to say. There’s an awkward silence on Jacob’s part as he struggles to find the words, but he continues on anyway.

"I feel like... maybe you’re having trouble readjusting, or re-acclimating since you got out, if you will, but I also feel like... you’re not really telling anyone about it, either. You don’t have to do this alone, Sean. You don’t have to be the strong one anymore.” Jacob beams warmth and sincerity. “Talk to me. Even the stuff you’re not proud of for feeling. Our minds let us think some pretty shitty things when we’re in that kinda’ mental shape, I get it. And I promise I won’t judge you for it. But you need to talk to someone about it. Even if it’s not me. And if it is me, it doesn’t have to be tonight. But please. Don’t keep harboring it.”

There’s a long silence as Sean considers it, and Jake grows anxious he said too much, or the wrong thing, or-

“Goodness, that got really heavy, really quick. I’m sorry, Sean-”

“Don’t be. I think I... needed to hear that from someone other than myself.” He concedes. “Seemed like you needed to get that off your chest, anyway.”

“I think you might be right.” Jake laughs. “I mean it, though. I know you’re the type to try to shoulder everything on your own, but... you don’t have to. Remember that. And if you need anything we’re able to provide, don’t ever hesitate to ask.”

Sean nods, and Jake can tell it’s coming from a place of appreciation and honesty. “Thank you, Jake.”

“Anytime.” He smiles. “But if I’m being honest, I don’t see myself sleeping too well after that, so, uh... you want some coffee?”

“I would love some, actually.”

They sit on the couch and chat over their hot drinks, and Sean flips through Jake’s album of photos, for about an hour before he starts to open the flood gates. They’re both surprised by it, but Jake offers his undivided attention, with only a few affirming and encouraging words as he lay everything out on the table.

His feelings of anger and bitterness over everything. That he spent almost as many years in prison as he’d gotten to live his normal life. His feelings of both jealousy and happiness that Daniel got to live the normal life Sean wished he could have. His loneliness, and how he hated being out here solo. Feeling like the lone wolf. His lamenting all those years he missed, regretting he couldn’t be there. Lamenting everything he missed out on. His feelings of being so out of touch with reality and having trouble doing anything but meandering and just sort of existing in this changed world. His immense distaste for the way his perception of time is so skewed now -

And as it all boils over and the tears start streaming down Sean’s face, Jake puts his mug aside and grabs the box of tissues from the coffee table. He scoots closer and rubs Sean’s back to ease his nerves, and continues to offer soft-spoken encouragement. They’re not sure how long they sit there and talk, but when Sean mutters a small I don’t want to be alone right now, Jake knows this is where he’s stationed for the night. 

Sarah finds them in the morning, Sean lying at one end of the couch with his head on the pillow and one of the blankets draped over him, and her brother at the opposite end, sitting upright with Sean’s legs flung carelessly over his lap, arms folded across his chest, and his head fallen back against the plush backing of the piece of furniture. Neither one had bothered to change into pajamas, and their half-empty mugs had long since grown cold. All she can do is smile and presume it had turned into another late-night therapy session. 

They wake up to the smell of breakfast being cooked, and a fresh pot of coffee, each of them with headaches, for different reasons. Jake gets them some aspirin and they all share breakfast and chat some more. He and Sarah both make sure to get Sean’s contact info, and even Daniel’s. Jake reinforces all of his points from their talk the night prior - they’re fully preparing to say their goodbyes when Sean’s car won’t start because plot reasons asdasdf

That’s right about the time he wishes hed paid more attention in Esteban’s garage. But anyway, he ends up staying with them for a few more days while he waits for a friend of theirs to come look at it for him.

"Or you can take it to the shop in town, but either way it’ll probably be a few days.” Jake explains. “But you’re welcome to -”

“Stay here!” Sarah interjects enthusiastically. 

Sean’s a bit surprised, but Jake smiles back at him and shrugs. “I’m certainly not opposed. It’d be nice to spend some more normal time with you after such a heavy night.”

~ This is where stuff lost momentum, but I have a few more ideas like:

They probably talk a bit more about Sean’s feelings now that he’s had a chance to vent them and is more able to discuss them in a stable manner, and how he can better cope with them.

Sarah borrows Jake’s car on his day off so he and Sean end up wandering the town for a bit, probably getting lunch, and maybe checking out a winter market not terribly unlike the one in Beaver Creek. 

Sean definitely having an “Oh no, he’s still cute” moment in those few days. And suddenly feeling a bit more self-conscious. At least it’s winter and he can pass the beard off as practical and warm.

Jake remembering his feelings from all those years ago back in Haven Point: wait a second, are these just misplaced feelings of affection because he’s one of the first people to show me such human decency or is this an actual crush? I don’t know. But oh shit I think it’s coming back, whatever it was. Oh shit, it is.

"You should come back in a few months when the weather’s decent and we can actually go do something. Camping would be fun.” Jake suggests.

After a few months of regular correspondence, Sean finds himself in a better headspace. He still struggles with a lot, but he’s doing considerably better. He has good days and bad ones, but he’s getting better at keeping in contact with everyone in general. But especially Daniel. And it feels good.

When he finally comes back in the spring for a visit, this much is apparent just by looking at him. Jake and Sarah are both so glad to see it.

“See, Jake? Told you there's still a face under that beard!” Sarah teases.

Her giving Sean a much-needed hair cut to match his tidier facial hair before they leave.

Daniel and Chris showing up to surprise them. Group camping trip!

Sean and Sarah and Chris all sitting and drawing at some battered old picnic table.

Jake definitely taking his camera along and taking a lot of photos. Including one very nice one of Sean that he got while they were hiking, when he was actually smiling, and the sun was streaming through the trees just-so. THIS KILLS THE MAN.

One of them getting hurt on the trail and the other patching them up.

All 3 kids definitely catching onto something there and quietly chattering amongst themselves about it. 

They go on a hike on their own and find a nice spot to chill for a bit and just shoot the shit. Sean coos about going back to Arizona, to Away for a little while.

“It sounds really nice.” Jake smiles as he tries to imagine it.

“Next time you have some time off, maybe you could... come with me, if you want. I’m sure mom would be excited to see you again, too.” Jake’s cheeks darken and Sean realizes his err, and he knows there’s been too much of a pause for an addition to seem plausible, but he tries for it anyway. “- a-and Sarah Lee, if she wants to.”

Probably accidental hand or shoulder touch or something because I’m a trope-y ass bitch.

[notbang]

on pretence, palm trees, perceived happiness and the promise of change

So I’ve been meaning to write this meta for awhile, but I was holding out because I had an inkling we were headed for another interior design shift this season, either in the form of Heather or Rebecca herself moving out and, lo and behold, here we are! It’s Rebecca’s mural meta time!

When Dr Phil appears in 1x07 “because [Rebecca’s] depressed mind invited [him] in”, one of the first things he comments on is the state of her apartment, asking her if she’s ever considered “hanging a little art”. Later in the episode, buzzed on the pill she took off Dr Akopian’s bathroom floor, she does exactly that, and we get our first glimpse of mural number one—the sunset. In its initial iteration, Rebecca’s in the midst of a manic phase and it’s only partway put up, still peeling down the wall. But we get the picture; it’s a nice choice for her otherwise currently spartan apartment—it’s bright, it’s colourful, it’s tropical, it’s fun—and after all, she moved to West Covina to be two hours from near the beach. What’s always interested me in particular, though, is the way in which it sort of harkens back to this:

It’s no great revelation that when it comes to Rebecca’s obsession with Josh Chan, all roads lead back to summer camp. Our very first introduction to Rebecca Bunch as audience members is, as we soon come to learn, apparently the last time she was truly happy (thanks, weirdly specific butter commercial!)—up on stage, singing chorus in an amateur production of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific, the set for which is comprised simply of some painted backdrops featuring palm trees dotted along a beach. So it makes a strange kind of sense that Rebecca—whom in the midst of a nervous breakdown fixates on a childhood infatuation as a link back to this moment of true happiness—upon being confronted with an apartment about as empty as how she’s feeling inside and being called upon to fill it, would subconsciously seek inspiration from the exact same source. The shift to sunset, though, gives it a distinctly romantic skew—in much the same way Rebecca is so often desperate to use romance to fill her void.

Rebecca’s romantic aspirations with Greg and Josh crash and burn quite literally in 2x04 when she inadvertently sets her house on fire disposing of their things, and it is from the ashes of her failed relationships that our first change in scenery arises. Rebecca’s got a new house, a new housemate, and she’s accessorising them with a brand new mural!

Mural number two isn’t hugely different from its predecessor—it’s mostly just a change in lighting. It’s bright, it’s sunny, it’s summer, it’s the light of a new day. It’s also a lot more visually similar to that scenic art from South Pacific. 

Summer comes with the connotations of heat, repression, stagnation, and youth, and season 2-3 Rebecca’s got all of ‘em in spades.

Though distinctly more slanted towards sexual fantasy than romantic in the case of We Should Definitely Not Have Sex Right Now and its callback in 3x10, with the help of a little mood lighting both murals provide a fitting backdrop to Rebecca’s musical state of mind. And the contrast between the two works here, too:

In 2x01, Rebecca’s scrambling to get a lockdown on her romantic standing with Josh. Despite being intent on pursuing her feelings for Greg in the season one finale, crushed expectations and a newly single Josh quickly have her redirecting her eyes back to her original prize. Josh is being somewhat understandably withholding after the revelation that she did, indeed, move to West Covina for him, but Rebecca is quick to reframe and refocus that particular roadblock to their relationship—what’s keeping them apart is what’s left unresolved with Greg, and it’s a test of their self control, it’s sexy, and it deserves a sultry, saxophone-fuelled number. The closing shot of the song is Rebecca’s similarly palm-tree emblazoned beach towel, beckoning Welcome to West Covina, framed above her bedhead, leading into her romantic victory for the episode—finally succeeding in having Josh sleep beside her for the night.

3x10 Rebecca, on the other hand, isn’t interested in romance, but revenge. Equally hung-up and hotheaded, she and Nathaniel are channeling their passion into loathing, which inevitably manifests itself as sexual heat. Just as the mural is different, though, so too is Rebecca’s response; pumped full of hormones as she prepares to donate an egg, she and Nathaniel definitely should not have sex right now and, almost impressively, they don’t. When they do eventually give in weeks later, it’s after an open, honest conversation, free of facade—but with that same Welcome to West Covina beach towel hanging in the background. She’s still navigating her narrative, and now that Rebecca’s romantic misadventures have relocated to the workplace, it’s only fitting that in some way, the palm trees have followed her there, too.

If the mural is just another way in which Rebecca is inadvertently clinging to her ever-elusive illusion of happiness, how appropriate that in organising her wedding to the metaphorical man of her dreams, it’s quite literally the surface on which she hinges the plans for all these dreams supposedly come true. So enmeshed in her vision of happily ever after is the palm-lined beach, it seems, that it’s even the location she chooses for Josh and her to exchange their vows.

There’s also arguably a distinct vacation vibe here, and it’s an undeniable precedent within the show that when Rebecca wants to run away from her problems, she has a tendency to take to travel. Cross country move to West Covina aside, she flees to New York on not one but two occasions, is ready to ride off into the sunset with Nathaniel to Rome and is offered a similar escape route by him in 4x01. Whilst holidaying in Hawaii after recently being released from jail isn’t as immediately problematic as the previous examples, it only gives more weight to the progress Rebecca has made when this time, she turns him down.

Season four has been thematically framed as being about renewal and rebirth, but if we’re talking about the weather, it’s not spring that follows summer. And if summer is representative of youth, it’s time to do some growing up—which brings us to our most recent reinvention of Rebecca’s humble abode.

The progression here is a dramatic one, and it’s incredibly apropos; what’s shifted isn’t merely the light, this time, but both season and setting, and much like Rebecca, we’ve ended up in a completely different place to where we started out. Rebecca remarks at the start of 4x07 that’s she’s “ready to see some fall foliage”, and autumn is indeed the season of change. It represents balance, maturity and letting go (as well as a prelude to an end, which is also depressingly befitting, but we’ll ignore that part for now!).

While on a personal level I couldn’t help but cringe at the idea of making such a drastic change to someone’s decor without consulting them first, from a narrative standpoint, I appreciate the direct involvement of Josh Chan in this transformation. It kind of makes sense that the personification of Rebecca’s fantasy, now removed from ideal, plays a part in clearing out its remnants. There’s also something nice to be said for the fact that unlike mural number one, half-plastered in a panic by Rebecca, manic and alone, mural number three comes to her in the form of a thoughtful gift from a friend (she has friends, she definitely has friends!).

It’s poetic that this new sense of maturity extends to the person responsible for the mural, too—Josh, arguably one of the characters most obviously trapped in a state of arrested development, made significant strides in 4x07 when he finally put an end to his cohabitation with Hector’s mom (who is, as we know, coincidentally, an autumn). 

Just as nicely as it applies to the broader sweep of Rebecca’s life right now, it’s also the perfect backdrop to the shift in the dynamic we start to see between Rebecca and Josh. Rebecca has changed, and as a result, similarly have her perceptions. It’s not about Josh, and it never was, but season four Rebecca is in now in a place where Josh can comfortably exist as an entity outside of an escape mechanism (Ahab can’t you see, Josh is no longer a metaphor!).

Josh Chan is irrelevant to Rebecca’s sense of self and her happiness, but that’s not the same as being irrelevant to her life. And now that she knows more about who she is and what she wants, there’s something so exciting and delightfully hopeful in that she gets to delve into the messiness of what that really means, and for her other relationships, too. Whether that’s through friendship, romance, or otherwise doesn’t really matter—it’s the promise that she’s secure enough in herself now that we can feel confident in her capacity to try.

[vanishcd]

[[ So i’m gonna post this whole thing but I just. NEED to analyze the entire discussion between Morrell and Stiles in Battlefield. Because its such important character stuff besides being INCREDIBLY well-written.

Included are my thoughts on my Stiles and my perspectives on how he thinks, especially when it comes to how ADHD/anxiety makes you perceive things. Likes are appreciated but PLEASE ask to reblog since this feels very personal for me and my muse

Stiles: You know when you're drowning, you don't actually inhale until right before you black out. It's called voluntary apnea. It's like no matter how much you're freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won't open your mouth until you feel like your head's exploding. But then when you finally do let it in, that's when it stops hurting. It's not scary anymore. It's - it's actually kind of peaceful. 

So this whole thing starts off with his anxiety. His way of describing things in details with both feelings and facts that makes it incredibly visceral and real. You can feel yourself underwater, you can imagine that moment he’s talking about. The pain and then the relief. (Fear and pain. Big threads in some of his emotional beats. He also FOCUSES in on those details when he’s afraid, classic anxiety symptom.)

Morrell: Are you saying you hope Matt felt some peace in his last moments Stiles: I don't feel sorry for him.  Morrell: Can you feel sorry for the nine - year - old Matt who drowned?  Stiles: Just because a bunch of dumbasses dragged him into a pool when he couldn't swim doesn't really give him the right to go off killing them one by one. 

He has no sympathy for Matt. Not after what he’s done to everyone. Not for what Stiles perceives as a dumb, if awful, fluke and Matt’s personal offense/inability to get over it.

The punishment should fit the crime and his noting of "one by one" points out that Matt has been calculating this. For something ambiguous and one time, if traumatic. It's a conflict with Stiles' sense of what justice is. Matt also attacked him, his friends, Scott, his dad, and Melissa. That alone means Stiles can’t excuse, reason, forgive, or sympathize. But then--

Stiles: And by the way, my dad told me that they found a bunch of pictures of Allison on Matt's computer. And not just of her though. I mean, he photoshopped himself into these pictures. Stuff like them holding hands and kissing. You know, like he had built this whole fake relationship. So yeah, maybe drowning when he was nine years old was what sent him off the rails, but the dude was definitely riding the crazy train. 

here’s the thing. Despite having general/social anxiety and ADHD, Stiles isn't forgiving of mistakes/cruelty because of mental illness. Yes, even though he fully knows his own issues have caused shit. Even knowing it's a POWERFUL motivator. But he has a LOW opinion of someone who uses trauma/illness to lash out purely for revenge. Especially over something that as he said was the result of kids being stupid

Even without this, he would hate Matt simply for being a creepy af stalker, not only CREATING this delusion of him w Allison but ACTING ON IT. Anyone who pulls that shit is LOW. And it was toward one of his closest friends.

He also happens to be deflecting, talking about others instead of himself (which is of course the whole point of a counseling session). He’s not just rambling cause he’s angry/disgusted and has a tendency to. He’s JUSTIFYING himself through it, which means he’s on the defensive and doesn’t want to open up to Morrell.

Morrell: One positive thing came out of this, though. Right? Stiles: Yeah. Yeah, but I still feel like there's something wrong between [him and his dad]. I don't know. It's just like tension when we talk.

The first moment he opens up, maybe because the guilt of STILL not saying anything about the supernatural to his dad is TOO MUCH. It's one of the heaviest burdens he's carried. So even though Stilinski got his position as sheriff back, Stiles still feels like he's to blame.

Interesting thing to note is that the topic of his dad is the one thing he consistently opens up to people to. Showing vulnerability doesn't matter when it's his dads ANYTHING at stake. And he's ok showing that to Morrell both cause it's not focused on moving forward and his own feelings, but because it's actually something that he feels he needs help with. Because their relationship means too much.

The tension could also be alluding to the hallucination he had at Lydias party (despite the fact that he obviously doesn't TELL her about it) I can write a whole essay on that scene but the scene, real or not, clearly weighs on Stiles. And with anxiety, it's easy to fall into the mindset that your fears are real, they just aren't being SPOKEN. Even when you KNOW without a DOUBT that the person doesn't feel that way, it sticks in your mind and messes with your perception. Stiles is aware his perception could be skewed from stress.

Stiles: [Scott’s] got his own problems to deal with though: I don't think he's talked to Allison either. But that might be more her choice, you know. Her mom dying hit her pretty hard. But I guess it brought her and her dad closer. Jackson? Jackson hasn't really been himself lately. Actually the funny thing is, as of right now, Lydia is the one who seems the most normal. 

As Morrell is about to silently observe by asking about him, Stiles is once again deflecting the topic to everyone elses trauma and avoiding talking about how he feels. Just what he’s observed and his judgement about it. And his comments can be perceived as pretty neutral despite how much he cares for 3 of the 4 people who are going through hell with him.

Morrell: And what about you, Stiles? Feeling some anxiety about that championship game tomorrow night? Stiles: Why would you ask me that? Ah. Uh, no. I - I never actually play. But hey, since one of my teammates is dead and another one's missing, who knows, right? 

AGAIN he deflects. He knows she's digging for “im feeling anxious” and admittance that HE isn't ok. And not only denies it on reflex but then takes the leading part and uses that for the topic. Again he talks about others and uses dry sarcasm to make himself more comfortable.

Morrell: You mean, Isaac. One of the three runaways. You haven't heard from any of them, have you? Stiles: How come you're not taking any notes on this? Morrell: I do my notes after the session. Stiles: Your memory's that good? 

Deflect; and this time because she doesnt give up, he turns the topic to HER. Most people will let you ramble about others but when you start making observations about THEM, particularly what they’re doing at the moment or their professionalism, they get defensive. Even if its a word or two, it’s enough to give him an “advantage”. 

And it’s, as becomes the ultimate point, him fishing for time.

Morrell: How about we get back to you? Stiles? Stiles: --I'm fine. Yeah, aside from the not sleeping, the jumpiness, the constant, overwhelming, crushing fear that something terrible's about to happen.

And there's the moment he finally breaks. He knows she's not gonna let him go, she's directly observing his anxiety. And there's a slight pause before she says his name. For the first time, shes directly giving him permission to speak, instead of asking prying questions. He could deny it. And he does, but in the obvious way that's just a lead in to his feelings.

He's at a point in the conversation and the situation that he doesn't have any other option. And even though his tone is harsh, it's honest. Because he's scared and suddenly realizes they covered everyone, and no one is left to help.

Morrell: It's called hyper - vigilance, the persistent feeling of being under threat. Stiles: But it's not just a feeling, though. It's - it's like it's a panic attack. You know, like I can't even breathe. Morrell: Like you're drowning? Stiles: Yeah. Morrell: So if you're drowning, and you're trying to keep your mouth closed until that very last moment, what if you choose to not open your mouth? To not let the water in? Stiles: You do anyway. It's a reflex. Morrell: But if you hold off until that reflex kicks in, you have more time, right? Stiles: Not much time. Morrell: But more time to fight your way to the surface? Stiles: I guess.

He has a way with words. He's been rambling this whole time. But his description of a panic attack is the last vivid bit for several lines. Trying to get across his desperation.

Then he goes to simple answers. "Yeah" and "I guess" because when he feels so lost, he gets quiet.

Stiles is very pragmatic AND emotional. He thinks with both but rationalizes. "It's a reflex" and "not much time" is his logical side kicking in, but in that way it's counterproductive because anxiety. You search for an answer, a relief from your fear, and when it's GIVEN, you don't quite know what to do with it. So you rationalize your own helplessness because you've fallen into that pattern of logical thinking combined with fear. That's what makes an anxious mind spin out.

Morrell: More time to be rescued? Stiles: More time to be in agonizing pain. I mean, did you forget about the part where you feel like your head's exploding? Morrell: If it's about survival, isn't a little agony worth it?  Stiles: But what if it just gets worse? What if it's agony now and then - and it's just hell later on?

Stiles fears pain. And I think it's not the pain specifically, it's the idea of it being the last thing, an extended thing. Emotional or physical (who wouldn’t?) And then he rationalizes with facts again to prove his point. This is the crux of MANY anxieties. That you aren't strong enough to get through, that it won't end, that there's no hope.

Morrell is having none of it. She won't let him give up on HOPE.

Morrell: Then think about something Winston Churchill once said - "If you're going through hell, keep going."

Know why that got through to him? Because it's simple and factual and makes him realize--it's the only thing you CAN do. It's not exactly hope for him but determination. Will to keep going for a little longer

And the truth is, that's all you CAN do in some horrible situations. You feel hopeless, useless. But to quote another favorite tv show "believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing."

Hope, hope for hope, will get you through. It can be more painful than anything in the world, but it's also the ONE THING that lets you get thought when EVERYTHING ELSE has failed.

And as Morrell says, if you can survive, isn't it worth it?

[avaalons]

Chris Evans Fic: Hiking and Hypocrisy (Chapter 9)

It had been three days, not that you were counting, and you had successfully ignored several messages and more calls in that time, mostly from ‘Chris E’ but a few from Mackie and Sheletta. You threw yourself into your work even more than usual, trying as hard as you could not to be distracted during classes, to be operating at the same high standard you always did for your students. It was working, for the most part. The in-school part was easy. Going home and being by yourself was more difficult but you were resolute.

You were staying late to grade papers and plan lessons every night, purposefully not glancing in the direction of your phone every time you saw it illuminate from its spot in your purse. You sighed and ploughed ahead, giving it another hour before you finally packed up and went home, on autopilot the entire time.

Trudging up the stairs of your apartment complex, you froze when you saw a familiar silhouette slouched against the wall next to your front door.

‘Do you always work this late?’ Mackie asked you, a knowing look on his face.

Regaining your power of movement, you stepped towards him, fishing in your purse for your key.

‘I try not to make too much of a habit of it. What are you doing here Mackie?’

‘I can’t just drop round to see my friend who’s been ignoring both me and my wife for days?’

‘I’ve not been…’ You began in protest but the words died on your lips at his ‘don’t you dare bullshit me’ expression.

‘Letta and I are worried about you,’ he admitted, standing up from his spot on the floor.

‘There’s nothing to be worried about,’ you tried to brush him off. ‘Look, I appreciate you calling around but I’ve got so much work to do so…’

‘Don’t kid yourself sweetheart, you’re not getting out of this. We need to talk. Chris told me about Isaac’s appearance.’

The mere mention of the two names sent your stomach into all kinds of knots and all the desperate effort of the last few days seemed to run out at that exact moment. You sighed in reluctant acceptance and swung the door open for Mackie to step through.

‘Come on then, let’s get this over with.’

***

The thing was, you’d known Mackie for so long, all through your shitstorm of a relationship with Isaac, that once you’d started talking you couldn’t stop. You cried, finally, actually letting yourself get it all out. And he listened through it all, poured you a glass of wine, hugged you when you needed it and was the impeccable friend he had always been. But at the end of it all, you were just desperate to know one thing.

‘Chris thinks I’m a total psycho, right?’

‘What? No way. He’s confused, but he knows that something must have gone down in the past, and he’s smart enough to know that that’s not all you are.’

‘You didn’t tell him, did you? About…’

‘No, of course not. Not my story to tell, is it?’ he gave you a half smile.

‘What did you tell him then?’

‘To not give up on you,’ he shrugged like it was obvious.

You threw yourself back into the sofa cushions, blowing out a breath that moved the hair out of your face. You thought about all the ignored messages and calls sitting on your phone.

‘Why is he even bothering?’

Mackie just raised an eyebrow at you, ‘Sweetheart, if you need me to tell you the answer to that, you’re not as smart as I thought you were.’

***

You were sat at your desk the next morning, feeling a little lighter but still not entirely decided as to your next step. There was still a huge part of you that was sure you were just destined to be by yourself. That was the safest option by far, you knew, yet there was also a small but significant part that just wanted to know what it was actually like to be in a loving, healthy, stable relationship. Being alone was safe, but, inevitably, incredibly lonely.

You had half a mind on that dilemma and half on the papers you were grading when you heard a quiet knock at your door. You looked up and smiled when you saw Amber, the student who had come to you for advice last week.

‘Hi Miss, have you got five minutes?’

‘Of course Amber, come in. What can I do for you?’

She crossed the room, pulling out a chair as she went and sat down opposite you.

‘I just wanted to say thank you. I had a good talk with my boyfriend and felt so much better afterwards. He said he’d felt under pressure about sex too and was relieved when I brought it up.’

‘I’m so glad you’re feeling more positive.’

Amber nodded and continued, ‘And I just wanted to say you were right, about the whole identity thing. I was freaked out at first but as the days have gone on, I’ve kind of realised that the world keeps turning, everything is exactly the same, I’m the same. It’s not changed me as a person at all, I’ve realised, so thank you for that advice.’

Your heart swelled for her, ‘You are more than welcome. I think you would have figured all that out by yourself eventually, but you know where I am if you ever need a pep talk.’

She thanked you again and left and as you watched her go, you realised just how her worries had paralleled your entire mindset for the last few years of your life.

Your whole identity was wrapped up in the past. You were continually letting Isaac define you, even now. He’d controlled you with emotions and sex for so long, your whole perception of relationships was blighted. But it didn’t have to stay like that. Just like Amber, you didn’t need to be defined by a man. You had told Isaac you were done, and maybe you had meant it, but ignoring Chris and avoiding him when you knew there could be something good there was only proving you entirely wrong. How could you possibly be done with the past if you were refusing to move forward in the present?

So you pulled your phone from your purse and made a decision. You knew he was unlikely to get your message until later in the day given that it was seven thirty in the morning, but you wanted to send it now before you second guessed yourself.

***

By the time you got chance to check your messages again, it was well into the afternoon and you expectantly picked up the device, excited to see Chris’ reply, only to find there wasn’t one. Your heart plummeted immediately. You’d been so rocked by your life-altering realisation that you had naively assumed that the results would be instantaneous, but perhaps Mackie had been wrong. You couldn’t have been very high on Chris’ favourite person list at the moment, given all that had happened. You hadn’t even asked if he was okay, if he was recovering well from his injuries.

You took a breath and tried to steady your zooming mind. This was okay, no need to panic. Maybe he was just having a busy day and hadn’t had time to reply yet. Or maybe his battery had died. Or maybe he’d accidentally put his phone through the laundry. All were possibilities. No reply after seven hours didn’t necessarily mean he was cutting you off, did it?

You fought the urge to send another and tried to focus on your day and your work, rationalising logically that you had ignored his messages for a good seventy two hours: you’d have to reach whole new levels of hypocritical to expect him to jump to reply to you just because you’d suddenly decided to get in touch.

It didn’t stop the rest of the day ticking by unbearably slowly, however, and you caught yourself staring into space instead of planning lessons more than once. Your mind kept drifting to those quiet hours before Isaac arrived, waking up in Chris’ arms, feeling him solid and secure next to you, his reassuring words, the content domesticity you had existed in for a short time before the bubble had been burst.

Ashamed, you recalled how you had treated him at the beginning. Heat crept through your cheeks as you thought about how you had simply tarred him with the Isaac brush instantaneously, his only crime being that he was a handsome actor living in LA. But now you knew, that wasn’t all he was. The career and the location didn’t make the man. You needed Chris to get back in touch with you because, even if he wanted to go no further with you, you felt that you at least owed him an explanation. You wanted him to understand that your treatment of him had actually nothing to do with him at all, that it was all you and your skewed world view.

You jumped from your reverie when the illumination of your phone screen caught your eye. Heart hammering, you scooped it up expectantly, trying not to let a small wave of disappointment wash over you when you saw a message from Sheletta.

Food on Friday? Xx

A small smile crept over your face as you typed a response back, accepting her invitation. No matter what happened, you realised, there were good people in your life who always had your back.

***

By the time you showed up to the Mackie house on Friday evening, you had accepted that maybe you had burned your bridges with Chris. You hadn’t heard anything at all back from him and it was with a heavy heart that you acknowledged it was entirely your own doing. There was nothing to be done - you weren’t the type to beg - and all you could do was take a deep breath, accept the mistakes and wrong turns you had made, and move on. The only silver lining was that this whole experience had opened you up to at least the possibility of a relationship now and you were able to finally let go of the guilty-until-proven-innocent stance you had used as your number one defence mechanism.

So as Mackie ushered you into the house, taking the strawberry shortcake you had made for dessert off you as you went, you felt lighter than you had for a good long while. You wanted to take the risk again.

You stepped out on to the patio into the warm evening to say hi to the kids and stopped short at the sight of a familiar figure hovering around the table as he poured wine into the glasses set for dinner.

You went from elated to embarrassed to horrified in unbelievably quick time as you realised he can’t have known that you were going to be there. You were going to have to leave to avoid even more humiliation. Why didn’t Mackie or Sheletta mention this?!

‘Chris? I - I’m so sorry! I didn’t know… I’ll leave, let me just-‘

You tripped over your words in your hurry to turn and exit this awful situation as quickly as humanly possible. You heard, rather than saw, the dull thud of the wine bottle as he placed it on the wooden table top. Eyes trained on your feet, you were almost through the door when you felt a strong hand wrap around your upper arm, gently halting you.

‘Wait, please,’ you heard him say, that deep voice almost ironic in its soothing nature.

You stopped but didn’t turn, afraid that if you looked him in the face, you wouldn’t be able to deal with it.

‘Let me just get my things and I’ll go… I understand - Mackie didn’t tell you I’d been invited - he didn’t tell me either or I never would have… sorry. I’ll go.’

‘No, that’s not - I knew. I knew you were going to be here. I asked Sheletta and Mackie if I could come along as well. I wanted - I wanted to see you again.’

You froze.

‘You… did? But you didn’t reply to my message.’

‘Neither did you. For three days I might add.’

You could hear the grin in his voice and you turned around, meeting his gaze for the first time, those blue eyes soft and friendly.

‘But… I…’ You didn’t actually have a reply to this, no argument to fire back.

‘I decided that perhaps a face to face conversation would be best. Give you less chance to hide. So, will you stay?’

You looked at him steadily, trying to weigh up whether there was an ulterior motive here, some effort to manipulate you, before you shook that thought off. You weren’t thinking like that anymore.

‘Yeah. Yes. I’ll stay.’

‘Good,’ he took you by the hand and led you back to the table, ‘You’re going to sit here, next to me.’

He pulled a chair out and tucked it under as you sat down before sitting himself on the seat next to you. You watched him in something like wonder, still reeling from the swift u-turn your emotions had taken. He grinned at you with a hint of bashfulness as he gripped your hand under the table.

‘So, you’ll be glad to know my ribs are on the mend. Dodger’s going to spend a lifetime making it up to me.’

And just like that, the tension was lifted, the ice broken, all your weighty concerns and worries from the past week chased off into the distance by this affable, gentle, considerate man and his easy, relaxed charisma.

There was a big conversation that needed to happen in the very near future, but for now you were happy to pick up exactly where you had left off that morning in the cabin.

[sleepypie1212]

Save Me, part 1

I wrote Save Me smut. Don’t ask me why. It wrote itself.

In which Sang Mi has a favor to ask of Dong Cheol.

So very, very NSFW.

Listening

Seeing Sang Mi was like a gift, a glimpse of brightness in the cripplingly dark world of Guseonwon. Some sightings were better than others—her eyes were always turned inwards, grappling with the problems she dealt with, but if they caught on him and risked that momentary flash of acknowledgment and communication, that was a good sign. If her eyes looked bruised and her mouth (ordinarily so strong, and it was only at night, in between Dong Cheol’s dreams, that he could admit how much he loved the strength of that mouth, and how much he lived for the painfully few times he’d seen it relax into happiness) was skewed into raw horror…those were bad. He’d risked one of their brief conversations on the basis of a sighting like that.

He’d held her arm, and touched her lips, and been granted the gift of offering her a small measure of reassurance. She’d offered it back to him, and even if it was a lie, he knew what it really meant—she was still strong enough to keep fighting. They hadn’t broken her. They wouldn’t. They couldn’t.

But their interactions were rarely more than this—a conversation of the eyes, or at the very most a hurried exchange of whispers. That was how they stayed safe. That was how they were bringing a cult down.

So it was a shock to his system—a bolt of fear and delight straight down his spine—to look up and see her hovering uncertainly in the door of the storage room. He had two of their holy books in his hands, grime and sweat running down the back of his neck, and the fake glasses that gave him such headaches propped in his hair. He had been tasked with reorganizing the shelves, and the dim, dusty room seemed to trap the summer heat, making him slow. He was slow now. “Sang Mi—no, Spiritual Mother,” he corrected himself hastily. “What are you--?”

She raised a finger to her lips, and shut the door behind her, twisting the lock with a quick motion.

The hair on the nape of his neck rose, and he felt a cold sweat break out over his hot skin. Something was wrong. “Sang Mi,” he said gently. “Tell me. What’s happened?”

She looked past him, over his shoulder for a moment, formulating her thoughts into coherent order. She always spoke with such deliberation. Everything she said meant something. It didn’t come easily to her, he could tell—years trapped in Guseonwon had turned a natural habit of reticence into a defense mechanism. But it was always worth waiting for.

“I’ve told Apostle Kang that New Heaven’s God has demanded I spend time in solitude, meditating on the forthcoming spiritual marriage.” There was a sneer in her voice that required no particular perception to hear. “No one will come looking for me for a while.” Her fingers were interlacing with each other in swift, changing patterns, and his eyes focused on them. “We have a plan,” she said abruptly, and his eyes snapped up to lock with hers, “but if…just if…something goes wrong…”

Another jolt down his spine, this time pure horror. “Nothing will go wrong.”

“If it does. If it does. I don’t want him to win.”

He couldn’t follow. “I don’t—”

“He wants pure fruit. A virgin.” Her voice was savage, her hands now twisting each other.

There was a sickness that grabbed him by the throat if he thought of Baek Jung Ki raping Sang Mi. So he didn’t. Now his eyes shut as he reeled away from the thought. “No,” he said roughly. “I’ll kill him first. I’ll kill him right now if you’re afraid that’s where this is really going to end.”

He felt her move through the still air, her hands take his face between them, a demand he open his eyes and look at her.  He fought it, twisting his head, but her grasp tightened. “I’m not afraid, Dong Cheol. I’m not alone anymore, and I’m not afraid.”

He stilled, and looked at her. Her gaze was dark and deep, an implacable ocean, and not for the first time he wondered how anyone staring into her could think for a second they would win—you didn’t contain a sea like her. She took you instead, and if you drowned, well…he could think of a lot worse ways to die.  

“I just don’t want him to have any chance of winning.”

He laid his palms over hers, taking them away from his face and cradling them, lost in uncertainty. “I’ll never let that happen.”

“Good,” her smile was uneven, but undeniably there. “Then you’ll fuck me.”

His jaw dropped, and he scooped it up hastily. “Sang Mi. What…no...this…what?”

She almost laughed, and it stopped his heart for a second, before stuttering back into uncertain life.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out quite like that. But I don’t know how else to say it. I don’t want to be a virgin anymore. I don’t want to be a virgin if I have to face him in bed. I don’t want,” her voice dropped, “I don’t want his hands to be the first hands on me.”

Without conscious thought his hands had dropped to her waist, and she’d moved into the circle of his arms. The skin under her blouse was warm against the insides of his wrists, and the feel of her was overwhelming. The girl he’d been in love with since he was seventeen wanted him to sleep with her, and all he could think was how much he hated the world for doing this to her.

“It shouldn’t be this way,” he said mutely.  

“A lot of things shouldn’t be. But I’m going to rebel in every way I have open to me. And you are open to me. Aren’t you?”

The hesitation in her voice broke his heart. “I’d do anything for you. You know that. But. But I wish…” I wish that this was happening after I’d bought you flowers and asked you out properly and we’d gone for a ride on my bike. After I’d gotten to know your mom and taken you for a walk by the river. After we’d had meals together and I’d made you laugh at least a hundred times. I wish we were somewhere beautiful, not a dank storage room. Above all, I wish this was because we were madly, insanely, impossibly in love, not desperate and under threat and because your body is the only weapon you have left.

She was waiting.

He sighed. “I wish you’d given me a little warning. I don’t think I smell very good.”

Tenderly she lifted the glasses of his head and put them aside, before ruffling his hair. Her smile was fond, with only a hint of bravado. “You smell like the garden, and dust, and soap, and underneath that…” she leaned her nose in to his shirt… “just a hint of gasoline and highway. You’ll never wash the smell of that motorcycle off you.”

It was his turn to laugh, a little shaky, a little uncertain. “You can smell all that?”

“It’s just the smell of Dong Cheol. When you walk past me in the hallways, and I smell that I feel…not safe. But safer. Stronger.”

Alright then. They were going to do this. But how? He wanted this to be as good an experience for her as he could make it. Slow then, as slow as they could risk, and gentle. A good memory to turn to if things got dark. He shuddered at the thought of Baek Jung Ki putting his maggot-like fingers on the tender flesh of the girl in his arms, and Sang Mi started to retreat, misunderstanding.

“No, wait,” he said quickly. “Just wait. Let’s just…get used to each other.”

She was quiet, and for a moment he was worried. But then she pulled closer, experimenting with fitting her body against his. “OK.”

His breath was coming quickly, and so was hers. He felt like they were both frozen, improbable blocks of ice in that ridiculous room. Rapidly he thought of a distraction. “You smell like peppermint.”

“I do?” He could feel the shape of her smile against his shirt, and it made him smile in return. “Yeah. And something a little spicier, a little warmer. I think it might just be you. The smell of your skin.”

“Mm, that’s nice,” she sighed, and he tentatively snugged his arms closer around her waist. They just stood that way for a bit, savoring the unanticipated wash of peace filling up the spaces in between them.

Then a thought occurred to him. “Have you ever been kissed?”

There was that reflexive rigidity in her muscles that she had to force to relax. “No. I never dated in high school. I was always too…I was always thinking about Oppa. And then after, when I was here…they always kept a very close eye on me.”

“I see. Well then, Im Sang Mi, may I ask you for the honor of being your first kiss?”

She tilted her face up. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Yes, I do.” He said gently, and her face softened. No one ever asked in this place. They just took, and took, and took, until you were screaming in the dark. He was going to ask every step of the way.

“You may,” she answered, and he took a deep steadying breath. A gentle peck, he promised himself. Go slow, remember?

He leaned down and very carefully fitted his lips to hers. They were motionless for a moment, and he lifted his head, carefully gauging the reaction.

She was still, apparently doing the same within herself. “Not bad,” she admitted at last.

Dong Cheol laughed, filled with a surprising gush of relief. “I think we can do better than not bad.”

She eyed him speculatively. “You’re very confident. Kissed many girls, have you?”

He coughed awkwardly. “One or two.”

“You’ve been in jail for three years,” she reminded him.

“But I was in high school for two.”

Her mouth popped open. “Playboy!”

“Some girls like a whiff of danger.” He gave a reminiscent smile.

She tugged one of his ears. “You are a terrible apostle.”

His smile turned unrepentant. “Well, to be honest, paradise always sounded a bit boring. I’ve always thought burning was more fun.” He’d pulled her closer to him, unintentionally. He felt a lost sort of delight swimming through him. For all that their situation was…what it was, this felt so innocent, so playful. A game.

“Show me then,” she murmured.

He didn’t want this to be about him, about his pleasure, but there was a sharp, overwhelming hunger that flooded him at that. “If I go too fast, tell me.”

“I will.”

“If you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

“If—”

She kissed him.

It started tender, half-hesitant, but grew hungrier within a matter of moments, making him rapidly re-evalute exactly who was in charge of this ‘education.’ He tightened his arms around her, one hand slipping into the dark river of her hair where he threaded his fingers. What had started out experimental was speedily turning demanding.

He turned her, backed her up against the wall and lifted her, her long legs coming around his waist. The rest of the world was doing a good job of fading away as he became absorbed in a satisfying rhythm. Gently, gently he coaxed her mouth open, felt her sigh in astonished delight. Shadows danced beneath his eyelids, and he let his hands move from her hair, let the fingers slide down the buttons on her blouse. Her own arms were around his neck, pulling him close.

“Wait, wait,” she panted and he froze. What had he done? He pulled back slightly, eyes darting anxiously over her face, trying to read what it was that had alarmed her.

Her pupils were blown, the tip of her tongue tracing the slight bite mark he’d left on her lower lip. “You first,” she said breathlessly. Her fingers flickered at the collar of his shirt, and he laughed, delighted.

“Fair enough,” he skinned out of it like a cat. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and for a moment he felt self-conscious. “What?”

Her hands traced the contours of his chest, and he could feel the muscle in his jaw flickering as he struggled not to shiver at her touch. “You’re beautiful,” she said, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Very beautiful. You should know that.”

His heart melted. “So are you.” He brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “So beautiful.”

Her mouth quivered at that, disdainful of her own beauty, her burden. “Not like that.” He said. “Your beauty is…so much more than that.”

She regarded him, wide-eyed and vulnerable, and he felt a moment of such intense fury that she had so little experience with friendship and kindness that his inadequate words could move her like that.

“Kiss me again,” she said huskily.

He bent his head.

 ***

“Brother Dong Cheol?” A voice called from the door.

She nearly gasped, but he put his hand over her mouth, the other still continuing its work. He couldn’t…he wouldn’t…

“Yes?” He said, perfectly composed. One finger slid inside, and her neck arced back.

He was regarding her, eyes deep enough to drown in. He did something that made her stomach clench.

“Why is the door locked?” The voice was suspicious, a good little believer checking that the novice wasn’t doing something irreligious.

“I was struck with the divine inspiration to pray,” he answered back coolly, removing the errant hand, and sliding it under her head. “I was ordered by the Almighty himself to ensure I had no interruptions.”

There was a pause on the other side, which Dong Cheol took advantage of as a chance to lightly set his teeth to her nipple. She wanted to laugh and curse and kiss him all at once.

“The storage room is not for prayer, brother,” the voice said reprovingly.

“I know. Oh, believe me, I know,” he answered, sliding between her thighs, his nose nearly touching hers. Sweat lingered in the ends of his eyelashes and lit up the lovely lines of his shoulders. The intentness in his gaze was the holiest thing she’d ever seen. “But you can’t just ignore divine inspiration.”

He lifted his hand from her mouth and stroked her cheek, his weight resting on the arm he had crooked under head.

“Just this once, then,” the voice said, and retreated.

He kissed her and slid within at the same time, and she felt herself gripping his shoulders, arching her body up to his, wrapping her legs around his hips.

He rose and fell with her, and every motion felt like an invocation and an exorcism. Every burn mark left where Baek Jung Ki had touched her? Erased, wherever Dong Cheol’s fingertips feathered. Every nightmare of the old man hovering over her predatorily? Dismissed, by the lean hunger of her lover’s body. Every tender kiss, every silent question, every prayerful gaze…she could feel years of protective casing peeling away, leaving her light as a feather, as a bird, and just as free.

She closed her eyes and let the sensations take her away. Her last coherent thought was, So this is why everyone wants to get to paradise—it must feel like this.

 ***

That night she led the vigil in her somber dress of black lace, worshipping their monster of a Heavenly Father as he gloated like a fat white worm from the doorway. His gaze felt like contamination, like the touch of a dirty hand on her. If she looked at her arm, would she see his fingerprints? She gritted her teeth and stayed self-possessed. Let him look. There was a fierce well of exultation inside her. He was never going to get what he wanted. It had already been given.

In the back row sat Dong Cheol, quiet observer that he was, always self-contained in a way that made him stand out in the frenzy of the Guseonwon inhabitants. He was watching her, but she couldn’t let herself glance at him. Couldn’t bring herself too.

If she thought about it, even here in front of all these eyes, heat prickled along her skin and her mouth turned too dry to swallow. They had finished together, too dazed by their mutual abandonment to do more than lie in a tangle of limbs, watching the golden dust dart through the air.

It if had been left up to her, they could have stayed there forever, locked into a bubble of time that floated serenely past the rest of the world.

But it hadn’t been up to her. In the end, they’d had to hurry, afraid they’d be missed at dinner. He had helped her dress, planting melting kisses along her collarbone as he buttoned up her blouse while standing at her back, arms snaking around her waist, only half-dressed himself. He’d turned her towards the door at last, preternaturally solemn, and told her to go ahead, that he’d follow five minutes later.

She had left, one hand braced against the hall wall as she walked to keep her upright as everything inside of her and out spun and rearranged themselves into new patterns.

She didn’t know what he thought of it all. She didn’t know what she thought. All she knew was that it was a memory to slide into, like cold dark water against blistered skin.

It was an accident when her eyes locked with his over the head of the now gibbering audience. But once there, her gaze couldn’t tear itself away, irresistibly drawn by some secret magnet to his face. He gave her a small nod, smiling slightly, and her stomach turned over. Something light as cobweb flung out between them, a bond she couldn’t see, deceptively fragile feeling, but in reality so surprisingly strong. It made her feel so full of light, a brightness that might burst out between her teeth, at the ends of her fingers, from her eyes.

She’d begged them to save her. It was only now occurring to her there were so many ways to be saved.

[mosmindmanifested]

LSD: An Odyessy of Possible Realities

"You are your own worst enemy". 

 What does that cliche even mean? Are there two "mes'", engaged in an intimate duel for dominion over my mind and body? Probably not. 

 "You just need to get out of your own way." 

 Now that one perplexes me even more. The obstacle that I need to overcome is myself. But what aspect of mySelf? Clearly, we aren't meant to take these cliches literally, or they would just be the common word salad we'd expect from a schizophrenic. These cliches seem to be hinting at an underlying theme. Self-sabotage. 

 How many times have you got yourself so excited about pursuing a specific endeavor? You may have actively imagined yourself enjoying the fruits of this endeavor, indulging in the thoughts and feelings associated with achieving this goal. Now the time to start this endeavor arrives. You begin by feverishly committing to this vision. You take the first few necessary steps to make your dreams a reality.

 As time progresses, your romantic feelings towards this goal pass the honeymoon stage, and what once was a complete immersion fades into a mild focus. 

 Before you know it, you stop pursuing this endeavor. 

 Where was the spark you had to begin with? You brainstorm all the reasons why you couldn't find the motivation to continue. You tell yourself the same old story. I'm just not the type of person who does that type of thing... Not everyone would be: x,y,z.. It wasn't meant to be... Whether you're aware of it or not, you were doomed to begin with. Intoxicated by the sweet imaginings of future success, your burning desire acted as a catalyst to fuel the first few miles of the trip. Desire without faith is useless though. Deep down in the recesses of your being, a part of you was not congruent with the task at hand. A part of you believed itself to be unworthy of the success it desired. A part of you feared the challenges associated with the work and the consequences of potential failure. A part of you believed the criticisms your peers expressed when you spoke to them of your plans. A part of you desperately grasped onto the status quo, afraid of venturing into the unknown.

 (Doubt is the devil.) 

 Your core beliefs expressed unconsciously and developed early in life, dominate your will. Whether positive or negative, these beliefs determine the course of your actions and chances at success. Analogous to computer programming, we are all running the SCRIPT of our fundamental beliefs. We are all stars of a Self-fulfilling prophecy. So how do we go about regaining control over our destiny? How do we leverage the forces of heaven and earth to our aid?

 In comes LSD. 

 The transcendental super drug that fueled the counter-culture of the 1960's. The subject of the ever notorious MK-Ultra trials at McGill university. (Long story short, they were trying to develop a mind-controlling substance and were testing the efficacy of LSD6 to do the job.) The nootropic mind fuel for silicon valley tech-experts. LSD seems to be powerfully intertwined with higher mental functions and creativity.

  This is not an academic post. I will not be discussing the scientifically proven benefits or downsides of consuming the substances. Instead, I will be sharing my personal experiences with the substance, and the dramatic transformations it had facilitated for me. 

 September 2016

 I am starting my second year of university. I have barely any credits from the previous year and am dreading the two-hour commute to and from school. I feel as though I have no autonomy in my life. If I don't graduate from school, I will be a failure in life. I have to find a way to pay all this debt I'm placing myself in I am so much behind my peers; will I be able to graduate in four years? What will I do after my bachelor's degree? Ever and their mom has a degree in psychology; how will I get a job? Should I tell my parents I failed two classes last semester? 

My mind was in a chaotic and paralytic nightmare.

 Every day seemed like a hassle. Every moment was another drowned in future anxieties and worry. I was desperate for a change and turned to drugs. I had been experimenting with marijuana for a while but found it served as a spiritual anesthetic more than anything. I was looking for something more profound, something that would have an impactful and transformative effect on who I was with a person. Having experimented with magic mushrooms once before, and being deeply moved by the permanent effect it had on my worldview, I felt as though using LSD was the next logical step.

 I found a supplier through a mutual friend; he testified to the potency of the drug, warning me of the potential dangers and elucidating the type of experience I was heading towards. The day after my first lecture of the year, I meet with the supplier. 

I drop the acid on the 2-hour train ride home. An hour in and my visual perception becomes skewed. The walls of the train become amorphous. The chatter of those on the train merges into a  static hum, hardly being able to pay attention to any dialogue long enough to decipher any meaning. Colors take on a higher level of saturation. Everything is brighter. A light layer of perspiration covers my body. It is the tail end of summer and the sun is blazing. I hop off the train and rush onto the bus, praying not to bump into anyone I know in my vulnerable state. Low and behold, I bump into a distant friend. We get into the standard dialogue that people who see each other unexpectedly after being loosely acquainted get into. Work. School. News. I mild nausea kicks in. The longer I stare at this mans face, the more cartoonish it appears. I abruptly hop off the bus and run into a local library. I lock myself in a public washroom stall and force myself to take a shit. Nothing is coming out. I step out the stall. I shouldn't have looked in the mirror. I can barely recognize myself. I look like a wild animal; alien. I jump back on the bus and head home. I rush into my parent's bedroom and console myself with my guitar. I feel as though I am sinking into my bed. The mild perspiration becomes a thick layer of sweat. The acid is not agreeing with the iced coffee I had hours prior. I rush to the washroom and force myself to vomit. My brother recognizes something is off. I psychically sense his concern. There is nothing left to do but confess. He directs me to his room where I spend the next few hours. Better his disapproving embrace than the wrath of my mother, I would not be able to handle that right now. He brings me his laptop and suggests I surf the web. I play Richard Linklater's "Waking Life". I am moved by the themes of the movie. Is my whole waking reality a manifestation of my dreaming reality? 

The uncomfortable feelings fade and replaced with awe for everything around me as if I was seeing it all for the first time. I go outside and play basketball with the local high school kids. I am in ecstasy. I take my bike and go for a bike ride. The sky is so beautiful. Torrential rainfall and I'm far from home now. For the first time, I was not bothered by the rain. I embraced every drop. I get home soon enough and dreamed about the rest of my life. I was to become a world-traveling anthropologist, discovering new cultures and integrating them in the west. For the first time in a long time, I was not worried about anything. Everything was perfect.

 I could've died a peaceful death at that moment.

 In fact, I feel like a part of me died that day. 

 June 2019 

 I embark on an experiment. I buy 10 tabs of acid and decide to take small amounts every day, progressively taking larger doses as time progresses. At this point in time, I am working at an independent coffee shop. The only thing on my mind is saving up enough money to move out of my parent's house for good, and living on my own. Each day brings new insights. Week 1 I find myself stripping more and more activities and engagements from my life. I spend my off time meditating and reading books on personal success. I talk less and listen more. I'm making more tips at work and am a lot more diligent when it comes to the minutiae of the job. My workouts are amazing. I am hitting personal bests on the squat and deadlift. 

 Week 2 

All my time spent not working is dedicated to spiritual work (meditation, prayer, active imagination), exercise and time with family. Old ideas are resurfacing and, for the first time, I am taking action towards realizing them. 

Week 3 

The course of my life has completely changed. I have reached a state of unconditional love. I am one with everything and everyone around me. My personal engagements are becoming more rich and authentic. I am no longer afraid to be vulnerable. I forgive those that have done me wrong in the past and make it a mandatory endeavor that I expose myself to the situations that make me feel the most insecure and afraid. In meditation, I cry tears of joy. I am complete as I am. I love everyone. I am completely transformed inside out, and opportunities and insights begin happening in real-time. My business idea seems so tangible as if they already exist in a parallel reality. Everything is perfect. I am at peace. A month has passed and the feelings I have cultivated during the three week period are alive and active. I no longer feel angry, or wronged. Every day is filled with gratitude. I make it a habit of mine to be creative daily. Cataloging my ideas and actively pursuing the ones I deem most appropriate for the moment. 

 LSD is a powerful tool. 

It allowed me to access the deepest layers of my being and reorganize my belief system. Exposing myself to positive material during the experience was integral to rearranging my psyche. I have undergone a profound self-hypnotic restructuring, and can never see reality the same again. 

 The hippies might be on to something.

[grey-kisses]

Hello, I'M IN A DESPERATE NEED OF A MIYUSAWA FIC, where mura gets sick and hides it in a game and failes, so miyuki feels a bit angry and guilty for not realising and plays the nurse for sawamura :) Thanks

In a weird form of irony, this is the request I finished first and also absolutely hated the most. Like, the idea of Eijun, who wants to make Chris proud and wants to be a worthy rival to Furuya, NOT confessing when he’s not in his best form is not a prompt I like, BUT I tried to work in the angle you seemed to want. I also did not bother looking up much about the medical information, not for a Drabble.—

Eijun felt fine when he had woken up that morning. His eyes were bright, his form looked in shape, his entire demeanor glowed as he set each practice pitch directly to Miyuki’s mitt. Bright smile and proud eyes, he looked at Miyuki from the distance had every right to feel good about being the starting pitcher in the practice match they had.

Miyuki teased him for his puppy-like excitement, and Eijun pouted, but he still seemed physically fine despite his boyfriend’s emotional torture. You can only tell someone he’s lucky to pitch so many times, but at least Eijun realized Miyuki was really proud of him and had full confidence in him. The fact that Miyuki brought them close together was a good indicator that he had full support from his beautiful catcher.

Then Eijun smelled the most wonderful scent when Miyuki brought him close for a side hug. A soft musk that had an almost sweet citrus aroma to it. Eijun could barely hold back, the smell of Miyuki driving him mad.

“Kazu, you smell so good. I’m happy you’ll be so far during the game, or I’d be so off if I had to smell that too close.”

Miyuki chuckled and ruffled Eijun’s hair. “We should get this scent all over you. Test your focus during a match with outside stimulus. Hm?” And Miyuki leaned in close over Eijun’s ear, whispering his words so sweetly, but Eijun could only think of that new cologne.

Eijun felt his entire body tingle, and the two took the extra warm-up time to warm up in their own unique way before the game. Hands all over, and bodies pressed against each other, they had a nice adrenaline boost to get them through the game.

Except the tingling from the make-out session never disappeared. Eijun’s body felt on fire, and his performance suffered. An itch in his arm at the second would throw of his pitch, and ache in his legs ruined his at-bats. Within only a bit more than two innings and three lost runs, Eijun got switched for Kawakami early on.

His throat felt dry and he felt so damn itchy. His eyes wanted to stay shut and he could barely be upset ruining the game’s momentum for Seido when he could barely even see the dugout. Only when he took off his jersey to put on the shoulder pack did the coach notice the giant rash spreading over Eijun. Red and full of awful tiny bumps, Eijun felt horrified at his own skin. Nothing seemed to be melting off, but the horrible feeling skewed his perception of how it looked.

And Eijun almost screamed, had tried to scream, but his throat dried and could only get a startled yell out.

“B-b-boss, what is this?” And the sheer panic in his eyes explained to the others he had no idea that he had the issue as much as they did.

Rei'a calming presence entered the scene, and assured Eijun he would be fine before excusing them both to see a doctor. The team seemed understanding about Eijun’s poor pitching when news from the dugout reached the fielders, but they could only regain so much momentum. Eijun complained and whined the entire time to Rei that he should have done better, and that he should have done better despite and physical ailments. Rei nearly lost her wits in the short car ride to the doctor, partially because she had to explain to Eijun very carefully that no player should have to ruin their body for a single game. Eijun calms down, barely, took as deep a breath as he could with his scratchy throat, and let himself figure out what was wrong before throwing another fit.—“Allergies?” Kuramochi asked with his face full of rice.

Eijun looked like he would grind his jaw in frustration. “CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?! Allergies! ALLERGIES? I cost us a match and a chance to prove my worth because of something in the air! NYNYNYNYNYN!” Eijun felt pumped with anger at himself and his stupid rash, scratching his head in frustration.

“You did well, all things considered,” Furuya added, soft but serious enough to make it that much more of an annoying comment. “It was only three runs in two innings.”

Eijun turned his eyes into cat-like slits. “I really hate you sometimes, you know,” Eijun mumbled, head still between his clenched hands.

“Hey, hey, don’t beat it too much. The coach doesn’t think that’s your usual, and doesn’t think it reflects you much. It’s like Furuya said, you only lost three runs for someone who could barely wear a mitt.” Miyuki grinned, but it was flat and his eyes showed that he had something further to say but didn’t.

“Mmmmmm! But I don’t even know what it was! Pollen, grass, sun, food, and everything else was the same!” Eijun crossed his arms and continued to pout.

“Hyaha! Sucks to be you! If the coach thinks it’ll happen again, you won’t ever play!” Kuramochi “teased” even though that fear had not crossed Eijun’s mind yet.

The dead weight of failure hung in Eijun’s face and stomach. “Never … play …”

Haruichi jabbed Kuramochi in the side, frowning at him before turning to Eijun. “If it’s never happened before then it may never happen again. You should keep an eye out for anything that could have set off your reaction from the things today.”

Eijun sighed and nodded. “I think I’ll take a shower early. I’m in no condition to practice.” Not that Eijun wanted to shower when the slight fragrance of Miyuki’s cologne lingered on his skin. Eijun cast one more longing look at Miyuki before heading out of the cafeteria.

Taking out his phone, Eijun noticed the few bumps on his hand that had calmed in their itchiness. [Hey I’m about to shower. Meet in ur room? i miss your smell]

Eijun threw his phone on the charger and grabbed a new set of clothes for after his shower. The phone stayed on his bed, and he felt no need to take it if he would just do the usual Miyuki meet-up. All he wanted was a nice, refreshing bath to ease his skin so he could apply the new skin treatment the doctor prescribed to him.

Eijun enjoyed the feeling of the water on his skin, but left earlier than usual to get a head start into going to Miyuki’s room. The door was unlocked, and he let himself in while the other inhabitants stayed out to practice. Eijun felt plenty of relief just laying on Miyuki’s bed and nuzzling into the sheets. A fault scent of Miyuki lingered on them, but nothing so nice as the new cologne he got.

Okumura came in first of the roommates, glaring the moment he entered the room and saw Eijun. “Shouldn’t you be resting and taking something to get yourself back to normal? Or as normal as you could be.”

Eijun stuck his tongue out. “Well, wolf-boy, I can’t say there’s anything quite as being in my boyfriend’s bed,” Eijun half-sang out, raising on calf into the air as he squeezed a pillow and buried his face into it partially. Eijun hid his grin under the pillow when Okumura looked repulsed enough to look away.

“I don’t know what you see in each other,” Okumura muttered, but his cheeks were a bit brighter than before. Before Eijun had a chance to ask where Miyuki went after dinner, Okumura already left, probably wanting to not be around when the lovebirds decided to make out again. Okumura almost looked cute when he felt flustered, but Eijun pushed that thought away immediately.

Thirty minutes had gone without anyone else coming in, and Eijun felt irritated, mostly physically. He packed his prescription in his bag, and right when he reached for it Miyuki walked into the room.

“Eijun? Why are you here. I said you shouldn’t come tonight,” and Miyuki’s face held more concern than annoyance. “Did you forget to take your phone again?”

Eijun averted his guilty face. “I wanted to see you. I need some support and cuddles since Boss is going to kick me out of first string now.”

Miyuki shook his head as he walked over to his bed. “You can’t walk in like that! I needed to spray my room down with cleaning supplies!”

“Why? It looks clean and organized enough.”

“Because I sprayed the cologne on in here. Are you too dense to figure out that was what your reaction was to?”

Eijun’s heart sank and he felt a horrible feeling of dismay and outrage. “That can’t be right! It smelled so good! I wanted it for myself!”

“It’s literally the only thing that was different about today. And regardless about your complaints, I already threw it away. You’ll be forgiven by the coach when I promise him I found the source of your reaction and won’t preform like that again.”

“But you gotta find something that nice that doesn’t hurt me, okay, Kazu?” Eijun whined, subconsciously scratching at the bumps on his arms.

Miyuki took note, and took the box from the Eijun was not using to scratch himself. “I’ll find something better, if it matters so much. Now let’s put this on you,” Miyuki said as he shook the box. The ointment looked like a standard toothpaste container, and Miyuki wondered if Eijun couldn’t just take pills for that sort of thing. Either way, he oozed out a bit of the content onto two fingers. “Take off your shirt. It’s on your back, too?”

Eijun blushed and obeyed. “H-how do you want me?”

Miyuki laughed, not too loudly, but it was obvious Eijun was reading into it too much. “Just hold out your arm. I’ll start there first. Then you can just lay on your stomach.”

Miyuki seemed to go slower than necessary. He applied more to his hands when needed, and seemed to be massaging Eijun’s arms as he applied. Every bit of effected skin received a fair bit of the medicine, and Eijun admitted he enjoyed it. From the soothing touch of medicine doing its job, the small muscle massage, and to the fact that he received so much attention from his handsome lover warmed and relaxed Eijun.

“Hey! Don’t go to sleep yet! I haven’t gotten your back yet.”

“Mmnn! If I’m about to sleep now how am I supposed to stay awake while you rub my back?!” Eijun still decided to roll on Miyuki’s bed until he laid down.

“Oh? Who says you’re getting the same treatment on your back?” By tone alone Eijun could tell the smile wide grin had spread over Miyuki’s face. Worse still, Miyuki seemed to be in a truly teasing mood as he ran a devious hand along the known ticklish spots along Eijun’s back.

“Gya ha -ahha!” Not that the noises made any sense, because Eijun wanted to yell and laugh at one. “Miyuki Kazuya!”

Miyuki exhaled in what sounded like disappointment, but Eijun could tell he was still planning something. “I’ll behave. Don’t want to waste your medicine, at least.”

Miyuki kept his words. Skilled but rough hands worked over Eijun’s skin with tender care, which hyper focus on the idea of making sure every bit of the effected spots took in the medicine to the pores. Eijun kept in his noises, but he enjoyed his little free massage and the idea that Miyuki cared enough to do it. Eijun did not actually blame Miyuki at all, not when they had no way of knowing about any allergic reaction, but Eijun would never refuse his horrible boyfriend actually being sweet for once.

“No sleeping!” Miyuki punctuated his words with a small pinch on Eijun’s arm.

“Wha- You’re supposed to take care of me!”

“Hee, did I say that involved sleeping on my bed? I finished applying it, so head to your own room already! You’ll feel better in your own space, and so will I. I can do more on you tomorrow.”

“Mmmmm,” Eijun replied with a groggy pout as he sat back up. “Promise?”

Miyuki placed a hand on Eijun’s cheek and pulled him in for a brief kiss. “Promise. I’ll take care of making sure you get batter and finding out what in the cologne gave you a reaction. Now go to bed.”

Eijun sneaked in another kiss on Miyuki’s lips and smiled. “You’re not the best nurse, but I’m happy you’re taking care of me, Kazu.”

[intrepidolivia]

I’ve Got You

Pairing: John WinchesterXOlivia (OC)

Warnings: Smut, oral, torture, blood, swearing, light Daddy Kink, light dom/sub, discussion of mental health.

Summary: Since a traumatic incident while hunting, Olivia has nightmares and flashbacks. Sharing a bed with her partner, John, seems to help make the nights a little easier... Then she kisses him.

A/N: This got a little longer than expected. It’s a totally self-indulgent AU in which John Winchester didn’t die but continued Hunting, eventually taking on Olivia as a partner. Mainly I just wanted to write some JDM smut really badly.

A/N 2:  Author is an attention whore so I’m going to tag a few people who I follow (on my main, eldritchmortician) who might enjoy this (I hope.....).... :3

@grungedaddykinks @ashzombie13 @adair-donovan @mypapawinchester @jeffrey-daddy-morgan @jeffreydeanmorganaddicted @jeffreynegan @heiwako @ladylorelitany @winchester-negan-one-shots

    They’d had several good nights in a row, so they were due a bad one. It seemed being tortured to near death tended to leave effects even after the wounds were healed to fading scars.

    She didn’t know how long she’d been there. Hours? Days? There was no way to guage time, no way to know when she passed out if it was for seconds or hours. Her legs had weakened some time ago, and she hung by her wrists, limp. She barely had the strength to raise her head anymore. Her throat was raw from screaming. Every time she thought she’d lost the ability to make a sound, they did something new and different that wrenched a cry from her.

They only stopped to ask the same question. She wasn’t sure how many times they’d asked. As the black-eyed demon lifted her head up by the hair, she didn’t even really hear him. Where was John, where was the Key? Every time they promised mercy. If she told them, they would cut an artery. Her mouth was full of blood. She didn’t know why. She’d lost track of what had been done to her. She spit it in his face. They started hurting her again.

    The nightmares that made her afraid to fall asleep were less frequent when they shared a bed. It was John who’d suggested it, in fact. After that one awful night in Memphis, when she’d been so distressed and hysterical he’d gotten into the bed with her in the hotel room they were sharing. He’d held her tight, stroking her hair, rocking her, soothing her back to sleep. He’d spent so long holding her that he fell asleep beside her as well, nestled warm and familiar against her back.

    She didn’t hold out much hope of being rescued. There were too many demons, too much to risk. John had the Key, they wanted it. It was reason enough to take it and run fast and far. She had to hold out as long as she could. Then, she would give them a plausible lie and pray they were telling the truth when they said they would kill her.

    John had nightmares as well. With all he’d seen and done, she had little doubt his sleep was rarely undisturbed. But since she’d almost died, he’d woken in the night more than once desperate to find her. Convinced he was too late to save her. It only made sense to share a bed. It was reassuring. If she woke he could soothe her back to sleep. If he did, she would be there and safe and in touching distance.

    It took long moments to realize they’d stopped. Pain filled her whole world, screaming the only language she remembered. There was shouting, but she couldn’t lift her head. A gunshot somewhere nearby. Another, and another. Then a voice in her ear.

    “Liv? Baby? I’m here, I’ve got you…”

    Of course, it was driving her slowly mad.

    Every night she chose modest pajamas, or a tee shirt and shorts. Every night she said goodnight to him, and settled onto the pillows, listening to his breath go slow and deep, breathing his scent like hardwood and musk, and feeling his warmth next to her. Every night she kept herself from wrapping herself around him. She nestled close as she dared and imagined his arms around her.

    “Liv, come on. Look at me, sweetheart. Open your eyes for me. You’ve got to hold on.”

    He lifted her and everything was agony. She forced her eyes open. He was a mess, spattered with blood. She didn’t know if it was hers, his, or the demons’. His dark eyes were fixed on her, worried, frightened.

    “John?” she managed.

    “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe now. It’s going to be okay.”

    From everything she’d read, the nightmares would probably decrease over time. It would be better if she were to get therapy, of course, but it was difficult to manage. They were still hunting, never in the same place very long. And what could she say to a psychiatrist that wouldn’t sound like a delusion?

    So she slept beside John, and hoped that she would get better someday.

    “Hang in there, Liv. You’re brave. You’re so brave, and so strong. You’re going to be fine.”

    She was bleeding on the front seat of his car. Distantly, she wanted to apologize. He loved his car. He wouldn’t let anyone eat in the car, even her. Now she was getting blood all over everything, and she felt bad about it.

    “I didn’t tell them,” she said softly. “About the Key.”

    He braced her with one hand as he took a turn at what had to be an unsafe speed. He glanced down at her, brow knit. “That’s not important right now, sweetheart. Don’t try to talk.”

    The nightmares were almost always basically the same. The room, the shackles. The table of things they were going to use to hurt her. The panic at being there again, at knowing what was coming. Sometimes John was there as well. Those were the worst ones. Knowing they would hurt her was bad. Knowing they would hurt him was intolerable.

    “Stay with me, baby girl. Don’t you dare give up.”

    There would be far too many questions at a hospital. Possibly even accusations leveled at John. The state she was in was no accident, and there was no other way to interpret it. She’d been tortured, and there would be police involvement. Fortunately, hunters had their own resources.

    He kicked open the back door at an emergency vet’s office, carrying her in, shouting for help. They had the Hunter’s signs in the window; they were used to late night emergencies.

    John laid her on a gurney, taking her hand in his. “You hear me, Livvy? You are stronger than this. You gotta stay with me.”

    John was a light sleeper. He was always awake before she was if something happened. He was always up and dressed and making coffee in the morning before she even stirred. So when she started growing restless, or whimpering in her sleep, it always woke him up.

    In the dream, she fought. Tried to wrench her arms from the shackles. Tried to kick, and scream and do all she could to escape. It was always futile, and the knowledge that she was trapped only further fueled her panic. Still she fought. If she fought enough they’d concentrate on her, and not John.

    “Holy mother of fuck, what happened to her?” the veterinarian growled, cutting away the remnants of her clothes. She wanted to hide herself from John. Not like this--she didn’t want him to see her naked like this.

    “Demons. Wanted info. Is she going to be all right?” She could hear the strain in John’s voice. His temper was simmering near the surface.

    “50-50,” the woman replied in a clipped tone. “Dropping by the minute. There’s more blood on the kid’s clothes than in her. Is that fucking surgery suite prepped?”

    “Yes, Doc!” called a voice from the hall.

    “Get her in. You go sit the fuck down.”

    Olivia grabbed John’s hand, her grip weak. “I love you,” she whispered. She felt herself fading. It seemed suddenly very important to let him know.

    He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her bloody knuckles. “Love you too, sweetheart. Be strong. You’re going to be fine, I promise.”

    He always turned the light on when he woke her up. So she could see she was in a hotel room, not a warehouse torture chamber. So she could see that she was in bed, and safe, and he was there beside her.

    Sometimes it took her a moment to even recognize him. Panic and sleep conspired to skew her perceptions, making her disoriented. Showing her chains and demons instead of beds and her hunting partner. Those nights particularly made it difficult to calm down, but it was better with him there. With his voice in her ear and his arms around her.

    “There’s my girl!” John was there when she opened her eyes. He looked tired, haggard. Unshaven, his hair a mess. But he smiled, and she smiled back.

    Everything hurt, but the pain was dull and distant. She felt weak and exhausted, but she was glad to see him.

    “Welcome back, sweetheart,” he said softly. He brushed her hair back from her face. “I told you you were tough.”

    “Glad to be back,” she whispered. Her throat felt too raw to do more.

    He smiled and kissed her forehead, stubble scratching her skin. “That’s my little badass.”

    “It’s okay, baby. You’re safe. Just breathe.”

    He held her from behind, her back against his chest, his voice in her ear. He held her hands tightly, trapped against her chest. Sometimes in her panic she had clawed at him. Occasionally she attacked her own skin with her nails, trying to tear off restraints and weapons that weren’t there. He rocked gently with her, his chin tucked over her shoulder.

    “In and out. That’s your job right now, just breathe. In and out real slow. That’s a good girl.”

    She fought to do as he instructed, sucking in slow, deep breaths, letting them out. Trying to let the last of the nightmare let go, waiting for her pulse to slow back to normal. Little by little she relaxed, her head tipping back to rest on his shoulder, her straining hands going slack. Her cheeks were wet and her throat was dry.

    He let go of her hands, wrapping his arms around her pulling her into his lap like a child. She curled against him, eager to accept his comfort.

    “There we go. You back with me, Liv?”

    She nodded and looked up at him. She’d always found him handsome. From the moment she’d met him she’d been attracted to him, over even his two sons who were both delicious and much closer to her age. It had been John, though, who’d killed the vampire that had nearly had her. It was John who gave her his hand to help her up and asked if she was all right.

    The years since their first meeting hadn’t diminished his looks. If anything, he was more attractive now. His closely trimmed beard streaked with gray, his dark eyes more world-weary but also kind and aflame with intelligence.

    Perhaps it was the nightmare. Perhaps it was something in the air, or the phase of the moon. Perhaps it was just that she’d wanted him for so long she couldn’t wait anymore.

    She put a hand to his cheek, sliding along his jaw, feeling the salt-and-pepper stubble of his beard on her palm. She circled her fingers around the nape of his neck, drew him down, and kissed his lips.

    He went very still. She was afraid he would pull away. Afraid he would push her off, but he didn’t. For a moment, she thought he even returned the kiss.

    He took a slow breath as she backed away, and put his hand over hers, still on his cheek.

    “Livvy, that’s…” he began, and sighed. “I don’t think you mean--”

    “I do,” she said softly and firmly.

    He closed his eyes, shaking his head. He took her hand away from his cheek, but held it. “Sweetheart, I’m old enough to be your father. Hell, I am a father, and my kids are older than you.”

    “So?” she asked. “I’m well past legal.” She smiled crookedly. “I can drink, rent hotel rooms and cars… I’m not even barely legal, I’m pretty firmly an adult.”

    He chuckled softly, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into her palm. “You’re also distraught, suffering from PTSD, and just woke up from a nightmare.”

    She shifted. He still had her on his lap, so it was an easy thing to get closer, to press against him. She held his eyes with her own. “Are you afraid I’m going to regret it in the morning?”

    Olivia heard his breath catch as she moved against him. “Something like that,” he said softly. His arm slid around her waist, and his hand tightened on hers.

    “The only thing I’ve regretted every morning is not having kissed you yet.”

    He stared down at her a long moment, his tongue darting out to glide across his lips. He still held her hand captive in his, still held her pressed against him. She could feel his heartbeat mingling with hers.

    He released her hand, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her close. She tipped her head up to meet his kiss, slow and deep. He pulled back, cupping her cheek. His thumb feathered over her skin, tracing her lips. His dark eyes were warm, with just a hint of something more dangerous in them.

    “Tell me what you want,” he whispered.

    “You. From the minute I first saw you. It’s always been you.” She leaned into his palm, sliding her hands along his back.

    His lips crashed on hers. The kiss this time was not gentle, but nearly desperate, all tongue and teeth and need. He was much larger, much stronger than she was. It was little effort for him to shift her to the bed, her back against the pillows, his taut body pressing down on top of her.

    She kissed back eagerly, matching his aggression with her own. With him on top of her she could feel him, already half hard, pressing her through his shorts and her pajama pants. She pulled at his shirt and he paused, sitting back on his knees, straddling her thighs.

    He stripped his shirt off and she bit her lip. His body was toned, of course. He was the sort of muscular born of strenuous work and hardship. Dark hair dusted his chest, trailing down his hard stomach and vanishing under the waistband of his shorts. She’d seen him without a shirt before, but this time she let herself really look. Her eyes lingered on the tattoos on his chest, his shoulders. She couldn’t help herself, reaching up to stroke her fingertips lightly down his abdomen, tracing the lines of muscles and tendons. She paused where the sharp line of his hips met the top of his shorts.

    He caught her questing hand, grinning. “Doesn’t seem fair I’m the only one topless.”

    Olivia blushed, but hesitated. She had healed for the most part, but there were still scars. Ugly, pink, jagged scars that marred her skin in a dozen places. “Do you… do you want to turn off the lights?” she asked softly.

    For a moment he looked confused, then realization dawned. He reached down, stroking her cheek. “No, I don’t. I want to see how beautiful you are.”

    “But the scars,” she began.

    He pulled her gently to sit up, and kissed her. “I was there when you got them, Livvy. They’re proof that you’re stronger than what tried to kill you. There’s nothing more beautiful to me than that.”

    He slipped her shirt over her head, tossing it aside, and watched her as she let herself sink back to the bed. He sucked in a breath, licking his lips. He slid his hands up her stomach, cupping her breasts gently, his thumbs feathering over the already-hard nubs of her nipples.

    She moaned, arching into his hands. The touch was electric, sending shockwaves of arousal through her. How many times had she imagined this moment? The reality was almost too intense.

    He chuckled at her moan. “Want me to slow down, sweetheart?”

    “No!” she gasped. “Please…”

    John grinned wickedly as he continued to tease her nipples, at first gently, then rolling them between his fingers. She gasped as he pinched down, not very hard, but the sensation was as startling as it was erotic. She groaned, her hips bucking all on their own. She clawed at the bedsheets, trying to keep herself from grabbing him.

    She whined when he took his hands away, though their path as he slid them down her sides blossomed with pleasure. It felt as though every nerve in her was hyperaware and filled with need.

    His fingers hooked in the top of her pajama pants, and he tugged at the soft fabric, watching her face as he pulled. Her heart pounded as she lifted her hips, letting him take the garment off her.

    It felt strange to be exposed. Hunting together, even sharing hotel rooms, sharing beds, they’d both been careful. They both changed in bathrooms or behind closet doors. Avoided letting each other see anything inappropriate. Oh, she had fantasized. She’d considered ‘accidentally’ walking in on him, or letting the door stay open. She’d never gotten up the courage, though.

    Part of her wanted to shrink away from his gaze and hide. The impulse was only momentary, however. She forgot it entirely as he stroked a hand along her revealed flesh, his fingertips wandering slowly and teasingly between her legs. She sucked in a breath as he stroked along the soft skin of her inner thighs, tantalizingly close to where her arousal pooled, hot and wet.

    She made herself take his hand. He stopped, looking up at her.

    “Doesn’t seem quite fair now,” she said, her voice breathy. She leaned up, gently sliding her palm over his shorts, her lips nearly touching his. She could feel him, hard and ready and so thick in her hand. She ached to have him inside her. “Your turn,” she purred.

    He kissed her, nipping her lips. “Fair’s fair, I guess.”

    He pulled off the shorts, freeing his erection. The growing heat between her legs intensified, the need almost painful. She shifted, trapping his legs between her thighs, her hips raising toward him. She reached up, hooking her nails gently in his shoulders as he moved over her.

    John’s eyes were warm as he lowered himself to his elbows over her, his length trapped between them. She could feel him hard and hot against her skin, and she wanted to wrap her whole body around him.

    He leaned down, his lips teasing her collarbone, gliding up her throat. The sensation was almost maddeningly intense, his beard scratching her skin, his lips soft and so warm. She drew her nails up his back lightly as he kissed along her neck, and took her earlobe gently in his teeth.

    “Do you trust me?” he whispered, breath hot in her ear.

    “With my life,” she answered. There was no hesitation, no debate. She trusted him completely. She was never more certain of anything.

    He laid one more kiss on her neck, and sat back on his knees with a wicked grin. He took her wrists, lifting her hands above her head and pressing them into the pillows. “Think you can stay still for Daddy?” he purred.

    His voice nearly made her break his request then and there. She wanted to writhe against him, she wanted to beg to feel him inside her.  She managed, somehow, to stay in position. “I--I can try,” she panted. It was the best she could promise.

    “All I ever ask is that you do your best, baby.” He stroked a fingertip down her nose playfully.

    She tried to stay still as best she could as he moved over her, lowering his head to her chest, laying teasing kisses and nips along her skin. She could feel the heat of his body just above her, and she wanted to arch into him and feel skin on skin. But he held himself back, just a little.

    He rained kisses down across her breasts, lightly, and finally lingered over her nipples, his hot tongue sliding over the sensitive skin there. She gasped as he closed his lips over the pebbled flesh, sucking gently, tongue flickering over the hardened nubs. He caught her between his teeth, pressing down lightly until she moaned.

    Olivia began to have serious doubts about her ability to stay still for very long. Despite that, she kept her arms above her head where he’d put them, even when he moved on, kissing down her stomach. Every touch sent a mounting thrill through her, and she could feel herself fairly dripping with arousal.

    He was unhurried, nibbling down her belly and hips, laying kisses and little flicks of tongue as he went. He slid his hands between her legs, pushing them apart and she moaned, squeezing her eyes closed with the effort of staying still. When he moved his mouth to kiss the inside of her thighs, she almost bowed in half.

    “P--please, I can’t--”

    “Try as long as you can, sweetheart. I know you’re enjoying this just as much as I am,” he growled into her skin, and nipped her sharply.

    She yelped, grabbing the pillow hard. His teeth in her skin sent a shock directly to her already swollen clit. If his hands hadn’t been keeping her legs parted, she might have wrapped them around his head.

    He chuckled softly and continued his slow tease, nipping, kissing and nibbling up the inside of her things, coming ever closer to where she throbbed with need and then backing away, building her arousal and denying her in a slow and delicious torment. Her hips moved all on their own, desire driving her to push toward him, trying to urge him on. When he laid a kiss on her mound, and then stopped, she thought she might cry.

    “Tell me what you want, baby.”

She could feel his breath on her sex. He was so close it was maddening. And he expected her to speak? Her fingers were so tight on the pillows above her head that they ached. She took a ragged breath, and tried to find her voice.

“I want you inside me,” she mewled finally.

“I promise you we’ll get to that,” he said, and lowered his head.

She arched off the bed as his tongue lapped over her inner lips, pausing to swirl lazily over her clit. The cry he wrenched from her was high and strangled as she fought to stay still. Of course, that quickly proved impossible as he continued, his tongue lapping at her relentlessly. His big hands held her hips firmly, preventing her from squirming against him as she tried in vain to urge him on.

Olivia clawed at the pillows, fighting to keep her hands above her as he pleasured her with his lips and tongue. Her breath came in gasps and moans and distantly she realized he’d only moved to a new and different form of erotic torment. She felt the heat pooling low and deep, felt the crest of a wave of pleasure building, and knew she only needed a little more before it crashed. But the moment she tensed, his questing tongue moved on to tease another spot.

He seemed determined to test her limits, to see just how many times he could drive her to the edge, then stop. He seemed to enjoy the sounds she made, the way she rolled her hips to try to urge him on. She tried to endure, tried to keep as still as she could, but every time he drove her to the edge, the precipice felt higher and more urgent. Finally, she could take no more.

She wailed as he moved away yet again, her voice choked. “Please! I can’t anymore! Please, I need you!”

She half expected him to continue teasing her. Instead, he moved over her, bending his head to kiss her. She tasted her own arousal on his lips, salty-sweet. He nuzzled at her neck as his cock nudged at her entrance.

“You did good, baby,” he murmured, bracing himself over her. “Now, hold on to me.”

She wrapped her arms tight around him, her fingers digging into his back. He rocked his hips gently, sliding into her inch by inch. She moaned at the sensation, almost too tight before her walls relaxed to accommodate him. When his hips pressed hers, she tightened her thighs around his waist.

He paused, their faces a breath apart. He nipped gently at her chin, her lips. “Tell me what you want.”

“You, Daddy” she said softly, and kissed him.

He started slowly, kissing and suckling her neck as he moved inside her. She held his shoulders, reveling in the fullness of him inside her. She’d imagined it a thousand times, but the reality was better than anything she could have thought of. He was unhurried, setting a languid pace at first that began to slowly rebuild her arousal. Once she started panting softly, his thrusts came harder and faster.

She dug her nails into his back as he started pushing her back toward the edge. His pace became relentless, the headboard clattering against the wall in time with his thrusts, his breathing hard and fast. Sweat beaded across his back as she held on for dear life.

Olivia wrapped her legs around him, tipping her hips up to allow him as deep as he could go inside her, his pelvis grinding against her clit. It was almost too intense after the teasing he’d put her through, and as she approached climax, she was almost afraid the wave would be too large.

Then, he quickened his pace and it was too late to stop.

She shrieked as her orgasm crashed over her, sending spasms through her whole body. She arched, her nails digging hard into his back as she held onto him, screaming, gasping for air, and screaming again.

Somewhere in the middle of it, John buried himself in her with a roar, the hot spill inside her only making the shockwaves of pleasure that much more intense. She held him tightly as the waves slowly receded, and her body relaxed.

He kissed her as she went limp, stroking a hand down her side. She shuddered with little aftershocks as he pulled out of her, and she was unable to do anything but whimper softly.

He sank to the pillows beside her, pulling her into his arms and stroking her hair as she came down. Slowly, her heart rate returned to normal, her breathing slowed. She nestled against him, spent and weary.

John pressed a kiss to her forehead, looking down at her with a little smile. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Better than okay,” she said, reaching up to stroke a hand over his cheek.

He turned his head to kiss her palm, and shifted, tucking her head under his chin. “Think you can get some sleep now?”

She giggled softly. “I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

John chuckled, wrapping his arms around her. “Well, baby, I’ve got you. And I’ll be here when you wake up.”

For the first time in a long while, Olivia wasn’t afraid to fall asleep.