#i don’t trust the train system on a good day

[bending-sickle]

y’all i straightened my hair yesterday and my recovering curls and the humidity is giving me these massive old-timey corkscrews and you’re gonna have to take my word for it because selfies make me want to bury myself in a hole

[waywardstation]

The other day my thoughts went back to the "Train of Thoughts" AU we created here and how incredibly community driven everything was...

...and it got me thinking how this AU also could be something to be explored in the way your new reblog-story-game-thingy (do these have names btw?) go.

Like which memory-train to tackle next, banter and chatting with MG!Emmet along the way and intermissions with Ingo on the outside reacting when certain memories are unlocked. Also in General interactions with MG!Emmet and the Mind Station. There should be something of a disclaimer at first but I'd love to see a return of this AU as it is still a big favorite for me.

of course no rush on that. I just wanted to share this idea since it could be a fun thing to make at a later point and also would be on brand here since it is your (and our) potluck AU!

(I apologize that this took so long to respond to, I’ve tried to post it three times now but my internet is terrible right now and I’ve had to rewrite this every time!!)

OH I STILL LOVE TRAIN OF THOUGHT AU SO MUCH!! It was so fun getting to build that together with everyone else who brought so many cool ideas and expansions to it!!

SO THAT IS SUCH A COOL IDEA TO MAKE IT AN INTERACTIVE COMIC!!! I would have so much fun doing that and I think others would too! And it keeps the community-driven aspect of it too with letting people pick from options!

I LOVE THIS IDEA!!! It’s such a good idea just like everything else you always come up with, thank you for the suggestion friend!!! ^^

————

I understand that I have not talked about the Train of Thought AU in such a long time. I am sure there are a lot of people here now who don’t know what this AU is. So you are free to check out the respective tag for it, or read the summary below!

So, Train of Thought AU is basically an AU that takes Ingo’s amnesia and turns it into a purposely-caused safeguard to protect his mind from a mind parasite that could permanently destroy it.

So in this AU, Ingo fell to Hisui through one of Giratina’s wormholes. It was not smooth and things definitely clashed together. While going through, a part of Giratina’s essence meshed with him, becoming trapped in Ingo’s mindscape when he exited the other side of the wormhole and into Hisui.

This part of Giratina quickly developed into an entity. This part is not Giratina itself, but rather something that grew from Giratina’s characteristics. Named Remnant, this entity was mindless, did not act on a conscience, and much like a virus, has a one-track mind, one direction — to get out of this mindscape and into the real world, destroying everything on the way out if it has to.

And that is exactly what is began to do.

For reference, Ingo’s mindscape resembles Gear Station. There are many traincars inside that hold different memories, and many lines for these cars to operate on that are meant for different trains of thought. (There is a line for memories to influence dreams while he’s sleeping, there is a line for things that get stuck in his head and play over and over, like songs, there is a train yard where embarrassing memories are banished to, etc.)

Once Remnant had realized what was going on, it began destroying memory traincars in a fury to get out, damaging important memories.

In doing this, a system that was implemented realized something was inside the mindscape that was damaging it, and it made a heavy decision in the moment to protect it.

This system is referred to as a Mind Guardian. Mind Guardians are the mind’s security system basically, dedicated to protecting the mind. They manifest in the mindscape as the person the mind trusts the most — in Ingo’s case, it was Emmet.

MG Emmet made the decision to lock all the train cars (trapping Remnant inside one of them in the process) and send them all into a train yard meant for memories that should be forgotten. Emmet built a barricade by cramming so many cars together, keeping Remnant securely in a prison.

But by doing this, MG Emmet left Ingo with so little to remember, he fell into an amnesia. MG Emmet knew this would happen, and it would leave him with a severely disfunctional mindscape to oversee, but intact memories that were locked away were better than memories that were irreparably damaged.

But that meant that all of Ingo’s memories of Emmet were locked away as well. With Ingo’s consciousness unable to recall Emmet, MG Emmet lost practically everything that made him “Emmet.” Most of his appearance and speech patterns were lost to darkness, blurs, and static, and without a name to remember, he simply became the Conductor.

While Remnant was locked away, unable to escape the memory it was trapped in, there was one loophole where it could still roam the station. Whenever Ingo would fall asleep, many of the mindscape’s functions would pause or stop. Remnant could use its tendrils to wander the dark station, in search of anything it could get ahold of or take advantage of — one of those things being MG Emmet specifically.

Remnant knew MG was the one who trapped it, and all it sees MG Emmet as is an obstacle, an adversary keeping it stuck in this mindscape. It wants to hunt down and eliminate MG Emmet.

MG Emmet knows this, so whenever Ingo goes to sleep and the station goes dark, he knows he has to hide. Usually, he takes shelter in the memory car that contains Ingo’s recollection of Emmet’s joltik hoard. He finds comfort in it and it’s easy to hide under layers of joltiks.

And so, for Ingo’s entirety in Hisui, he was entirely unaware of all of this, assuming the amnesia was from a head injury or a rough trip through a rift (which, technically yes it is haha) and thought nothing of it.

However one day when Akari brings the Lake Guardians to Professor Laventon for help with further studies (and for him to get to admire them), Uxie senses Ingo, and that something is very wrong with his mind. It’s not empty, no. Rather, everything is still in there, it’s just inaccessible. Very strange!

Uxie decides, with everyone’s agreement and Ingo’s consent, to try entering his mindscape and trying to figure out what’s wrong. They attach themselves to Ingo to make a mental link, but within moments, the link is broken. Uxie tries again, only to be ejected again. Another try, another forceful rejection.

MG Emmet is the one kicking Uxie out of Ingo’s mind. He already had enough of a mess with Remnant, he is not going to let a second pokemon into the mindscape again.

So a solution comes down to Uxie connecting Akari and Irida’s minds to Ingo’s, and putting their consciousnesses into his mindscape — Ingo is most comfortable with both of them going in, as they’re the two people in Hisui who he knows and trusts best — Uxie sends them in, but has to stay connected to Ingo’s head the entire time so as not to break that connection.

(The sketches below were done before we got Ingo’s hairline reveal lol. I didn’t know what to work with so I just made something up. Also why Ingo looks so different here; I was still figuring out how I wanted to draw him.)

Akari and Irida are sent into the mindscape, and immediately begin running. MG Emmet reflexively goes to kick them out, but he has to catch them first to do so before they split up.

Initially, Akari and Irida have to be careful and keep avoiding MG Emmet, who is hunting them down every free moment he has. They almost get caught several times (See the memes below lol).

This goes on for quite a bit, until Ingo falls asleep and the station shuts down again (he still has no idea that sleeping will make things dangerous for everyone in there — all he knows is Uxie will keep them connected as long as it needs). The three of them run into Remnant as it’s now scouring the station, and MG Emmet gets hurt.

They all manage to escape, but Irida and Akari come across MG Emmet recovering in his joltik car while looking for a place to hide. They join him and do their best to help him, and this is when they finally have a chance to show him that genuinely, they’re here to help, and want to restore Ingo’s mind and get rid of Remnant, just like he does.

From this point on, MG Emmet begins to trust them and joins them, making sure they stay safe navigating the mind station. He will explain the situation in more detail, show them all of the traincars and what the different lines are meant for, show them the manifestations of people and pokemon that Ingo has come to know in Hisui (like Lady Sneasler!) as well as Ingo’s manifestation of his own damaged self-image, and help them unlock more of Ingo’s memories, slowly but surely making their way to the memory traincar that Remnant is trapped in.

MG Emmet also cannot help but torment Ingo like the brother he is — he will go out of his way to show Akari and Irida embarrassing memories of things that Ingo has said and done throughout his whole life. MG Emmet laughs at them, Akari laughs even louder. Irida is just mortified. And Ingo, to his horror, can tell they’re going through these memories when he finds he’s suddenly remembering all these embarrassing things at once.

There is so much more to this AU, this summary, as long as it is, has barely scratched the surface! There is so much more with many ideas, scenarios, and expansions that people have graciously shared, and they’re all so cool! If you find yourself interested in this AU and would like to see more where people have presented really cool ideas and expanded upon them, I highly suggest browsing through this AU’s tag -> #Train of Thought AU !

[inuyashaluver]

any more niamh charles coming 🥺🥺🥺

coffee shop - niamh charles

niamh charles x reader

description: in which a pretty girl comes into your work everyday, are discounts and little notes on her cup considered flirting?

warnings: fluffyyyyy, let’s pretend covid isn’t a thing x

a/n: niamhy baby! i love her, thank you for the request, my love, enjoy!! ❤️ i really don’t know how to feel about this but it’s 2am and I’m delirious so we persevere!

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

when you and your girlfriend, niamh first laid eyes on each other, you both knew it was a forever kind of thing.

you both didn’t really believe in love at first sight until you both came into one another’s life, proving you and niamh to believe the statement wholeheartedly.

—

it all started in 2020 when niamh was signed to chelsea and moved to london. you at the time were studying law as well as working in a local coffee shop near your flat that niamh wandered into one day and took your breath away.

you were doing a morning shift alone, you’d often do the opening shifts for your boss by yourself because she absolutely adored you, you were also extremely good at your job and she trusted you completely.

you were cleaning the coffee machine and refilling the grounds when you heard the little bell on the door ring. “hi, excuse me?” a soft voice sounded from behind the counter. you turn to face one of the most beautiful girls you’ve ever seen, your breath hitching when you made eye contact.

the girl in front of you also gave you a surprised expression, she thought you were absolutely gorgeous. “hi” you breathe out, moving closer to the counter.

“can i get you anything?” you say shyly, the girl nods and smiles at you, “yeah! could i just get an iced latte to go please?” you nod and put the order into the system, letting out a little laugh.

she raises her eyebrows expectantly at you and you smile, “sorry, it’s just that it’s absolutely freezing and you get an iced drink” you giggle, the girl laughs along with you.

“yeah, i know it’s stupid” she laughs, you shake your head amusingly and retrieve a cup, “it’s not stupid, it’s interesting” you shrug.

the girl smiles brightly at you before you look up at her again, “name?” she looks at you with slight surprise, “sorry?” she utters, “for your coffee” you giggle, niamh exhales quickly at feeling slightly stupid before smiling at you again.

“ah, niamh” she grins, you smile brightly at her and write her name on the cup, moving to prepare the coffee as niamh stares at you in confusion.

“sorry, how much was it?” niamh questions, you wave her off with your hand, “no, it’s on the house, you’re my first customer” you wink (complete lie)

niamh immediately protests until you give her a stern expression and she stops, shaking her head at you and standing near the counter.

“chelsea supporter then?” you grin, making a espresso shot as you look at niamh, she looks down and realises that she’s in her training kit, you distracted her completely.

“something like that, yeah, i play for them” niamh smiles sheepishly, you offer her an impressed grin, “wow, niamh, might need an autograph for the wall” you say cheekily, making niamh laugh brightly.

you both small talk while you finish up making her coffee, you both have identical disappointed smiles as you pass her the coffee. “well thank you” her eyes narrow on your name tag, “(y/n), i really appreciate it” niamh grins, you nod with a smile and give her a little wave goodbye as she leaves.

your eyes follow her every move as she leaves the shop, sighing when she leaves out the door.

niamh takes a sip of her coffee and her eyes widen comically, she swears it’s the best coffee she’s had in her life, she looks down at the cup and sees that you’ve written a little note on the cup.

‘famous niamh! have a good day! :)’ she smiles down at the cup, the smile carrying into training and gaining some curious gazes as to why she was treasuring a cup of ice coffee.

you both thought about each other the whole day, hoping you’d cross paths again - unaware niamh made a promise to herself that she’d go to the coffee shop every morning and you made an effort to take every morning shift possible.

—

the next day, the morning shift was just locals in the cafe, you’d served everyone so you always used the down time at work to study, much to the encouragement of your boss. your textbooks would be sprawled out on the side of the counter to go back to whenever you had the chance.

you were currently highlighting some important passages in your law textbook when you hear the familiar bell of the door, looking up to see a smiling niamh waving to you.

she made you so nervous and she didn’t even know it. in reality, niamh had been hyping herself up for five minutes to even enter the coffee shop.

“niamh!” you say brightly, placing down the highlighter and standing behind the calendar. “busy?” she grins, pointing at the textbook next to you, you glance at it quickly and sigh, “yes, it’s kicking my ass” you laugh, she laughs sympathetically,

“what are you studying?” niamh questions, “law” you exhale, niamh gives you an impressed expression, both of you getting deja vu from the previous day.

“maybe i’m the one who needs your autograph” niamh quips, making you both giggle with each other, “hm maybe if you’re lucky” you grin, taking niamh’s order again. she forces you to let her pay and you give her a large discount, throwing in a little cookie with a cheeky grin.

she groans when she sees the card machine, clearly way less than the actual total, she narrows her eyes at you and you shrug, “pretty girl discount” niamh tenses at your words and her cheeks are slightly blushed. your own cheeks are pink as you make her coffee, changing the subject and small talking with her again.

you both had so much in common it was honestly crazy, everytime the one of you mentioned something, the other would gasp excitedly and talk about it passionately.

the grins and giggles said everything and more, you both really liked each other. when niamh leaves, she looks down at her cup again, laughing brightly at the note you’ve left on her cup.

‘to my dearest fan, niamh, here’s my autograph, don’t sell it! have a lovely day xx’ you left a little signature under it and niamh cheeks hurt from the smile adorning her features. the little ‘xx’ you left had her heart beating rapidly and her cheeks pink, she couldn’t wait to come back the next day.

—

you glanced at the clock nervously while you waited for niamh the next day, it was five minutes later than she usually comes in the morning. you huff while flipping through your notes and you swear you got whiplash when you heard the bell ring, looking up in relief to see niamh and her bright smile. “you’re late” you tease, she slaked her head and makes her way over to you.

“hello, (y/n)” she sings out, you smile happily at her and grab a cup in your hand. “hi, niamh” you mock her tone, “the usual?” you question, she nods enthusiastically and begins to rave over you,

“no joke, you make the best coffee ever and i’m not even exaggerating” you smile shyly at her, attempting to wave it off but she won’t relent.

“why do you think i keep coming back?” niamh jokes, you roll your eyes with a laugh, “for me?” you cock your head to the side with a teasing smile and niamh feels her heart clench, you were so cute.

“well yeah but also for your coffee” she scoffs, your cheeks burn and you make yourself busy with her coffee, chatting excitedly with each other about anything and everything. again, giving a hefty discount on her coffee making her scowl at you when she taps her card.

when you hand her the coffee, she’s about to do her regular goodbye but she stops herself suddenly. “could i get your number?” she asks nervously, you smile brightly and nod, taking out your phone and exchanging numbers with each other.

she looks at her coffee cup again when she exits with a grin, ‘niamhy! have a lovely lovely day, enjoy your pretty girl coffee with your pretty girl discount xx’ niamh snaps a selfie of her with the coffee and sends it to you, starting an endless texting cycle between the two of you.

you would text for hours and hours, sending each other random photos throughout your days. you both loved it.

—

after about two weeks of you and niamh chatting and seeing each other everyday, you decide to take the first move this time and write something a little different on her cup this time.

before she leaves, you ask her to read the cup in front of you while you hand it to her. she grins at you brightly, ‘niamhy! can we go on a date please? xx p.s, have a lovely day!’ she looks up at you bashfully and nods, you smile and move around the counter to give her a hug.

you and niamh have a long embrace of you two just hugging, feeling so comforting and familiar as you held each other.

niamh kisses your cheek quickly before she leaves and you feel like your legs are going to give out from under you. niamh bolts out of the shop and lets out a silent scream in her car while she thinks about the interaction.

—

you went on your date and began dating shortly after about 4 dates. and after about a year, you and niamh moved in with each other and it was the best thing to happen to the both of you.

you genuinely were infatuated with each other, willing to do anything for one another without a second thought.

—

you’ve now been dating for 3 years and it was just full of genuine love. you were now niamh’s personal barista, the coffee shop job left behind as you were now practising as a lawyer, getting a job at a big company that had niamh bragging and boasting about every second she got.

she had a match and you were able to come, clad in your ‘charles’ jersey with a bright grin and a coffee in hand as you watch. chelsea wins and niamh immediately makes her way over to you, you smile as she approaches and you open your arms to her with a bright grin.

“hello, beautiful” you grin, your arms wrapping around her shoulders as hers held your waist. “hi, baby” she says adoringly, kissing your cheek repeatedly before pulling away to face you.

you hold the coffee in front of her and she gasps in excitement, pulling you into a quick kiss before taking the cup from you.

“my pretty girl and her amazing coffee, who cares about the win” she mocks, you laugh at her and kiss her cheek sweetly. “meet me at the back?” she asks softly, you nod and wave her off, making your way to your shared car.

niamh watches you leave before she looks down at the cup, a heart shaped sticky note taped on the reusable cup, ‘niamhy baby! congrats on the win, my love, you’re amazing and i love you x’

she grins brightly and takes off the note, hanging it up in her cubby to give her motivation. she gives you a big kiss when she makes it to the car, both of you looking at each other full of affection before she drives off.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

liked by _jessflem and 44,232 others

niamhcharles17: hot lawyers make the best coffee

view all comments

yourname: i knew you only wanted me for the coffee

↳ niamhcharles17: no, baby! it’s just a bonus

↳ yourname: hm sureeeeee

↳ niamhcharles17: no it’s true!

↳ niamhcharles17: don’t forget you made the first move, babe

↳ yourname: my notes are just irresistible

↳ niamhcharles17: indeed

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Anatomy Class

kai parker x reader

summary: kai + magic + boredom = trouble

tags: high school au, siphoning, magical fingering, masturbation (semi-public)

word count: 1.8k

a/n: i tagged this right next to my dad; you're both 18 in this!

“You have to promise to use this wisely and not get caught with it. Not in school, and certainly not at home,” you reiterate to Kai for maybe the third time in twenty minutes. 

“I know, I know! Trust me, princess, I know the risks.”

“If it runs out, I can give you more, but if my parents suspect something’s up, they’ll find a way to contact yours.”

“But what if I run out before the day’s over and it’s just wasted? If I don’t use it, it drains.”

You sigh. “What are you suggesting?”

“I don’t know… can’t I just play with it a little? I can’t do that much damage during school hours. Worst I could do is make some kid trip over his shoelaces.”

“Kai!”

“I’m kidding! But seriously, Y/N…”

“Okay, I see your point. Do whatever you want with it, just don’t get caught.”

“And if I run out, you’ll give me more?” He hates to sound greedy, but he’s desperate.

“Of course. I can’t imagine what it’s like to not have permanent access, so as little as I use mine, I might as well give it to you.” He nods. “But again, be careful.”

“I will.”

“Okay. We’re coming up on the school now. Take my hand.”

He does, and then you nod to him to siphon. “Tell me when to stop.”

Your hands glow, but it doesn’t hurt. Kai says when he siphons his siblings, it hurts them. But you don’t feel any pain. If anything, your body warms with a tingly, pleasure-like feeling. After about thirty seconds, you start to feel a little dizzy though, and decide that’s a good time to cut him off. 

“Stop.”

He drops your hand immediately. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. No pain, just a little dizzy.”

“Okay,” he confirms. He’d hate to hurt the one person who’s ever given him any love and attention. 

“How do you feel?”

Kai smiles as the magic runs through his veins. He lets out a small moan that settles in the pit of your stomach. “Good,” he finally answers. He then takes the pencil you’ve stuck behind your ear and makes it float in the air. 

“Good,” you say, stopping for a moment to kiss the side of his face. You take your pencil back as the school comes into view. “See you in class?”

“Mhm.” 

The two of you walk up to the doors together, then part ways for your first class. 

You have third period together, but Kai sits all the way in the back, while you’re in the middle row. The teacher assigned the seats, and rudely placed his kids by favoritism: most engaged in the front; most uninterested in the back. Kai’s incredibly smart, but that comes to his disadvantage in school. Most of the lessons are boring; he passes them with flying colors and faces little challenge completing them. He finishes early, or already understands the material, and ends up tapping his foot or fingers during class. Mr. Peters interprets this as disrespect and boredom. 

Today in class, you’re reviewing the different systems in the body. Yet another topic that Kai has practically memorized. The final exam is in three weeks, though with the material being as difficult as it is, Mr. Peters has decided to start studying early. The material isn’t too much of a challenge for you, though Kai still has you beat in that matter. 

The man makes a list of topics on the chalkboard, then slowly goes down his list asking and answering questions about each one. He asks something and the class responds, but every so often, someone asks their own question, and he launches into a huge explanation for it. It’s during one of your classmate’s questions that you suddenly start to feel a heaviness in the bottom of your stomach. 

Immediately, you put a hand to it. Your mind races to think of what could’ve caused it. You hadn’t eaten anything weird that day, nor have you had any aches or pains all week. In the middle of your train of thought, the feeling shifts lower. There’s a pressure traveling south. In the next moment, it feels like circles being rubbed down along your body. Intentional pressure. Kai. 

Your brain provides the reason as soon as you recall your morning: you gave him magic. 

“Do whatever you want with it,” you had told him. 

Well, he sure is now. 

Slowly, you turn to face him. His hands are hidden from sight, inside his desk, but the smile creeping on his face is unmistakable. He’s certainly messing with you. 

Stop, you mouth to him. 

The bastard only winks. 

You turn back around and cross your legs over each other, squeezing them tight. There’s no freaking way he’s doing this in the middle of class. 

The pressure suddenly increases. You can almost feel the pads of his fingers touching you - one on your clit, two brushing your folds. You bite your lip so hard it might bleed. Your hands are clenched into fists underneath the table. 

“Kai, stop,” you think, hoping there’s even a point one percent chance he can read your mind. He doesn’t, though, and if anything, mimics dipping between your folds, feeling your walls. 

“The organs involved in the endocrine system are- Y/N,” your teacher stops mid-sentence to look at you, “are you okay?!”

You release your fists, hoping to look less suspicious. “Yeah. I have a stomach ache. Do you- do you mind if I go to the restroom?”

Mr. Peters hurries to his desk for a hall pass. “Not at all. Go to the nurse if it doesn’t feel better in ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” You take it and hurry out the door.

You spare a glance at Kai on your way out. He smirks at you when you look at him, but then looks back at his hands, clearly focused. The feeling sharpens, and you dash out the door. 

As soon as you reach the bathroom, you fling yourself against the wall in the nearest stall. You’re still biting your lip not to moan, but don’t fight the need that brings you to unbuckle your belt to relieve some of the built-up tension. Criminally, it seems Kai can still control you despite the distance. You can still feel his finger-pads petting your walls. The pressure is still on your clit, and it only grows by the minute. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, feeling yourself getting close. 

You drop two fingers to your clit, rubbing it yourself. Your knees almost buckle, and you have to push your toes against the edge of the toilet to not slip. 

“Goddammit, Kai.” It’s a whisper, but you really hope no one else is in the bathroom right then. 

You focus on the way he feels on you, as well as the added pressure you’re giving yourself. Within two minutes’ time, you come. It hits you hard. Your knees almost give out, despite the way you tried to hold yourself upright. Your chest heaves; the sensation sends pleasure throughout your whole body. Your vision gets spotty, and soon, your lip starts to bleed. It’s overwhelming in all the best ways. 

After another few seconds, Kai seemingly retracts his fingers. You curse him the minute he does, remembering you’re in school, and you’re supposed to be studying in class right now. 

The moment you get your bearings, you stumble to your feet and towards the sink. You wash your hands and grab onto the solid material to ground yourself; your brain is still swimming in post-high fuzzies. 

“Fuck you, Kai,” you think, again telepathically, hoping he can hear you. If he can, you’d bet your life on the fact that he’s wearing his signature smirk. 

When you finally recover, you make your way back to class. You offer Mr. Peters a half smile and report that most of it is gone. “Must’ve been something I ate this morning,” you lie. 

He replies with his own smile and a nod, and goes back to teaching. 

The moment you sit, you turn to see Kai, who is, in fact, smirking at you. You give him a playful roll of your eyes before turning back to the lesson.

Luckily, that’s his only shenanigan for the day. During lunch and your other classes together, he dares to act innocent. You would scold him for it during lunchtime, but Jo is sitting with you today, preventing that entirely. 

The walk back to school provides the perfect timing. 

“Malachai Parker,” you say in your best authoritative voice.

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

“Did I do something wrong?! Did I do- you know what you did.”

“I don’t recall.”

“Third period. You and your magic fingers. You-”

“Oh,” he has the nerve to laugh, “that. Did you like that?”

“Did I like that?! Kai, during class?!”

“You said I could do whatever I wanted as long as I didn’t get caught. I didn’t get caught.”

You scoff. “I did not mean for you to do that!”

“But you liked it. What’d you do in the bathroom?”

“What?!”

“Why’d you go to the bathroom?”

“To hide the fact you were fingering me in class! What do you think I went for?!”

“Did you come?”

“Excuse me?”

“Simple question, princess.”

“I did not-”

“Don’t lie to me now.”

“Fine,” you bite your lip, “I did.”

He smiles. “Got you. Knew you liked it.”

“That was so inappropriate! I’d never think you’d be so bold. And when did you know when to stop? You did, like, ten seconds after I finished.” 

He chuckles like it’s a game. “The last five times I’ve fingered you, it’s taken you five minutes on average to come. I watched on my watch; three minutes happened in class, two in the bathroom. I gave ten seconds to spare to either get you there if you needed extra time, or to ride you through it. Turns out, I’m pretty spot on.”

“Putting your brain to great use,” you mumble, “and my magic.”

Suddenly, he looks nervous. “You’re still gonna give it to me, right? I didn’t lose my chances to have it, did I? Because I can behave. Y/N, I promise. It won’t happen again.”

You change your attitude to match his. “Oh, baby, no. No, I’m not like that. Don’t you worry about stuff like that. I’m still gonna give you magic, even if you use it in questionable ways.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. But one condition.”

“Yes ma’am?”

“Wait until actual study time, like in the library, to do it. Not in class. Unless we’re watching a movie.”

“Deal.”

“Good.”

“I love you, you little weasel.”

He scrunches his nose at the nickname. “I love you, too.” Then he chuckles. “I fingered you in class.”

“Kai!”

[wososcripts]

Tell Me of Your Grief

Stina Blackstenius x Reader

Summary: The fourteenth of March brings back some rather difficult memories, and you don't always make the healthiest decisions. Stina intervenes.

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: sorry it's been a while, I've started uni again which means my writing is somewhat slower! With some luck I'll be able to get things up once a week? But that remains to be seen... I promise this is hurt/comfort and not just pain btw.

Warnings ⚠️: discussion of death, self harm behaviors (mild), angst angst angst

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

You woke up that morning to a text from Jonas saying you didn’t have to come to training. 

It felt weak to admit it, but part of you was relieved. You knew Katie must’ve talked to him, which was mortifying if you let yourself think about it too much, but she knew you needed this day to yourself. 

It was the anniversary of your best friend’s passing—five years in the making. You hadn’t told many of your teammates what happened, or why you became so withdrawn and somber the week around the 14th of March. It was too difficult to explain. All of the dramatics that surrounded the event, the pain, what you had done wrong, what she had too, it was all still too delicate for eyes you didn’t completely trust. 

You hadn’t even told your girlfriend Stina yet. You’d meant to, really, you had, but the days slipped by and there never seemed like a good time to do it. You knew it would ruin any good mood you were in, and honestly you enjoyed having Stina as your respite when the rest of the world seemed to be knocking against your skull. But it felt wrong that she didn’t know. It felt as though you were hiding something from her, even if it wasn’t intentional.

“Hi baby, I’m not feeling well today so I won’t be at practice. Don’t worry your head when I’m not there. It’s nothing too serious, though, so I’ll be back tomorrow.” You spoke into your phone, recording a voice note to send to her so she wouldn’t be left in the dark about where you were. 

Stina was a worrier, something you yourself could understand, so you always made the effort to let her know if you were running late or not going to something. Otherwise you’d inevitably get a call with her anxious voice on the other line. 

It was early, too early for even Stina to be up. The sun had barely begun cresting over the horizon, casting a slight glow to everything. You wanted to go back to sleep, particularly since you hadn't slept all that well to begin with. Your back hurt from being tensed all night as you were plagued with anxious dreams. On your palms were the remnants of nail indentations—some of them bloody from how hard you had been pressing.

You turned on a podcast and closed your eyes, hoping the sound of human voices would lull you to sleep. It must've worked for a little while, because the next time you opened your eyes it was truly morning, and the podcast had switched to another episode. 

The dreams had continued, unsurprisingly considering your waking mental state, and the extra hour of sleep you might be able to get if you closed your eyes wasn't worth it. So you got out of bed, throwing on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt to go for a run. 

You weren't typically a runner—in fact you were practically ethically against doing it as a hobby—but it was useful for clearing your head. And with no training today, it would feel good to get out for at least a little while. So you blasted your music and took off into the streets of London, completely lost in your own world. Nobody spoke to you, nobody looked at you. 

By the time you had finished, you were sweaty, red-faced, and exhausted. The endorphins began to flood your system as you stripped and started the shower. You turned it almost as high as it could go, hoping for the burn against your skin. You hissed, stepping under the spray, and tears sprung to your eyes. Your skin immediately began to redden. But you didn’t move to lower the heat, instead grabbing your shampoo, gritting your teeth, and bearing it. 

—

“Morning, Blackstenius.” Beth called, clapping her on the back soundly as she wandered into the locker room. 

Stina expected to find you there, sitting by your locker getting changed into your kit and reading your book as you always did, each morning. But you weren’t there. Your locker hadn’t even been touched. She furrowed her brow, then remembered that you had sent her a message earlier. Maybe you had asked her for a ride and she hadn’t seen? Maybe you were going to be late today? Maybe you had some kind of appointment you’d forgotten about until the last minute—you were notorious for that. 

“Morning,” Katie said, sitting down next to Stina on the bench and pulling her kit out of her bag. 

“Morning, Katie.” She replied, opening her phone to look at her message. 

She brought the phone to her ear, confusion and concern filling her chest as she listened to your voice. Though your words weren’t all that worrying, she could hear in your voice that things weren’t right. 

“How’s she doing?” Katie asked, having heard your voice coming from the phone. Her voice was cautious, something unusual for the Irish captain.

“Did you know she wouldn’t be here today?” Stina asked, confused as to why Katie seemed to be clued in to your mood before her. Maybe you had sent her a similar message? She was your best friend, after all. The two of you made a ridiculous pair—her loud and aggressive, you nearly silent and composed—but you’d known each other longer than anyone else on the team, and everyone knew Katie would do practically anything for you. 

Katie was quiet, glancing around at the other girls in the room. Now Stina was worried. Even though you had told her not to be, that it wasn’t anything serious, she couldn’t help it now that Katie was acting so strangely. 

Once it was just Stina and Katie in the locker room, Katie answered her question. 

“Listen, it isn’t my place to tell you anything. You know how private she is…” Katie sighed, rubbing her temples. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell you, probably didn’t want to worry you, the idiot,” she mumbled under her breath to an increasingly concerned Stina. 

“Katie.” Stina said firmly, “What the fuck is going on?” 

She wasn’t usually one to swear. But where you were concerned, the possibility that you were hurting, and had hidden it from her, that warranted much more than cursing. 

“Today is difficult for her, very difficult. That’s all I feel comfortable saying. But if you want to go, Jonas is going to understand.” 

Stina’s heart was in her stomach. Images flashed through her mind, a thousand different horrible things this could mean. 

"Difficult?" She questioned, "Katie, is she safe? Do I have to be prepared for—"

"It's not like that, she isn't in physical danger." 

The answer wasn't reassuring to Stina, who now felt a little ill at the thought of you home alone today. She should be there with you. Someone should be there, if you didn't want her (God, she hoped you wanted her, trusted her). The urge to press more information out of Katie was strong, but Stina held herself back. Katie was right—you needed to tell Stina yourself. Otherwise any insight into your head would be forced entry, a violation of the trust you had both with Katie and with her.

So Stina simply nodded and looked back at her phone to reply to your message. 

Okay, I hope you're feeling all right. Can I swing by later and bring you something? I'd love to see you <3

She wanted to give you an option to say no to her visit—though she would prefer to just go over there now. At least now if you didn't answer before she showed up she could say she had reached out.

—

You waited until the water ran cold to get out of the shower. Your skin was raw to the touch, and still a subtle red color after you had dried yourself off and began braiding your hair. You could hardly stand to look at yourself.  

You threw on the only clothes you could stand on your skin—a pair of soft sweatpants and fuzzy socks—along with Stina's old Häcken hoodie she left at your place a few days ago. It smelled of her which comforted you even if she wasn't here. 

Your phone dinged with a message. Upon opening it, you saw Stina and Katie had messaged, and that you had two missed calls. 

"Eat something." Was all your message from Katie said. 

She knew you, and knew you wouldn't want to eat today. But you had to.

You went to open Stina's text when your phone lit up with another incoming call. It was from Sandra, the mother of your friend. She did this every year, and every year you told yourself you wouldn't pick up. It wasn't healthy for either of you—it reopened wounds that were barely scabbing over as it was. She inevitably cried, and asked why you had left her daughter alone that night, and you bit your lip raw trying to keep quiet and apologize.

But even though you knew the script, you picked up the phone. 

"Hi," you said, your voice noticeably smaller.

You heard a sigh of relief on the other end.

"How are you, Sandra?" You continued, your fingers picking at your lip anxiously. You felt it start to bleed and did nothing.

"Are you still in Limerick?" You continued your flood of questions, waiting for her onslaught to begin.

A few minutes later, once you were on your tenth question and you'd switched from your lip to pressing your nails into your bloodied palm, you heard her begin to cry.

You weren't sure how you managed this every year. Memories of the funeral flashed behind your eyes, and how you hadn't been allowed to stand near the front with the rest of the friends and family. How Sandra had wailed, and smacked you across the face in the parking lot. You stared at your kitchen backsplash and just listened.

"Why, why did you do it?" She cried, and you bit the inside of your cheek.

"I'm sorry." You whispered. 

"You left her alone, you killed her, you always brought her home expect that one fucking night and look what happened. It should've been you, it should've been you, you don't deserve this—" 

And so it continued. Tears streamed down your face as your brain began to shut down as a defense mechanism. You just felt numb. Nobody else existed in the world except for you and this woman whose life you had ruined. No Katie, No Stina, Nobody that gave you their love and wanted you here. You didn't deserve what you had, not your success where it should've been your friend's, not your team, not your girlfriend. You were an imposter on this planet, a thief.

—

It turned out that going over to your place wasn't as simple as it seemed. Stina tried asking Jonas if she could be excused from practice, but he insisted that she stay just for an hour. Arsenal had a match with the Spurs in four days and Jonas wanted to go over strategies with the forwards. No skipping. 

So Stina stayed—looking at her phone every thirty seconds for a text from you. There was nothing, and it freaked her out even more.

Whatever Jonas was saying, none of it was registering. She would ride the bench if she had to, it didn't matter to her now. Her leg bounced nervously, and Viv looked at her with concern on her face every couple of minutes. When Jonas went outside to take a quick call, she turned to Stina and immediately asked after her.

"What's wrong, is it something with Odi?" 

Stina nodded, her tight lipped expression telling Viv all she needed to know. She gave Stina a look of sympathy and glanced at her watch, clearly wondering when the meeting would be over as well.

"Odi, something's wrong with her?" Beth butted in unabashedly.

You'd gotten the nickname for a few reasons: you'd danced for years as a child as a ballerina, which showed in your play. You were showy, and graceful, not the aggressive type. Like a swan, someone had once said to you—and the swan lake association stuck: Odette, or Odi for short. Arsenal's dancer.

Jonas re-entered the room before Beth could ask any more questions, saving Stina the struggle.

"For Christ's sake, let the poor girl go," Beth called out as Stina checked her phone for the hundredth time.

Jonas sent a look Beth's way, but decided to be merciful.

"Alright, Blackstenius, you're excused. But I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

Stina practically ran back to the locker room, throwing her kit into her bag and getting changed as fast as she could. A steady sense of dread was building in her. She decided to call you as she left the training grounds and walked to her car, hoping she could catch you and tell you she was coming. It would soothe her mind just to hear your voice.

But instead of your voice on the other end, Stina was met with the busy signal. That confused her even more—you weren't a fan of phone calls necessarily, and she knew your parents would be working now, so it was unlikely they would have called you.

She tried once more, hoping she had just happened to catch you at the tail end of a call, but you still didn't answer.

—

You had barely hung up the phone with Sandra before the tears began to pour from your eyes. It was as though time had made no difference and you were hearing of your friend's death for the first time. All the pain, all the self loathing that had fallen down upon you then still crushed your shoulders with its weight.

Your phone dinged again—a message from Katie.

Respond to me or I'm coming over there myself.

You didn't want Katie here. She had been there in years past, and for her to see you no better despite the time and therapy you put in, well you couldn't handle the shame.

I'm alive and well - see you tomorrow at training

You replied, knowing if you told her you were fine and left it at that she might kill you herself. 

You giggled at the thought of her huffing and puffing at you, demanding you take better care of yourself like a surrogate mother. When your mother wasn’t around, Katie did a damn good impression of her. You never got away with anything if Katie had a say. You laughed through your tears, feeling like every nerve of yours was on a razor's edge. 

A knock at the door barely registered in your mind as you wandered over to the couch, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and waste away for the next twelve hours. Your head was beginning to hurt from all the crying, which only soured your mood further. For the first time you had the thought: I don't want to be alone.

You thought it must’ve been a hallucination, the way Stina appeared in front of you. 

—

Stina wasn’t sure what to expect when she knocked on the door of your apartment. She had spent the entire drive over worrying about how she could find you, partially cursing Katie for giving her just enough info to get her mind going in a million unhelpful directions. The fact that you weren’t texting her back hadn’t helped either. The road before her blurred as she drove without thinking, her body getting her to your apartment building on instinct. 

The elevator dinged at each floor and with it her heartbeat increased. 

When you didn’t answer the door it dropped. 

“Hello?” Stina called out, having opened the door with the spare key you had given her a few months ago. She cursed herself for not staying with you last night when you looked so weighed down, so tired. She’d let you convince her you were fine—something she wouldn’t do again anytime soon.  

When she turned the corner from your kitchen into the open space of your living room she spotted you. There you were, curled up on the couch in a small ball, silent. 

“Did you hear me knock?” She asked softly, approaching you.

You didn’t reply, didn’t even look at her. 

She slowly reached out a hand to place it on your head gently, when you turned and looked at her. It frightened her—the look in your eyes. She hadn’t ever seen them so empty. 

“Stina?” you whispered, confusion present in your tone. 

“Yes, min kärlek, jag är här.”

She put a hand softly on your face, cupping your cheek.

“You’re really here?” 

There were tears beginning to gather in your already red eyes. Stina felt her throat constrict. You’d been crying, clearly a lot by how swollen your face was. 

Stina pulled you up and into her arms easily, shifting you so she could sit on the couch with you in her lap. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked gently, remembering that you had said once that hearing her speak her native Swedish calmed you down. 

You wiped your eyes, lip still trembling slightly. 

“Did Katie say something? Or Jonas?” 

Stina wiped your cheeks with the pad of her thumb, brow creased with worry. 

“Katie said today was hard for you, that’s it. Promise.” 

You went silent, thinking. 

“I was going to tell you. I promise, I meant to. But it just never seemed like a good time, or I just wanted to avoid it as long as possible…you see, Katie met me not long after it happened, she was there, it’s different. I didn’t trust her with this and not you on purpose. She can’t help but know.” You shifted off of Stina’s lap, curling in on yourself next to her so your skin wasn’t touching.

“I hate myself for it. I do, really. And every time I tell someone, they might hate me too, I know that. And I just couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t give you the chance to hate me.”

Stina put a hand on your shoulder, biting her lip to contain a small sob when you flinched away from her. It was as if you weren’t even there in front of her. All of the grace and kindness and light that had been there just a few days ago seemed to have been swallowed by darkness. To hear you say the words ‘I hate myself’? Stina could cry at the thought of it. Those were words that should never come from your mouth. It was like a knife in her ribcage. 

“Min söta… älskling”

“Don’t call me that,” you sobbed, putting your hands over your eyes and hiding your face from her. 

"Snälla, låt mig hjälpa dig, please, I want to help.” 

You shook your head, face still obscured from Stina’s view. 

This was horrible. Stina felt as though she’d eaten something rotten the way her stomach churned. She was helpless, completely in the dark. Here she was, the person who was supposed to take care of you and love you, and she could hardly do anything. All she could think to do as you cried quietly was pull you into her side and rock you slowly. A melody popped into her head—one her mother had sang to her as a child when she was ill. 

Stina softly sang, trying not to feel embarrassed by her voice. You were beginning to calm, your hands dropping from your face to her shirt, holding it close. By the time she was finished, the room was quiet, empty of your cries. You were clinging to her, your face buried in the crook of her neck as if you were ashamed of the comfort you needed. 

“What was that song?” you asked, voice hoarse. 

“It’s a lullaby. I can’t remember the name.” 

Stina felt you nod against her skin. 

She opted not to say anything further. You were exhausted, she could tell. Anything you wanted to say, you needed to volunteer. 

After a few moments, she felt your grip on her shirt tighten. 

“When I was nineteen, my best friend died.” 

Whatever Stina had been expecting to come out of your mouth, that wasn’t it. She sucked in a breath, trying to remain unaffected. You needed her strength. 

“We had been friends for years, since we were kids. And we’d gotten in this huge fight over something… uni I think. I had an offer to play professionally. I had been drinking, so had she. And I always walked her home, always, when she had been drinking. The way to her house was a bit sketchy, you know? So I figured two people were better than one if anything happened. But the things she said to me that night… I’d never been so upset in my life.” 

You took a breath, 

“So I refused to walk her. She didn’t press, just turned up her nose and walked away, didn’t even say goodbye. And I waited for my bus. The next morning I get a call from her mum—she’s been killed.”

Stina could barely trust herself to breathe. 

“I let it happen, I’m the reason she died.” 

“No—” Stina began, but you cut her off. 

“When they held the funeral, I wasn’t allowed to say anything. I wasn’t allowed anywhere but the very back of the church, because they all knew it was my fault. And still, they know it, they remind me of what happened, what I’ve done. I stole her life!” 

“Stop!” Stina demanded, her face flushed with anger. You were taken aback by her passion, and quieted. “You did not steal anything, you didn’t kill her, it isn’t your fault!” She grabbed your hand as you pulled back from her. 

“You lost your best friend in such a horrible way, and nobody checked in? Nobody held you?” 

You opened your mouth to speak, but this time Stina silenced you.

“I want you to tell me what you mean by ‘they remind you’ of what happened.” 

You refused to meet her eyes. 

“It’s not good. Not for me or her… she calls me, my friend’s mom, to talk.” You hesitated, but explained the routine to your girlfriend when she fixed you with a look. 

“That’s…” Stina seemed at a loss for words, “you are the strongest person I know. And you rake yourself across hot coals for a crime that isn’t even yours. For a woman who wants to see you suffer, who can’t accept your healing. That isn’t right. You did not kill her. That is someone else’s burden to carry.” 

You burst into tears again. 

—

You must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because the next time you wake up you’re in bed, and Stina is wrapped protectively around you. Her warmth encases you; she holds you more protectively than usual, her arms shielding you from the world. 

Eventually the two of you get back up, though not before Stina wraps you in a crushing embrace and lets you know she’s staying for a couple of days. No negotiating. 

She makes dinner, you clean. It’s the first time you’ve eaten all day, and you think she can tell by the way she watches you intently. You feel cared for, and it’s a little overwhelming. Stina doesn’t let you out of her sight save a few trips to the bathroom and one brief call from her sister that she has to take.

You didn’t expect things to shake her up so much. 

She helps you clean the wounds on your palms, grimacing at the sight of them once you unfurl your fingers for her. You try to tell her you can deal with them yourself—especially with how much it seems to upset her—but she isn't having it. You see her set her brow and concentrate on cleaning and bandaging the damaged skin, tears only glazing her eyes as you hiss in pain. 

Eventually you convince her that you're fine enough to settle down on the couch and watch a movie. She insists on having you in her lap—something that you find equally as comforting. Stina isn't typically all that tactile, but now each moment apart from you seems to worry her.

You're about halfway into the film and slowly drifting off into her chest when you feel her whisper something into your skin. You think she assumes you're asleep (and you nearly are) but you make out her voice slightly.

"Tack Gud att du är här." She repeats it, and soon you can feel the drops of her tears hitting your shoulder. 

"Stina…" you whisper, repositioning yourself to face her.

"förlåt" she says, wiping her eyes.

"You don't have to be sorry… It was an intense day." You press a kiss to her cheek.

"I was so worried," Stina starts, and you figure it's best not to interrupt her, "when Katie said that you might be struggling, I couldn't think of anything else. You can't hurt yourself anymore, please." Stina takes your bandaged hand.

"If you were gone one day, I don't know how I'd cope." 

"You don't have to worry about that, ever."

"You are the most important thing in my life." Stina's lip trembles, and you wonder how you're managing to keep it together.

You pull her into another kiss, lips sore from how you had abused them earlier. The pain reminds you of the struggle of the day, but Stina's hand holds the depths in front of you at bay.

"I'll always be here." She promises.

You begin to think of something lighter. Of an ounce of forgiveness. Of a year that does not revolve around the rising and setting of the sun on this one day. A moment of peace afforded to yourself. The thought passes your mind—you do not deserve this. You instead think of love.

[peachy-panic]

Wrong Place, Wrong Time (pt. 3)

Takes place directly after this.

WARNINGS: BBU, power dynamics, talk of corrupt prison system, past noncon

The mug of tea that Ezra made for Jaime sits, cooling and untouched, on the coffee table. Jaime has opted for a spot on the rug, curled in on himself with his knees hugged tight to his chest. Sebastian and Ezra follow suit, of course, sinking down across from him, but it doesn’t escape anyone’s notice—his instinct to place himself on the floor. At least he isn’t kneeling anymore.

Sebastian aches at the sight of his red-rimmed eyes, at the hollowness in his voice, at the memory of him shaking and terrified on the hardwood, forever seared into his temporal lobe. He aches to make this right, and he prays, helplessly, that he hasn’t just watched every brick they’ve laid together crumble before their eyes. 

“Would you like to ask us anything, Jaime?” Ezra begins, and Sebastian is once again grateful to have him here, ever the voice of reason.

Jaime’s swallow is loud enough to sound painful. “You don’t have to explain yourselves to me.”

He’s so closed off like this, even harder to read than usual. Is it resentment in his voice, or defeat? Sebastian doesn’t know how to reach him. 

“I rather think we do,” Ezra counters.

Jaime looks quickly to Sebastian, then down at his knees. “I don’t know what to ask.”

“Okay,” Ezra accepts easily, and Sebastian chimes in with an encouraging nod. “Would it be alright if I asked you a question? With the caveat that you do not have to answer.”

“Okay,” he agrees without looking up. 

“Has Julian—has Handler Hernandez—ever hurt you?”

Jaime’s eyes snap to him then, surprised. Ezra must spot the impending panic that Sebastian sees as well, because he raises a palm to clarify. “I know the rules against speaking about your training. I hope that you can still trust that we will never betray your confidence, but as I said, you don’t have to answer.”

“You…” Jaime begins, then falters. “But he’s your friend. Why would you believe me?”

Sebastian feels like he’s been shot in the chest. 

“You are my friend, too,” Ezra says easily. 

“Your word means everything to me, Jaime,” Sebastian adds. Those brown eyes turn on him, and maybe it’s just wishful thinking that they aren’t quite as guarded this time. “I will always believe you.”

Jaime stares at him. His gaze has never felt so heavy, as if he’s trying to see past the layers of Sebastian’s skin in search of the truth in his promise. Then, slowly, his eyes go unfocused. 

The silence goes on long enough to worry Sebastian. A hundred different possibilities come to mind, spiking his blood pressure. The idea that Jaime is bracing himself to tell them that Julian is, in fact, one of the monsters in his nightmares makes Sebastian want to peel out of the house after him and put his hands around his throat. It doesn’t matter that Julian could probably break Sebastian in half on a good day. If Jaime even implies that Julian has been hiding behind his history with the resistance as a means of abusing trainees under the radar, Sebastian will fucking—

“He didn’t,” Jaime says quietly, pulling Sebastian back to earth. “I… He… He isn’t my primary. We didn’t interact all that often, but when we did…” He shakes his head. “He wasn’t one of the handlers who crossed a line.”

Handlers, plural.

He doesn’t even think that Jaime is aware of the word choice that has sent Sebastian spiraling all over again. Multiple handlers. Multiple handlers have “crossed a line” with Jaime in that facility, a few hundred feet away from where Sebastian works. It’s not… He can’t call it a surprise. He remembers clearly the day in the clinic showers, seeing fresh bruises on Jaime’s skin, marked in places that left no room for questions. And the day in the facility bathrooms, when Sebastian walked in just as a handler was walking out, leaving Jaime alone in a stall. 

And, of course, he has had suspicions about Smith from the day he met him. Watching the way he interacts with his trainees is telling of what might happen behind closed doors. But hearing it out loud sits heavy in his chest. More than ever, he wants to burn that building to the ground with every handler locked inside. 

“That’s… good,” Sebastian manages, even though it’s a disgraceful choice of word.

Ezra nods in agreement, though. “I didn’t expect that he would have, but I wanted to hear it from you,” he says. “I have known Julian Hernandez for a long time, Jaime. I understand how it looks to you right now, but he is a good man.”

“He is one of them.” Jaime looks to Ezra when he says it, a fire in his eyes he has never shown Sebastian, wouldn’t dare turn on the person who holds his contract (or someone he also considers one of them—did he mean handlers or anyone who works there? That’s a spiral for later).

“Yes,” Ezra says evenly. “Officially, he is. And if he wasn’t, I never would have escaped.”

A stunned silence falls over them. Sebastian didn’t know that, either. 

Ezra reaches up to run a finger over the raised scar behind his ear, then looks from Sebastian to Jaime. “He helped remove the tracker himself,” he says. “Without him, we couldn’t have kept the removal undetected. It’s designed to be a bulletproof plan—it can’t be done without someone on the inside taking a risk. He never hesitated to help me.”

Jaime, mirroring him, raises a hand to touch the spot behind his ear where his own tracker is embedded in his skull. Sebastian’s stomach turns at the reminder, and he watches something like terror and wonder pass over his expression. 

“His story is a complicated one,” Ezra says. “I would like to tell you about it, if you’d like to hear it.” 

Jaime nods, and Sebastian leans in, just as eager to hear.

“Julian was in prison before I knew him,” Ezra begins. “He grew up in less than ideal circumstances and got wrapped into the wrong crowd. They got him into a lot of trouble when he was young, but it was all he knew. He was in and out of juvenile detention, and when he turned eighteen, he got a charge that stuck. He was sentenced to twenty years in prison.”  

Sebastian thinks about the playful way Aria nudges her shoulder against Julian’s when they’re together at the table, the way Julian moves so carefully around Ezra, as if he knows his very presence could be a trigger. Sebastian has been wary of him from the beginning, but even still, it’s hard to picture him as a hardened criminal. 

“This all happened right around when WRU was at its most precarious,” Ezra continues. “After the uprisings and public outrage against the Romantic sectors and the stories of extreme abuse coming to light. They were struggling to recover their image enough to stay afloat until the tides turned back in their favor, and they were specifically struggling to employ handlers. Nobody wanted to risk their reputation like that. They tried offering generous sign-on bonuses and increased salaries, but it still wasn’t enough to get them back where they needed to be. 

“Someone had the idea to create a pipeline from the prisons—a program that would train inmates who showed particular strengths and promise to become handlers as part of a contracted term, as an alternative to serving their time. Julian was one of them.”

Ezra looks from Jaime to Sebastian, clocking their looks of mirrored surprise. 

“I know that doesn’t make him clean,” he says. “It was a difficult situation, but it was still a choice that he made. For what it’s worth, he didn’t know much about the system at the time. And more to the point, he regretted it from day one. But backing out of the contract would have added ten years to his sentence. So he stayed.

“Aria met him within his first year. Really, she tracked him down. Pursued him. She had been searching for me for years. She knew I had disappeared into the system—that’s a story for another day. And she knew she needed someone on the inside to get me out. Julian was her way in. The way Aria tells it, he jumped at the chance. By then, he was eager for any way to make a bigger impact for the people suffering in that place.” He turns to Sebastian. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”

“Is that…?” They both turn at the sound of Jaime’s voice. He shrinks back a little at the attention, then clears his throat. “Sorry. Never mind.”

“What is it?” Sebastian says gently.

He opens his mouth, lips moving as he tries to form the words. He can’t look directly at Sebastian when he says, “Is that why you started working there? Because you wanted to help?”

(Okay, so it’s a spiral for right now).

Sebastian blinks. Behind his eyelids, he sees a flash of memory—nearly a year ago, lying on the floor of his apartment with a bottle of wine and an open laptop, looking at the job listing that would change his life forever—and he feels so pathetic. 

He has this sick feeling that if he told Jaime that his reasons for applying were entirely selfless, only for the purposes of helping from the inside, he would believe him. 

Sure, it was always his intention to help as much as he could once he was there, but he knows it would be a magnanimous lie to say it was anything but fear that led him to the WRU website that night. His grace period for loans was up and he was stuck without a job, completely alone in the world. Desperate was the word he would have used for that night. That was before he met people like Jaime, who taught him what real desperation looked like. How could he look him in the eye and say that now?

“I was never trying to be a hero,” he says finally. “I wish I could tell you something different. I guess…” He swallows. “I guess, like Julian, I always intended to help, but it started with a self-serving motivation. I can’t pretend otherwise.”

As the words leave his mouth, he feels so small. Now it is he who has to look down. Somewhere in the course of the past few months, Jaime has become the most important person in his life. He finds it impossible to face his judgment

“Thank you,” Jaime says, surprising him. “For being honest.”

Sebastian shakes his head, feeling a little nauseous. “Please,” he says. “Don’t… don’t thank me.”

“I…” Jaime looks at him, hesitating, then seeming to draw strength from the silent approval on his face. “I never knew what to make of it. Of you being in that place. Sometimes I still…” He shakes his head, closing his eyes. “When you come home, I can smell it on you. That place. And it… It’s hard.”

Guilt eats through his stomach lining, threatening to dissolve him entirely where he sits. I’m going to quit, the thought comes to his head without hesitation. I will quit tomorrow. Right now. I will email in my resignation, no two weeks, no notice. I will never violate Jaime’s home, his safe space, with that nightmare again.

But it’s not that simple, is it? Without his connection to that place, will he jeopardize his chances of renewing Jaime’s contract? Without another job lined up right away, will he be able to pay for it? And what happens to the dozens of other patients he will leave to Greer’s cruel hands?

This isn’t the kind of decision he can make in a split second of emotion. Not anymore. 

From now on, though, he will shower before he leaves work. He will bring an extra pair of clothes and only leave them in the car to change. He can do that much at least. 

“I’m so sorry,” Sebastian says.

“But you did help me,” Jaime says. “You do, I mean, presently. Obviously. I’m… I’m here. But back then, I mean. In the facility. You helped me so much.”

“It never felt like enough.”

“It was everything to me.” The intensity in his words draws Sebastian’s eyes back to his. “You kept me alive in that place. I’m glad you were there.”

It’s hard to take the words at face value when some part of him fears that Jaime is saying them out of some sense of obligation. But the worst thing he can do now is take any more agency away from Jaime by discounting anything he has to say. 

Before he can respond, though, Jaime asks, “You really would have believed me? If I told you that Handler—that your friend had hurt me?”

That requires no hesitation on Sebastian’s part. “I would have killed him myself.”

Jaime stares at him for a few seconds, nods, then finally wraps his hands around the cup of tea on the coffee table. Surely it’s cooled to room temperature by now, but he looks content as he takes a sip. 

“I’d like to say one more thing,” Ezra adds, gracefully ushering himself back into the conversation. “Jaime, nobody brought you here, into this circle, with explicit intentions of doing anything except making you comfortable and happy. Nobody is here to pressure you in any direction, especially with something as risky as this.” Ezra leans forward, fixing him with an earnest stare. “But you need to know that if you said the word, we would move mountains to get you out.”

****

TAG LIST:

@whumpervescence 

@shiningstarofwinter 

@distinctlywhumpthing 

@whumptywhumpdump 

@nicolepascaline 

@anotherbluntpencil 

@hold-him-down 

@crystalquartzwhump 

@maracujatangerine 

@batfacedliar-yetagain 

@thecyrulik 

@pumpkin-spice-whump 

@finder-of-rings 

@melancholy-in-the-morning 

@insaneinthepaingame 

@skyhawkwolf 

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump 

@mylifeisonthebookshelf 

@dont-touch-my-soup 

@whump-world 

@inpainandsuffering 

@cicatrix-energy 

@quietly-by-myself 

@whumpsday 

@extemporary-whump 

@the-whumpers-grimm 

@thebirdsofgay 

@firewheeesky 

@whumperfully 

@hold-back-on-the-comfort  

@termsnconditions-apply  

@cyborg0109  

@whumplr-reader  

@pinkraindropsfell  

@whatwhumpcomments 

@honeycollectswhump 

@pirefyrelight 

@handsinmotion  

@alexmundaythrufriday 

@scoundrelwithboba 

@starsick1979 

@b0rgid

@whumps-and-bumps

@bilightningwhumper

@technicallydeliciousdeer

@taterswhump

@shit-people-probably-didnt-say

@roblingoblin285

@hellodecisionparalysis

[anadiasmount]

imagine you're a celeb, and jude slides into your dms but you're having none of it because duh he's a football player and you know better than to get yourself involved with guys like that, but then you meet at an event and he's flirting but he's kind of intimidated by and you find it amusing but you still don't bug and he's litterally trying for months, months to get you to go on a date with him, and when you finally agree he's realised he's completely in love with you and you kinda are too but you're still guarding your heart because you don't want to lose him but you guys make it work and you become the it couple, private but not secret.

hii! you should also totally check out the fic @20-th-centurygirl posted, that’s called “work for it” as it’s similar to this anon post! please check it out it’s so so good 😣😋🤍

ik jude has mentioned he’s shy when meeting new people or just is in general, so this is making me think of shy! jude when meeting you.

he’d come across you after overhearing a couple of his england teammates talk about you, how you were this shiny new star that has taken over the internet rapidly. that same day he’d look over your profile completely falling for you. the posts you’d dedicated to friends, to charity, and selfies. he wouldn’t hesitate and quickly follow you. liking a few recent pictures and an old one where he liked by accident as he scrolled through your page.

a couple days later he continues to think about you, whether it was at breakfast with his teammates, during training, recovery, hell even if he was trying to fall asleep! your smile and bright eyes would consume his dreams and the reasons for his zoneouts, “yo jude, you good?”

he’d replied with a nod and quickly takes his phone out to send you a dm. he feels slightly embarrassed and shocked to when you don’t respond or bother following back, making him overthink if he should delete the reply. but instead he would find himself at the club with his mates, reacting to your recent story many weeks later.

you scoffed and laughed showing your friends who was hitting you up. it wasn’t that you weren’t interested, you were, but you knew you couldn’t trust him let alone yourself if you would be around him. you have commitment and trust issues after your very public break up, not being able to make friends easily as you did before.

5 weeks would pass by and you would continue to get notifications from jude, biting your cheek anxiously debating whether you should follow back or not. after a recent dm he’d sent you, you’d made the decision to follow him back and just react to his latest message. jude felt like you were ignoring him, which kinda pained him.

jude felt like you were playing hard to get and this would mess with his head after seeing you at a social event in madrid. he couldn’t take his eyes off you, drinking the last bit of his whiskey before having the courage to go over and introduce himself to you.

he would notice the small tint of pink on your cheeks as you had to look up at him, he felt immediate butterflies in his stomach, a tinge of nervousness now invading his system. “hello, i’d like to introduce myself, i’m jude. jude bellingham,” you would accept his handshake.

jude blinked rapidly, eyes roaming up and down your beautiful figure, becoming intimidated by your beauty and the way you made yourself feel and look confident. “i’m y/n, nice to meet you,” you’d smirk at the small shaky breath he released.

watching him stumble over his words trying to form a sentence. he’d be unable to look you in the eye for more than a couple seconds or he would be a mess.

while you know you shouldn’t get involved with a footballer, it felt right with him. jude would constantly check in with you, to see how you were, what you were up to, discussing his and your plans, wanting and offering to hangout bit you would turn him down at every opportunity.

while he slowly lost hope, he wouldn’t give up until you agreed because he had fallen madly inlove with you, even though you were stubborn to him. months and months later, on a special occasion where you would be in madrid again, you find yourself wanting to see jude after so long, texting him if he was still up for the date he suggested.

his palms grew sweaty and with wide eyes, he agreed without hesitation. he needed to see you, hold you, talk to you, just be close and never let go. even though he could tell you were afraid that night told him that the way he felt for you, was the same towards him.

“can i say something?” you’d ask him, watching as he shifted his full attention towards you. “i’m still kinda new to this whole thing… my last relationship was super public and honestly i don’t want that right now,” jude felt his heart sunk, his stomach wanting to throw up the food he’d just ate.

“if you’re still interested, i would love for us to continue having nights like this. i’m sorry for constantly shutting you out, i just have major trust issues and i don’t want to go through what i did again… i’ve healed…” you offer a small shy smile, jude’s eyes searching for hesitation or something that would hold him back.

“of course i am. and i respect you for telling what you did just now, it takes courage and a lot of healing, but you giving me a chance is making me the happiest man in the world y/n… i like you so much, i will protect you from anyone, okay?” jude grabbed your small hands and kissed them softly, but then quickly attached to his face where you kissed him.

the two of you would become the most talked about pair and couple after making it official, often invited to do interviews and shows together. he would soft launch you for months, driving even his teammates insane, but he was madly inlove you with, you were his adoration from here on out. “i love you jude…”

“i love you, princess.”

[indigochromatic]

Some Basic Advice About EMDR for Systems

(drawing on our own experiences, reading about it, and comparing notes with our therapist)

This is mainly aimed at systems who are considering doing EMDR or planning on it, but want to know what the process is like and what to look out for, with some personal experiences sprinkled in.

Under the cut, because I talk a lot:

General Concept

I think the big picture in our experience is that EMDR is/was like…an intensifier for the kind of headspace/internal system interaction processing work that a lot of systems do naturally, at least a little, especially if they have decent internal communication. This has both upsides and downsides/areas to be cautious about.

A lot of EMDR pre-work (often called “resourcing”) is about making sure you have a good toolbox of “mental tricks/techniques” to be able to handle unexpected intense emotions, feelings, and/or imagery etc that often comes up when you get into trying to work with traumatic stuff. This is in my opinion very important, and something your therapist should take at least a few sessions to talk with you about even if you already have good tools for it already, just to make sure they know your strategies and you’re all on the same page. Also super common and normal to spend some time developing extra ones if needed—stuff like “the box” for temporarily containing crisis emotions when needed, having a mental “safe space” that you can come back to, etc. Also, EMDR specifically tends to often be a little rigid/scripted in the types of visualizations and metaphors you’re “supposed” to use, but in my opinion a good therapist should be flexible enough to adapt to equivalent images/techniques you may already have (like, “imagine you’re viewing the traumatic memory on a movie screen, or out the window of a train going through a tunnel” is a common instruction; if, say, your headspace has a lot of fantasy elements and it makes more internal sense to be viewing the memory via…scrying in a dish or something, your therapist should be down with you doing that instead, if you want to).

As for the sessions themselves, a big thing we don’t hear articulated a lot is that, in our experience  and that of some other folks we know, EMDR has a tendency of being…like, sneakily intense: It doesn’t necessarily hit you all at once in the session, which may just feel like “ok, that was Some Therapy Work but I’m chill”, but then over the rest of the day and maybe even the next few days, it’s not uncommon to keep feeling a lot of emotional intensity/vulnerability, having more intense “internal conversations and/or realizations”, etc. For this reason, EMDR is generally supposed to start with a very mild memory-to-process, like 4-5 out of 10 max.

Notes of Caution and Stuff to Keep In Mind

Especially for folks who already heavily dissociate from emotional trauma, it’s super easy to think you’re “going too easy” only to find that the memory has a lot more emotional baggage than you realized—really go easy on yourself when you start, EMDR is like psychology power tools and you absolutely can hurt yourself. (We’ve heard from plenty of systems who had bad therapists who did not adequately support them in doing EMDR, and absolutely fucked them over by starting too big and retraumatizing the hell out of them— this isn’t meant as fear-mongering, especially if you really like and trust your therapist, but just genuine “hey, EMDR can be very volatile stuff, which is part of why it can be so helpful, but also means that it’s important to not skip out on the safety precautions and self-care”.) What this means in practice is often stuff like: (our recommendations at least) - trying to schedule breaks/easy days immediately after - possibly getting someone to drive you home, especially if you know you’re going after a Big Thing, because the dissociation hangover immediately after can be pretty real - start with a memory that feels "too easy", and scale up if a week later it still felt trivial/like you’re fully over it, because it’s way easier to ramp up than try to do damage control.

Our personal experience, in tl:dr form, was that it felt like the core of the technique was really useful for us, and mirrored some of the most useful instances of self-processing we’d had before while also kind of serving as a “shortcut” to it—but, it was pretty intense and we didn’t really like/fit well with the therapists who we were working with at the time, which is why we stopped (didn’t want to keep doing an emotionally intense thing with folks we didn’t trust).

Finally, a bit about EMDR and "maybe I'm plural but I'm not sure, and/or may not have great in-system communication": yeah, this is a case to be especially slow and careful, for all the aforementioned reasons; what my instinct/recommendation would be in those cases is to: 1) make sure you learn a lot of resourcing techniques 2) try to check in with yourself(s) frequently and with compassion/intent-to-collaborate, "ask the inside of your head how it's feeling" and even if you're not sure whether the "reply" was just your own thoughts or a headmate, listen and try to engage with/respect those responses and emotions 3) if you start getting warning signs/back-off signals/sudden intense feelings, listen to them and lighten up, pause the session if you need to, do some self care etc, even (especially) if you don't know why you felt that way and it seems 'odd/random', and really you're super curious about what's going on and just want to figure it out. Like...you and the inside of your head and/or other system members are trying to navigate a complicated D&D maze together, in the dark, and you each only have part of the map--so you have to work together and trust each other, especially listening to warning signals even when your "part of the map" doesn't show anything to worry about there. And the more you work together and trust each other, the better everything gets, including therapy work.

When it's "Death By A Thousand Papercuts"-type Trauma Instead

If you're not sure where to start because there aren't a lot of obvious "Big Bad Memories" that feel like they adequately explain the issues you're having, some recommendations:

-> First, note that "no Big Bad Memories are immediately coming to mind, idk" is super common in systems and also in CPTSD, way more than I think most folks realize, so know that you're not alone and also that it doesn't mean you don't necessarily have stuff deserving of help and support.

-> So yeah, there's kinda two things imo you can try. The first is, if your therapist is on the more flexible side, you can try doing EMDR with either "this specific memory wasn't too bad, but it's representative of an ongoing pattern or theme that wasn't great" (say, loneliness at school or something, and you pick a specific lunchtime memory, which wasn't really That Bad in the moment, but you were kinda sad and/or upset about it and it feels representative of the overall trend you're trying to process/heal). Or you can try just doing the EMDR process on the theme itself, at the abstract level, and see what comes up--again, I'd really recommend starting with a much lower-stakes issue/theme than you think you need, just because it's really easy to underestimate, especially for systems and other folks whose brains dissociate a lot. (And especially if you know your system has episodic amnesia--e.g. event-amnesia/blackout amnesia--as well as emotional amnesia.)

The second is, there are other "more flexible" types of similar somatic therapy techniques (brainspotting is the name of another one, and there's more I can't think of rn) that might fit better instead-- tldr, totally worth asking your therapist about the whole situation, and asking what they'd feel most qualified for/comfortable with, in my opinion. You don't need to be doing Specifically Exactly EMDR to do somatic trauma therapy, even though EMDR is one of the more well-known modalities for it, and finding a version that feels right and not like you're forcing anything is really valuable (and you're not 'being picky' if it takes a while to find one; you're allowed to want to find one that feels right).

[defnotciara]

The ultimate shifting guide! (Tips, methods, etc)

Before I actually get into this i just wanted to clarify that everyone’s shifting journey is different and just because something worked for one person doesn’t mean it will work for you too! In order to shifting you kinda have to experiment a bit from what i’ve learnt and done so far.

Keywords:

DR: Desired Reality

CR: Current Reality

WR: Waiting Room

Also, before we start i’m just going to go over what shifting is, if you dont want to read this part feel free to skip this is mainly for the people who are newer to shifting and are looking for a basic rundown before getting into everything else!

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

1 • YOU DONT NEED TO USE METHODS OR SCRIPTS!! The methods are there to guide the process for those who The scripts allow you to imagine, organize your DR, and fuel your desire to go to your dr. Another thing is that if you forget to script something chances are is taht your subconscious already remembered it so you don’t really need to worry much about it!

2 • Symptoms are not actually you shifting! It’s actually just your body falling asleep. Although some things like feeling your surroundings change, hearing voices from ur dr, etc do actually count as shifting? (In my opinion) But since symptoms don’t really let you know what you have shifted who’s to say that you haven’t?? Gaslight yourself into believing you have shifted and during this ask like rhetorical questions like “How is shifting so easy for me?” “Why am i so good at shifting” “How am i already in my DR” Doing this will help you distract your brain from that annoying voice thats like “Thats not true, you haven’t shifted yet?”

3 • Shifting is what you believe it is. If you believe that shifting is hard, or easy, or that you can’t shift then you won’t shift 🤷‍♀️ Why do you think people who were introduced to shifting by someone who they personally know shift pretty easily? Thats because they trust in what that person is saying and trusting that shifting is easy and real and that they can shift too if they tried, they aren’t “Lucky” its just that they don’t use apps like tiktok, tumblr, etc; that over complicate shifting because shifting is as easy as setting a intent to wake up in your DR.

4 • “Can i script xyz/Or are there any limitations” You can literally do anything and when i mean anything i mean anything, if you want to be able to fly go fly ! Oh, you want to shift to a cartoon/anime go shift to it. Literally nothing is stopping you from doing whatever you want its called a desired reality for a reason. But, please take into account that even if it is a different reality that doesn’t mean you can’t being back trauma with you to your CR also take into consideration that the people in your DR are just as real and human as you are so keep that in mind when scripting!

4 • “What is a clone?” A clone is basically just you in your CR once you’ve shifted (Unless your asleep while shifting clones shouldn’t really be a problem) Your clone will act exactly like you do and if your worried about them doing something you wouldn’t do you are able to dictate their activities/what they do while you are out partying with your S/O.

5 • “What can i do to make shifting easier?” There are many different resources for you to use on your shifting journey like mind reprogramming I personally recommend listening to “Reprogramming through habits|| Video guide by shifting with reya” (I will link at the very bottom of this post if you are interested!) This video includes a 4 day (Maybe more depending on the person) Mind reprogramming method that allows you to alter your beliefs on shifting, another thing you can try is Gateway tapes, these tapes are made by the Monroe Institution/CIA these tapes use a training system that uses meditation like techniques combined with sound technology to alter the states of consciousness (If you are interested in learning more i can maybe make a post about it another day) You are required to pay for them but some people upload them to youtube, google docs etc; for the people who can’t since they are quite expensive! (I HAVE A GOOGLE DRIVE OF THE SOME OF THEM SO I CAN GIVE YOU THE LINK IF YOU WANTT), there are many more ways to make shifting easier but these are just to name a few.

6 • Meditation, Meditation is so easy and super efficient in helping you shift! If you just take 5 or more minutes out of your day to meditate for a month or two you will definitely notice the difference it makes, not only does it destress you but its helpful for when you are trying to relax during a shifting attempt or just shift while doing it.

7 • Affirmations, affirmations are so incredibly powerful with shifting and manifestation because it’s literally so easy and doesn’t even take long to do! Affirmations are basically just words that you say/think to yourself that help you shift/manifest some affirmations that I personally use during shifting attempts or just during random times of the day just to remind myself that shifting is so easy. “Why is shifting so easy for me?” “I am shifting” “Every breath i take gets me closer to shifting” “Every “failed” shifting attempt just makes me get closer to shifting” Etc, etc, etc.

And thats it for now should i make another part? I feel like this is to short but i really wanted to post it because i felt bad for promising to post it yesterday but i ended up falling asleep while typingg 😭 I hope yall can forgive me loll, but anyways lmk what you think about this and pleasee let me know if theres any misinformation in this so i can fix it!!

Thanks for reading this, i hope you all have an amazing day/nightt !!

[faef43]

PLS LOOK THE REBLOGGED POST I MADE OF THIS POST TO CONTINUE MY TIPS

HERE ARE SOME TIPS PLUS STORES TO AVOID

ALWAYS ADDING MORE SO CHECK BACK

I’ve been lifting for awhile and have collected some good tips and tricks on how to not get caught or be put in a system

-CAMERAS/MAIN TIPS-

I mainly lift small things like makeup, jewelry, small skincare, rings, pins, if it’s a good day maybe small lotions, but lifting clothes tips are coming soon!! (fixing spelling/grammar errors <3)

First of all, wear a mask and if you can style your hair in a way you usually don’t or use a beanie, bucket hat, baseball cap, never a sun hat way too suspicious. Ex. for hair: braids, space buns, slicked back, etc. I wouldn’t suggest lifting if you have brightly colored hair unless you want to go as far as to wear a realistic enough looking natural wig. Never wear sunglasses with a mask or a hat on, very suspicious, they will catch on. While finding blind spots never just turn around to face the wall and start stuffing your pockets and bag(s), instead stand at a 3/4 angle and be slick, I suggest lifting things while walking through a crowed isle, section, or doing it while walking, this one usually works if you have something small you can make it look like you’re adjusting your sleeves. ALWAYS GRAB 2 OF THE ITEM U WANT 2 LIFT, make the second one less apparent you have it, but if you take two and always keep one apparently in your hand, the cameras will be fooled. You have to have some sort of fingernails to scratch off price tags/barcodes/stickers, trust me when lifting you don’t want those on there. Take them off, rip them up and stuff it in your pocket or stuff somewhere non apparent, never throw them on the ground, super obvious. Don’t wear all baggy clothing, it’s really suspicious, always do the half half trick, half of your outfit baggy, half tight. Ex. Really tight shirt, hella baggy pants, really baggy hoodie, tight ass jeans or leggings. That way they won’t suspect you. If doing the baggy hoodie, always wear a secure sports bra underneath if u wear bras, great for slipping stuff into when pretending to adjust your bra, make sure your double of the product you want to lift is visible. By all means do not steal from target, they have high trained LP, workers that dress up as normal shoppers that they send to areas where they seek suspicion to spy on you, they keep you in a data base and share info/pics of you with other targets, cameras are nearly always monitored, store security is present, they let you walk out with things but eventually will confront you. The decision to call the police has already been made, target is a scary place, if you are gonna lift do only a 3-6 dollar thing, only once. Their employees count clothes for dressing rooms often times, pretty scary place stay safe. Some cameras are smoke detectors/speakers,boxes on the ceiling ect. Usually they’ll have some sort of light that’s always on, they look a little chunky or too far away from the ceiling. Claire’s has a ton of these so be carful, but their earrings don’t have any censors on them so they’re a great store for beginners. Interact with this post and I’ll add more too this blog♡ . -CLOTHING TIPS- If a clothing store does not have fitting rooms, don’t even try, they’ll immediately catch on+security cameras are your number one snitch. You’re gonna want to pay attention to if store employees suspect you. Ex. Fixing up areas that you’re at or around u, constant asking if you’re finding everything ok, maybe they’ll offer a store basket or bag, asking if you need anything in specific, any constant attention really. If they are leave the store, come back like a week later and try again. Your gonna wanna bring a hook with you to remove ink tags/clothing alarms while in fitting room, keep it down and try to pick a fitting room away from others to avoid suspicion. Some stores have employees stand in empty stalls next to you and listen so be aware and careful. If there are price tags try stuffing them behind the mirror or on in the landings on the floor, they’re sometimes rubber, don’t leave shit on the floor, if they already suspect u, they’ll check the fitting room when you come out. As for the alarms/ink tags, put them in ur pocket and discreetly shove them in another piece of clothing, remember to ALWAYS CHECK POCKETS ON CLOTHING.im abt to max out, look at repost of this from me 4more

ALWAYS CHECK POCKETS/COMPARTMENTS ON CLOTHING. Other lifters could have stuffed clothing alarms or price tags in there, be safe and check before trying to lift. No as where to conceal these clothing items, if you have the baggy hoody, (I suggest wearing a baggy shirt underneath too, always wear that sports bra if u wear bras{binders can also work it’s just hella uncomfy I’ve tried it})put 1-3 tops on under ur baggy T then put ur hoodie back on. Make sure they don’t count items b4 going into changing rooms. If they do, try taking a hoodie on some sort of hanger, taking it off the hanger, putting 1-2 shirts on the hanger, then put the hoodie/zip up back on. Great for lifting, if they confront you say you didn’t know and you were just tossing things in the cart, get out of there fast afterwards. It’s suspicious if you come in with a ton of clothes then don’t buy anything, sometimes you gotta buy some to win some. (Ex. I’m wearing 3 shirts under my og shirt which would add up to about 35 bucks, I buy a cheap tank top for 15, they don’t suspect me and I get freebies)

[howlsofbloodhounds]

since your all things killer sans, I have something to think about

Does stage 3 and 4 have a name? Becuase I know stage 2 is killer and stage 1 is sans. Do they have a name? Or is this a system thing where their both named the same thing, their name is also killer, kinda like how systems can get multiple altars of the same thing or same character

Or they do and I'm just being an idiot-

Anyways that's all good bye, enjoy your day!👋

Killer Sans is not a canonical system, although he shows signs of an implied dissociative disorder. Not all dissociative disorders are DID, OSDD-1, or anything with alters or systems.

Also unlikely that Killer himself would know what he has—just that he experiences dissociative states he calls himself, but different enough in some way to warn others in Stage 1 (closest to Sans, but still uncertain if he is sans or not) to not trust him “when he’s like that” (stage 2) or kill him (stage 3.) His thought process is shown to be fragmented, and he relies on these for help on making choices it seems—when no one is around to tell him what to do.

Ultimately just what exact dissociative disorder Killer Sans has is completely up to fandom interpretation. We unfortunately don’t got a lot of canon information on Killer’s Stages—mostly 3 and 4–so you are free to interpret as you will.

If you go with the system interpretation, I feel it important to remember that not all alters need, want, or have different names, or a name at all. Also common in conditioned or ‘programmed’ systems, or systems formed under RAMCOA conditions. I don’t feel qualified to speak much on these types of systems so I won’t, especially when it’s very easy to spread misinformation.

If you want to give them different names, or nicknames, or the same names, or keep their numbered names—3 and 4, Stage 3 and Stage 4, etc.—go ahead.

I personally go with an OSDD-2 interpretation for Killer’s dissociative disorder. This means dissociative identity loss, confusion, and/or disturbance due to thought reform, torture, prolonged intense coercive persuasion, brainwashing, conditioning, programming, indoctrination, recruitment by terror organizations or sects. Results in prolonged changes in or conscious questioning of one’s identity and beliefs.

They become who they need to be to survive in and cope with a dangerous environment and an unbearable reality. Often to the benefit of their abusers and captors.

This is a disorder often found in adult survivors of cults, terrorist organizations, prisoners of war, hostages or those held captive for a long time. A great example, if fictional, of OSDD-2 is Bucky Barnes/the Winter Soldier.

The movies didn’t give him a lot of focus or give his years upon years of trauma enough focus or attention, didn’t handle it with care at all, bypassed the actual deprogramming process by completely getting rid of his Winter Soldier programming and conditioning immediately, but he’s still a good example.

If they hadn’t just had all his programming removed via magical science fuckery, he’d likely still struggle with his identity as Bucky Barnes (who he is free from hydra), the Winter Solider (the fist of hydra, the asset, who and what hydra made him into), and the person he was before the fall off the train.

Certain things would cue and trigger him to view, think, and react exactly how he would as if he were in the environment that created the asset even if he still may be aware he isn’t in the same environment anymore. Such as being completely unable to refuse an order from handler as soon as his trigger words are uttered.

Of course Bucky Barnes and Killer Sans are very special cases that couldn’t exist in real life due to the nature of their worlds—magic, souls, aliens, extremely advanced technology that was capable of wiping Bucky’s memory and forcing him to rebuild a new identity from the ground up every time—not to mention their absurdly long lifespans and immense amount of trauma.

Bucky was kept alive for what, around 90-100 years? Given the super soldier serum or something, kept frozen to keep his body young and fit and only unthawed for mission assignments and making sure his programming still worked.

Killer was kept alive and died through Determination and the Resets for who knows how long. The brain (and in Killer’s case, SOUL), and body will do whatever it thinks it must to survive and cope. Even if it doesn’t exactly fit known science/psychology because both of these characters defy all that noise.

{ @nightmarefandom }

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Protect & Respect

Title: Protect & Respect

Pairing: Mafia!Steve x Former FBI Agent!Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Language, kidnapping, non-consensual drug use, weapons, kissing

Summary: After Steve goes missing, Y/N meets up with a rival mob boss to organize his safe return.

A/N: This is the first time I’ve written Mafia!Steve! It was fun to write, so please let me know if you enjoyed it. As always, thank you for reading this story and supporting me in all the ways you do!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

The drive to their specified location is only a short distance from your Brooklyn apartment, but you get there in half the time. As you turn the corner, you realize you’re only half a block from your old apartment, the moldy one in Queens that Steve moved you out of as soon as you’d gotten together.

Once parked, you grab the bag Bucky had put together while you’d paced back and forth in Steve’s office, then climb out of the black SUV. You slam the driver’s side door shut and stalk across the empty street, ignoring the old man who watches you from the edge of the shadows with a greedy look in his eye. You have bigger fish to fry.

You toss the zipped duffel at Javier’s feet as soon as you’re close enough. A few feet behind him, his two buddies stand with Steve smack dab between them. He’s on his side in the gravel, his eyes closed. There are no visible wounds, but you don’t trust that he’s unharmed, like they’d said on the phone.

Slowly, casually, and taking great pleasure in your anger, Javier reaches down to pick up the bag. His rings glint in the yellowed security light on the nearby workshop. You’ve always thought he dressed too ostentatiously, but now you wish you could shove his rings down his throat, one by one, just so he could suffer.

“It’s all there,” you snap when he starts to unzip the bag, and you push past him to crouch near Steve’s head. “Steve, can you hear me?”

His hands are tied tightly behind his back with a thick black zip tie and you almost gag at the stench coming off of him. He’s been missing for several days now, and it’s clear that he’s been in their hands for just as long. You don’t need to search his clothing for humiliating stains to know that. Javier has never treated his prisoners well. As soon as you’re done exacting your revenge on his kidnapper, you’re going to make sure your husband gets a bath, a good meal, and a thorough examination from Dr. Banner.

Carefully, you place your hand on Steve’s head, stroking his hair with your thumb, but he doesn’t even stir under your attendance. Something clicks inside your brain and you slowly lift your eyes to glare at Javier, the anger inside of you rising to a head.

“What did you give him?” you grind out.

Javier clicks his tongue. “One would think the boss would be a little more careful. All I had to do was mention you, and he was ready to be at my beck and call. It was quite amusing, actually.” He shoves the bag towards the man to your right.

“What did you give him?” you repeat, your voice rising in pitch as your anger and desperation grows. Steve was strong, and thanks to the secret government programs he’d been subjected to during his time in the military, he was practically immune to every kind of drug. To render him unconscious, they would’ve had to either pump his system full of enough drugs to kill any mere mortal or give him something strong, something you couldn’t access on the street. If they had access to something like that, it means that they’d made a deal with HYDRA, and that would mean Steve’s kidnapping went deeper than just Javier’s meager show of power.

The man on the left steps closer, leaning down to grab your arm. You jerk away, slapping him across the face. Your voice has reached an unholy screech as you repeat the question, but Javier is unfazed. His fingers twitch and suddenly your arms are behind your back. You struggle against his lackey’s grip, but your anger does you no good. You suddenly wish you’d taken Steve’s offer of training more seriously. It’s been over a year and a half since you’d had to do any kind of fighting, and though your former FBI training is still ingrained deep into your bones, you’re rusty, and it’s too late by the time you’re ready to fight back. Why hadn’t you just told Bucky where you were going? Why hadn’t you let Clint or Natasha come with you, even though you’d vowed to come alone?

“You really believed that you could save him?” Javier mocks. The man holding you hostage chuckles in your ear and you shudder, attempting once again to wrench yourself away from him. The other man brusquely pats you down, but you’d stayed true to every term of the agreement. You’d come unarmed, even though you now severely regretted it.

“Let us both go and maybe you’ll live to see the end of the week,” you spit.

“You’re nothing but a whore to warm the Captain’s bed.”

A cold sense of dread fills you as you’re yanked to your feet. The man pushes you back towards the street and you stumble, craning your neck to see Steve’s still form on the ground.

“Let me go!”

Nobody answers you as you’re dragged to a black sedan tucked into the shadows of the warehouse. You catch a glimpse of the old man across the street as you struggle, and his eyes follow you as the lackey pushes you into the trunk, but he does nothing to help. The trunk is slammed shut and you narrowly avoid getting clipped as you fight to get out.

“Load him up into the backseat, and give him another dose,” Javier orders, his voice muffled by the metal around you. “We don’t need him waking up before we get there.” He pounds on the top of the trunk and you flinch at the banging. “Comfortable? We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, sweetheart.”

You shout at him and struggle, making the car rock beneath you, but it’s no use. The trunk is locked shut, and when you scramble for the emergency release, you realize that it’s gone. They’ve somehow removed it, leaving you well and truly fucked. All you can do is sit tight and keep calm. The drive to wherever you’re headed will be an opportune time to think of a plan to fight back and get both you and Steve home where you belong.

The car starts with a grumble and a whine, and it lurches beneath you when the driver accelerates. It takes you twenty-five minutes of listening to the muffled crap radio they’re playing in the car before you remember the device Natasha had sewn into your bra.

You have to wiggle a little to get the right angle, but after several long moments, you press the button in the tracking device. A soft beep is the only response you get, but you let out a sigh of relief. Natasha would get the signal. You’d be rescued soon enough.

By the time the car slows to a stop and the trunk opens, the sun is rising. The inky black sky is starting to grow lighter, changing to dark blue, then to a paler shade the closer it gets to the ground. You’ve dozed off several times, and you open your eyes just as one of Javier’s henchmen opens the trunk. You glare up at him.

“Bring her inside,” Javier orders, somewhere on the driver’s side of the car. “Stick her in the guest room.”

You don’t have any time to wonder what he means by “the guest room” before the man is grabbing you and pulling you from the trunk. You stumble as he shoves you towards an imposing manor surrounded by nothing but tall, dark pine trees. They block the sunrise, though the lightness creeps up towards their tops with every passing minute.

Javier is climbing the wide marble steps to the front door. It’s braced with Grecian columns, and a black lantern hangs above the white marble entryway. 

“Your vacation home looks a little worse for wear,” you bite.

He only turns around and gives you a sickening grin before the front door is opened by a short woman in a traditional gray maid’s uniform. She gives him a small curtsy, and you hold back a groan of disgust. Of course Javier wanted to be curtised to.

Steve is nowhere in sight, and when you turn around to see if he’s still in the backseat of the sedan, the man leading you inside shoves his gun between your shoulder blades.

“Keep walking, whore,” he hisses, and you shudder at his hot breath in your ear.

You’re led inside the house, then down into the basement. After carefully descending the stairs, you enter a long hallway. The man shoves you through the first metal door you come to, and you fall onto your hands and knees. He slams the door behind you, and a light flickers on above as the lock engages.

Slowly, you sit back on your heels to inspect your hands. You’re not bleeding, but you flex them and wince at the sting from your fall. Once you’re sure that you’re not seriously injured, you take in your surroundings.

The room has four walls of gray concrete, with a steel door behind you. The ceiling and floor are also concrete, and there’s a prison-like toilet and sink combination in the corner next to the door. There are two cameras: one pointed at the door and the other pointed at the bed, which is just a twin-size metal bed frame with a chintzy mattress laid on top. There’s no pillow, but the blanket looks thin and scratchy. Clearly, Javier and whatever HYDRA operative he’s working with care very little for their assets.

Climbing to your feet, you take inventory of yourself. Your muscles are tense from the cramped drive from Queens. You quickly do the math in your head. If the sun is just rising and you’d gone to meet Javier at midnight, then you’d driven for at least six hours, which could put you in a number of states. You’d activated the tracking device less than an hour into the drive, so if you were lucky, Nat and the rest of the team would be here soon enough. You just had to hope that Steve was somewhere else in the manor, rather than the two of you being separated.

The blanket sends up a cloud of dust when you flip it over on the mattress, making you cough. When there’s no sign of bugs or suspicious stains, you settle yourself in the corner of the mattress. You can fully watch the door from your spot, so you sit back against the cool concrete and wait.

Finally, after what feels like hours, the door opens and you’re greeted by the muzzle of a silenced gun, then Bucky’s grim expression. Upon seeing you, however, he relaxes and smiles just a little.

“Took you long enough,” you tease, and he lets out an indignant huff.

“You’re the one who waited so long to turn on the tracker. Are you hurt, mo bhanríon?” he asks, and with the lilt of the familiar name comes the first hint of comfort you’ve had in a few days.

You shake your head and slide off the bed, then take the extra gun he pulls from his thigh holster. After looking it over, you also take the knife he pulls out from his boot. You slip it in your own. 

“Maybe I just wanted to test your skills. Have you found Steve yet?”

Bucky shakes his head. “We’re still looking.” He leads you out into the corridor and the two of you begin searching behind the other metal doors. All of them open into cells identical to your own, but they’re empty of prisoners. 

When you reach the end of the hall, he taps the comms unit in his ear. “Basement’s clear. I found an bhanríon, she’s unharmed. Any sign of Steve?” 

You hold your breath, waiting as Bucky listens to the rest of Steve’s men as they report back. Finally, his shoulders slump and he closes his eyes, muttering Irish curses under his breath.

“What? What is it?” You step closer and grab Bucky’s prosthetic with your free hand. “Did they find him?”

Much to your relief, Bucky nods. He turns and begins to steer you toward the stairs leading up to the main floor of the manor.

“Is he okay?” you ask, glancing over at him as you walk. “They gave him something—I don’t know what. Whatever it was, though, it was strong. He was totally out of it, Bucky. I’ve never seen him like that before.”

He passes by you to climb the steps first, his gun drawn. “He’s okay. Be quiet, Y/N. Main floor isn’t clear,” he murmurs.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you try to refocus yourself on the task at hand. Being distracted in enemy territory is a stupid way to go, and you need to get back to Steve in one piece, just like you always promised you would.

You follow Bucky in silence, letting him clear the rooms first before you do your own sweep. The entire manor feels like it’s holding its breath. There isn’t a single noise as you move from room to endless room. It makes your stomach twist—where had Javier and his men gone? Where is the maid in the gray uniform who had met you at the door?

You’re on the last hallway when you finally hear a soft clatter from one of the rooms. Bucky tenses, and you give him a little more space as you trail behind. 

Slowly, he approaches the door. He waits for a moment, listening, and then he pushes his way in with his gun drawn. There’s a feminine scream and you grip your gun a little tighter.

“Where are they?” Bucky demands. His voice is as cold as ice and you shiver. You’d hate to be on the receiving end of “The Sergeant’s” questioning. He’s known across New York first for his prosthetic, and then for his ruthless interrogation skills.

“I don’t know!” a woman cries. “Mr. Smith told me to come wait here for him, but it’s been two hours! I heard noises, so I hid!”

There’s a pause as Bucky stares her down to determine if she’s telling the truth or not. You use that time to step forward into the doorway behind him and inspect the room. It’s a broom closet, more or less, with a square wooden card table and two matching chairs in the middle of the room. The walls are covered with hanging cleaning supplies, and there are several shelving units holding various boxes and bottles against the far wall. A small microwave sits on the back of the table, and a clock hangs in the only empty space on the wall a few feet above the microwave. From the looks of things, Javier has made the large closet into the poorest excuse for a break room that you’ve ever seen. You feel even worse for the woman. Not only did she have to work for and curtsy to one of the most ridiculous mob bosses you’ve ever met, but she didn’t even have a good place to eat her lunch in peace.

“She’s an employee here, Bucky,” you quietly tell him from behind. “She curtsied when Javier walked in. I don’t think she knows much of anything. None of his other men treated him the same way.”

Bucky grunts a little at that information, then lowers his gun. The woman lets out a sigh of relief, but she still trembles as she watches you from her spot on the floor beneath the table.

“Did they hurt you?” she asks, her voice wavering as she fixes her eyes on you.

You shake your head and offer her a brief, polite smile. “I’m fine. We need you to stay here until we figure out what to do with this place. Can you do that?”

The woman nods. “Yes, ma’am.” She pauses, looking between you and Bucky for a moment. “Your friend is being held in the conservatory.”

“Thank you,” Bucky replies, though you know they’ve already found Steve.

You turn and head back into the hallway as he gives the woman one last warning to stay put. Bucky follows you back the way you’d come after closing the door to the closet-turned-break room.

“The conservatory?” you ask, and Bucky hums behind you.

“Turn left,” he instructs when you reach the main hall again. 

He gives you directions as you walk, leading you down several long hallways till you reach the northeastern corner of the mansion. It’s bigger than it had looked from the front.

The sun is fully up now, and you’re greeted with the last remnants of the sunrise when you step through the French doors and into the conservatory. The room is massive, with windows braced with white trim making up the majority of the three outer walls. The ceiling stretches up almost fifty feet, and the floor beneath you is black and white checkerboard tile. Each square is at least four feet across.

All around you, plants of every size and shape grow together, creating the feel of a small, indoor forest. The majority of the plants are tropical. Some of them have leaves as big as the fancy dinner plates Steve’s employees pull out for galas, and there are hidden water spigots spraying a fine mist over them. There are palms dotted around the room, as well as hibiscus trees. A fountain sits in the center of the conservatory. Two large, potted palms sit in front of it, and between them there’s a red velvet settee. 

Your eyes find Steve’s immediately, and it feels like your legs give out for a second. Bucky’s still beside you, however, and he manages to keep you upright with an arm around your waist.

“Mo grá,” Steve says from where he’s seated on the center of the settee, and his deep baritone is like a balm to your soul. You close your eyes and let out a breath. It feels like you’re breathing for the first time in days. It’s definitely the first time you’ve been this relaxed.

When you meet his gaze again, Steve smiles wearily and holds out a hand. You close the distance between you and stand between his outstretched legs. He looks up at you, and the two men who’d been standing guard behind the couch move so they’re no longer in your line of sight. 

“Did they hurt you?” he asks. There’s a glint of anger in his eyes as he speaks, but you know better. The glint is just a hint of what’s hiding inside of him. Steve is furious that they’ve taken him, but he’s even more angry that they took you. You know he’s probably beating himself up over it, too.

You lift your hands and run them through Steve’s hair. Instinctively, he closes his eyes and leans into your touch, just like he always does.

“No, my love,” you gently answer. “I’m okay. How are you feeling? They gave you something… I don’t know what. Whatever it was, it was strong.”

You can hear the fear and uncertainty in your voice, and you wish that you could hide it better, but all the willpower in the world wouldn’t help you right now. You’ve never been able to hide anything from Steve. It’s how he’d discovered your true identity so quickly, even if he hadn’t revealed that to you until your investigation had been completely foiled.

“I’m fine,” he soothes. “A little tired, maybe.”

Nodding, you let Steve take your hand and kiss your palm, then close your fingers into a fist. He does the same to your other hand, and then he pulls you down to kiss him properly. He pulls you so close that you’re forced to straddle him with your knees firmly planted on the cushions on either side of him.

Behind you, Natasha clears her throat. Your cheeks grow hot when you remember that there are others present for your reunion, and you sit back so you can look at her from over your shoulder. Steve supports your weight with his knees underneath you and with both hands on your ass. Your own hands rest on your thighs.

“As touching as this reunion is, I have news,” she says. There’s a small smirk on her face, and you have to resist the urge to throw the nearest pillow at her.

“What is it, Natasha?” Steve asks. He’s all business again.

“We’ve found Javier, Captaen,” Natasha replies. She bows her head a little when she says his title, the same way every one of the mobsters does. It was strange to you when you first joined them, but you’ve grown used to it. The action is comforting, in a way. You know it means a show of respect for Steve, and with that comes respect and protection for you, too.

“And?”

“He’s finished.”

Steve nods once. “Good. We’ll be leaving soon. Round up any remaining men and take them to the office. Bring Jim and Frenchie with you.”

You’ve never been to Steve’s “office”. You’d tried, once, when you were still an agent assigned to uncover the syndicate, but Steve had prevented that from happening. Now, you have no desire to see the evidence of his work. You have no interest in the grizzly details of the Rogers Crime Family, even if you’re now a part of that family.

“One of Javier’s employees is in a room down the hall. She’s not one of his men, she just works in the house. What do you want us to do with her?” Bucky asks.

Steve stays quiet for a minute, and you feel his thumbs brush against the waistband of your jeans as he thinks. Finally, he looks up at you.

“What do you think, mo grá?” 

“Let her go. Pay her off,” you instantly tell him. You bring one hand up to cradle his cheek. “She’s innocent, I can tell.”

Steve nods once, then tilts his head to look past you at his oldest, most trusted friend. “You hear that, Buck?”

There’s no response, but Steve leans against the back of the settee and smiles softly, pulling you down to lay on top of him. He wraps his arms around you in a gentle embrace, so you can only assume that Bucky and Natasha have gone off to do Steve’s bidding, along with the two guards that had been here when you arrived, leaving the two of you alone in the conservatory.

“I was so worried,” you murmur, and Steve hums. 

“I wasn’t.”

You lean back a little so you can look at him. Steve has his head tilted back with his eyes closed, and there’s a soft smile on his face. The early morning light that streams in through the massive conservatory windows makes his hair and face seem glowing and almost ethereal. Somewhere in the room, a bird chirps its morning song, adding to the heavenly illusion.

“You weren’t?”

“No. I knew we’d be reunited again. We always are, mo rúnsearc,” Steve replies. He opens his eyes and your breath catches in your throat, just like it always does when he looks at you this intensely. You’ve been together for years now and yet somehow, Steve still takes your breath away.

You brush his cheekbone with your thumb before you drop your hand. His hands have moved to your hips, and you gently pull one of them off so you can intertwine your fingers.

“You haven’t called me that since we first started dating,” you tell him.

Steve chuckles. “You hated that nickname.”

“I didn’t know what it meant!” you protest, and he laughs again, this time more earnestly.

“You were such a confused little bird back then,” he says, affection clear in his tone. “You had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into.”

Shaking your head, you lean down to give him a chaste kiss. “No, I definitely didn’t. Not even in my wildest dreams would I have thought that I’d fall in love with the mob boss.”

“Tell me then,” Steve replies.

His other hand finds your own and you shift your weight so you can sit more comfortably in his lap. He’s totally focused on you and your response. Your heart swoops a little at the attention. Steve always knows how to make you feel heard and important, even when it’s only the two of you in the room.

“What would have been your wildest dreams back then?”

“My wildest dreams?” you ask. He hums, his thumb rubbing over your hand as he waits for your answer. You tilt your head and consider him for a moment, then give him a slow, sly smile. “Probably falling in love with the mob boss’ second in command.”

Steve scoffs and pulls one hand from yours so he can smack your thigh, and you laugh loudly, tilting your head back.

“You’re a little shit, Y/N.”

“I learned from the best,” you tease.

“I’m never letting you sit next to Bucky at game night ever again,” Steve says. He’s holding back laughter—the corner of his lips twitches as he tries not to smile, and his chest heaves a little.

“Does this mean you and I can team up and win Monopoly together? I’m sick of losing against him and Nat, and it’s not fair that I have to be on my own team!”

“Is that what it’ll take to keep you in love with me?” he asks.

Grinning, you nod furiously, and Steve fakes a belabored sigh. “I suppose we can team up.”

You gather his hand again and lean forward until your forehead rests against his. You’re both smiling wide now, and you close your eyes as his nose bumps against yours. 

“I already love you, Steve Rogers,” you murmur. “I’d follow you anywhere. I’d go to war for you, you know.”

“I know you would, and if I have anything to do with it, you never will,” he replies. You smile a little when you feel his hand pull from yours, then slide up your neck to cradle the back of your head so he can guide you into another kiss. “I will always protect you.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If  you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium​ @delicatecapnerd

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Hi! I really liked the Rottmnt post you did with the turtles boys finding out their the readers old pet turtles. It’s literally been on my mind constantly I love Platonic and found family stuff like this but can barely ever find any!

If you don’t mind me asking I’d like to make a request for a scenario or Headcanom (either one is fine lolol) based on my reblog, where Mikey tries to introduce the reader to Splinter and April (while his brothers try very hard to not let Draxum get seen and murdered by reader. ) XD

I hope you have a good rest of your day/evening/ whatever point in time it is for you! ✨

Just wanted to tell you I audibly laughed at that reblog!

Splinter and April & Reader who had the turtles as pets

"Im a bit nervous, Mikey. What if it gets awkward?" you say as you walk deeper into the seemingly endless tunnel, part of what had been a train system below New York. You had brought a flashlight with you, but it hardly lights up the next 6 feet in front of you. "It's going to be fine! If anything it might go too well. Next thing you know Dad is going to be showing you our baby pictures!" Mikey said as he walked behind you. Smiling and bringing his hands to his face in a "sleeping" position and imagining all the family movie nights you where going to be apart of. The flashlight began to flicker, didn't you just change out the batteries? Mikey noticed and spoke up "Don't worry, we're almost there" he said reassuringly. Sure enough, after about a minute you where already there. Mikey opened the door for you, remembering how Splinter had told him and his brothers to be on there best behavior.

You walk past, thanking him for holding the door. As soon as you step inside you are bombarded by Donnie and Raph who wanted to greet you. "I trust you had a pleasant walk here?" Donnie spoke elegantly, he was overdoing the whole "best behavior" thing a tad bit. Thankfully Raph spoke up, or rather, he whisper-yelled "too far, less polite" Donnie thought for a moment before speaking again "..was the walk here okay?" "I-" Before you could finish speaking you heard Leo's voice from what you assume to be the living room. "Y/n! We're over here!" There was clear excitement in his voice.

The brothers guided you to the living room.

Splinter

★ As stated before, he told his sons to be on there best behavior. And for the most part they listend, Sure there was a little argument about who got to sit next to you. But he could overlook that.

★ He was really excited to meet the person who took care of his sons before he did. You thought it would be a bit awkward but it was far from it. He is very polite and the two of you get along just fine.

★ Eventually you get to the part where you crap talk Draxum and let me tell you, it is therapeutic. Mikey is standing in the corner, probably wanting to say something but doesn't.

★ Afterwards he invites you over fairly often for family events. All his sons like you and from what he can tell, you seem like a good addition to there weird family.

★ Whenever something is going to be decided, say Leo got in trouble or a pizza toppings are being decided. Your opinion outweighs April and the turtles, he pretty much gives you the last word on most things.

April

★ She was exited to meet you because she really wanted to know how much each of the brothers cost. Kidding, kinda. She heard good things about you and wanted to meet you in person.

★ Definitely asks you to share some stories about when you had the boys as pets. Her favorite one is the time that you had to take all the dirt out of Mikey's enclosure and replace it with wood chips because he was eating the dirt for some reason?

★ You and her get along great, you are older than her by about 15-20 years considering you had the turtles as pets about 15 years ago judging by the turtles age. So you would be kinda like a cool aunt to her.

(bonus) Draxum

★ You met him (the second time) because Mikey wanted the two of you to try and get along. It was awkward, to say the least. Mikey had to sit between you and him as a social buffer to keep the two of you from getting into a fight.

★ To Mikey's credit, you probably would have decked him across the face if he hadn't. But could he really blame you?

[yourfavoritebookclub]

WINGLEADER: A Xaden Riorson POV Fanfiction

CHAPTER 6

Imogen and I walk along the Iakobos River, our steps near silent as we snake our way through the reedy grass to the cluster of large oaks at the bank.

We stop at the roots of one of the larger trees and Imogen pulls off her hood to give me a long look.

She leans in towards me, voice quiet. “Can you please stop giving me the silent treatment?”

When I don't respond, she turns her head to look me in the eyes, “Xaden, seriously. You weren’t there, she was talking about my parents being murdered. Am I supposed to just let trash like her get away with that? It’s dis—” I lift my hand to silence her. “Don’t finish that sentence, Imogen.” I ground out, my anger rising at the insult.

Hurt and confusion flash across her face and I feel a twinge of guilt. She doesn’t know that with every look, every confrontation, every day that goes by where Violet is in my presence, my self control slips a little more.

“The rest are close.” Sgaeyl says from her position in the sky. 

My eyes lift, “We can discuss this in front of everyone. It’s a message for all of you.”

The two of us turn towards the line of trees as the rest of the group converge beneath the giant oak.

My shadows are comfortable here, they feel cool against my skin. As they unravel, my senses extend along every tendril. I can hear every small nocturne creature and subtle wind.

I can also hear the soft, quick breathing above me. What Violet Sorrengail is doing out here, is a question I’d love to know the answer to. But it can wait. This moment feels like another opportunity to push her and see which way she falls.

There are small introductions between everyone, most of them are known, but some of the first-years are from smaller families who haven’t been properly acquainted with everyone.

There’s a palpable anxiety coursing through the younger cadets. I get it, but it’s time to push it to the side, step up, and do their jobs. We protect each other. Panic isn't an option. 

Garrick is angsty about the losses this week. We all are. Our numbers are small enough as is. 

Garrick addresses the group, his eyes hard, “We’ve already lost Sutherland and Luperco, that’s just how it is your first year, but we can’t afford to lose a single one of us. Division amongst ourselves will be your greatest weakness.”

There’s soft rustling in the branches above as Violet moves from branch to branch.

Imogen turns to the first years, “Like it or not, we’re going to have to stick together if you want to survive until graduation.”

“And if they find out we’re meeting?” One of the younger girls, Gwyn, asks the group.

The fear is clear on all of their faces. They’ve all been scared for too long. But that’s what we’re here to change.

I need to inspire courage, but also remind them that we’re confident in the system we’ve created.

And remind them who they’ll be answering to if things get out of hand.

I cross my arms and lean against the tree, keenly aware of Violet, now directly above me.

“We’ve done this for two years and they’ve never found out.” My eyes scan the group, “they’re not going to unless one of you tells. And if you tell,” I say, raising a brow, “I’ll know. Like Garrick said, we’ve already lost two first-years to their own negligence. There are only forty-one of us in the Riders Quadrant, and we don’t want to lose any of you, but we will if you don’t help yourselves. The odds are always stacked against us, and trust me, every other Navarrian in the quadrant will look for reasons to call you a traitor or force you to fail.”

There’s no use in feeding them bullshit if their lives are on the line.

“How many of you are getting your asses handed to you in hand-to-hand?”

Four first-years raise their hands.

Four.

“Shit.” I exhale, pinching the bridge of my nose. This is not good. After the bargain was made a few of us older kids made sure there were systems in place. Training regimens were created. Academic Curriculums, and tests that mimicked what they’ll face upon entering the quadrant. Tools to ensure every serpartist’s kid was well equipped before they put a single toe on the parapet.

The headache is back.

Garrick, always a step ahead, says, “I’ll teach them.”

After the amount of training, and natural skill he’s had, Garrick’s fighting is instinctual. Good for winning fights, not great for trying to teach someone.

I look at Garrick and shake my head, “You’re our best fighter–” 

I’m interrupted by Bodhi, “ You’re our best fighter.”

“Dirtiest fighter, maybe,” Imogen corrects him with a laugh.

There’s some laughter, and even a couple smiles from the younger ones.

“Fucking ruthless is more like it,” Garrick says, grinning at me.

I keep my mouth shut and let everyone get it out of their system before moving on.

“Garrick is our best fighter, but Imogen is right up there with him, and she’s a hell of a lot more patient,” If the two of them want to be mouthy then they can do it together. “So the four of you split yourselves up between the two of them for training. A group of three won’t draw any unwanted attention. What else is giving you trouble?” One of the first years, Kieran begins speaking before anyone else, his voice full of anguish,“I can’t do this.” My stomach lurches.

I can’t deal with this right now

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice going cold.

“I can’t do this! The death. The fighting. Any of it. A guy had his neck snapped right in front of me on assessment day!” The boy's voice is growing more frantic, and every word out of his mouth is filling me with guilt.

“I want to go home!” Kieran continues, “Can you help me with that ?”

Everyone turns to look at me.

I did this to them.

Bile rises to the back of my throat.

No, this was the only way I could save every person in front of me right now.

I didn’t have a choice.

And neither does he.

I swallow, frustration bubbling up to the surface.

We don’t have time to comfort and coddle. Our goal is to survive. Everything else is an afterthought.

“No,” I say, shrugging my shoulders, feigning indifference.“You’re not going to make it. Best accept it now and not take up more of my time.”

My words come out harsher than intended, but I mean them nonetheless 

The color drains from Kieran’s face, and his thin frame begins shaking as my words hit him.

Bodhi turns to look at me, incredulity written on his face. “That was a little harsh, cousin.”

“What do you want me to say, Bodhi? I can’t save everyone, especially not someone who isn’t willing to work to save themselves.” I keep my voice calm, even as the guilt tries to press itself in on me.

“Damn, Xaden.” Garrick says, that same disbelief lacing his voice. “Way to give a pep talk.”

Did none of them hear me after the parapet? We are not special. We will face blood and horror, and the likely possibility of death. Giving me problems that I can’t solve doesn’t help anyone, it holds us all back. This is just a fact of our reality. 

“If they need a fucking pep talk, then we both know they’re not flying out of the quadrant on graduation day. Let’s get real. I can hold their hands and make them a bunch of bullshit empty promises about everyone making it through if that helps them sleep, but in my experience, the truth is far more valuable.” I turn to look at Kieran, “In war, people die. It’s not glorious like the bards sing about, either. It’s snapped necks and two-hundred-foot falls. There’s nothing romantic about scorched earth or the scent of sulfur.” 

I point to the citadel off in the distance, “This isn’t some fable where everyone makes it out alive. It’s hard, cold, uncaring reality. Not everyone here is going to make it home…to whatever’s left of our homes. And make no mistake, we are at war every time we step foot in the quadrant.” I lean closer to him, and the other first-years in front of me. They need to drill this into their fucking skulls, “So if you won’t get your shit together and fight to live, then no. You’re not going to make it.”

I assess each of them, making sure they’ve heard me loud and clear.

Good. Time to move on.

“Now, someone give me a problem I can actually solve,” I say, this time addressing the whole group.

Aria, one of the first years, speaks up, “Battle Brief.” 

That, I can handle.

She continues, “It’s not that I can’t keep up, but the information…”

Imogen steps in to soften the obvious conflict in Aria’s voice. She leans in, voice gentle “That’s a tough one.”

Some of my irritation with her softens. Imogen’s fearless, and has a nasty temper, but she’s always been a buffer between me and everyone else.

And she’s right, It’s hard to know what we know, and still placate the professors.

I’d speak a bit more freely if I didn’t have a certain someone perched on the branch above me. I'm already sticking my neck out by letting her stay. 

“You learn what they teach you.” I say giving her a pointed look. “Keep what you know but recite whatever they tell you to.” There are several nods, and I feel satisfied that everyone understands what’s at stake if they fuck up.

“Anyone else?” I say, looking up at the moon. It’s shifted considerably since we got here, which means we’re cutting it close. “You’d better ask now. We don’t have all night.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence before someone in the back says, “When do we get to kill Violet Sorrengail?”

My whole body tenses, my heartrate climbing, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from snapping. In the span of a few seconds I’ve become completely possessed. Just a handful of days around her and I’m already losing my mind at the thought of anyone touching her. She’s mine . 

“Yeah, Xaden, When do we get to finally have our revenge?” Imogen says, her voice turning mockingly sweet. 

I am now acutely aware of every fast breath coming from Violet. 

I throw a threatening look at Imogen, “I told you already, the youngest Sorrengail is mine, and I’ll handle her when the time is right.” 

I don’t think I even know what that means right now. There are a lot of ways I’d like to handle– 

No.

That’s not even a thought worth entertaining.

Bodhi decides to be Bodhi and stir the pot, “Didn’t you already learn that lesson, Imogen? What I hear, Aetos has you scrubbing dinner dishes for the next month for using your powers on the mat.”

“Her mother is responsible for the execution of my mom and sister. I should have done more than just snap her shoulder.” Imogen argues, her cheeks flushing in anger.

“Her mom is responsible for the capture of nearly all our parents. Not her daughter.” Garrick looks Imogen in the eyes, “Punishing children for the sins of their parents is the Navarrian way, not Tyrrish.”

This is getting exhausting.

“So we get conscripted because of what our parents did years ago and shoved into this death sentence of a college–”

“In case you didn’t notice, she’s in this same death sentence of a college. Seems like she’s already suffering the same fate.” Garrick says, shutting down Imogen’s argument.

Apparently everyone here needs a reminder of who Violet is in all of this.

“Don’t forget her brother was Brennan Sorrengail. She has just as much reason to hate us as we do her.” I say to Imogen before turning to the first-year, “And I’m not going to tell you again. She’s mine to handle. Anyone feel like arguing?”

No one speaks.

The moon has shifted even closer to the horizon. Time to get these walking headaches out of here and deal with the one above me.“Good. Then get back to bed. And go in threes.”  

The group clears out and I walk towards the citadel, slowly cloaking myself in shadows until I’m invisible in the dark. I can’t help but smirk as I backtrack to the oak tree and slip behind where Violet is currently positioned.

She’s patient. It takes her a good ten minutes before she finally climbs down from her perch and drops to the ground. 

Still cloaked in shadows, I lunge, pulling her tight against my chest. Every place where our bodies connect is buzzing like a live wire, and I resist the impulse to drop her. 

It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and dammit if I don’t love every second.

“Scream and you die,” I whisper in her ear. I don’t want to let go of her, but I force myself to remove my arm from around her neck.

Before she can even think about retaliating, I’ve replaced my arm with the edge of a dagger. “Fucking Sorrengail.” I snap, pulling back the hood of her cloak to reveal her face.

Fuck. 

I can’t help the way my cheeks heat as she leans her head back to look me in the eyes.

I push my chest against her, forcing her eyes forward before she gets a chance to read the undeniable need on my face.

“How did you know?” She says, her lip curling. For someone who’s convinced I’m going to kill her, she has some bite. “Let me guess,” she continues, “You could smell my perfume. Isn’t that what always gives the heroine away in books?”

Perfume?  

I bend my head toward hers, my lips brushing against her ear.

She’s irritating as hell. And yet here I am, excited that I have her all to myself.

“I command shadows, but sure, it was your perfume that gave you away.” I say sarcastically, my voice barely above a whisper.

A thrill goes up my spine as she gasps. “Your signet is a shadow wielder?”

My lips are still at her ear , “What, Aetos hasn’t warned you not to get caught alone in the dark with me yet?”

My voice sounds rough, even to me, and I resist the urge to put my mouth on her, to bite her ear, kiss her neck. I’m in a fog, consumed by being near her.

My grip loosens a fraction as my concentration slips, and she spins towards me, dagger raised, “Is this how you plan to handle me?”

“Eavesdropping are we?” I ask, brow lifting. 

Seeing her like this, like she was before the parapet, angry and wild, is doing something to me, and I can’t get enough.

I sheath my dagger. “Now I might actually have to kill you.” The cold look in my eyes is in stark contrast to the way my mind is pleading with her.

Please, don’t say anything. 

Because for all my bravado, I don’t know if I have it in me to kill her. I’m worried about what it might do to me. 

It would wreck me.

She backs away, reaching into her cloak to pull out another dagger. 

Despite her uneven footing and awkward defensive stance, Violet with her daggers out, ready for a fight is…

Fuck, It’s hot.

“That stance is really the best you can muster? No wonder Imogen nearly ripped your arm off.” I say, heaving a sigh. I don’t have it in me to kill her but there are several people who do, and will succeed with her defensive position so…lacking.

“I’m more dangerous than I look,” she says, but her cheeks are flushed and her ears have turned pink at the tips, contradicting the anger in her voice.

She’s being cute, and I can’t help but smirk. I like playing with her, “So I see. I’m quaking in my boots.”

Quicker than I would’ve expected she flings both daggers towards me.

And completely misses.

I look at her dully, if not a little disappointed, “You missed.”

“Did I?” She says, reaching for the two other daggers she has tucked into her cloak, “Why don’t you back up a couple steps and test that theory?”

What?

I smooth my face into a mask of irritated boredom, but from the way she’s looking at me, I know she saw the question in my eyes.

My shadows swirl around her ankles, pulling to touch her. I yank them back, hard, smothering my own desire.

My eyes don’t leave Violet’s as I take three steps back until my back hits the tree.

Where the  hilt of each dagger sits perfectly between both sides of my head.

Oh.

Good girl, Violet.

“Tell me again that I missed.” She threatens, flipping the dagger in her hand to hold it by the tip.

I still can’t take my eyes off of her. 

I smile, “Fascinating, you look all frail and breakable, but you’re really a violent little thing, aren’t you?”

I will my shadows into something more concrete, forming them into hands, the slender fingers moving to pluck the daggers from the bark, and drop them into both of my palms.

I’m still smiling at her like a fool. I think I’m going into shock.

My body has completely abandoned my mind, and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m moving towards her, steps slow, “You should show that little trick to Jack Barlowe.”

Violet blinks in surprise, “What?”

She clocks how close we are to each other and raises her dagger.

I’ve done my job a little too well if she thinks my only motivation is to kill her. “The neck-snapping first year who’s very publicly vowed to slaughter you.” I tease, lifting an eyebrow. 

One more step and the tip of her blade is pressed against my middle. I’m still smirking as I reach under her cloak and sheath one of the daggers. 

I lift the other side of her cloak, and the smirk slips off of my face, every ounce of playful banter gone.

Underneath her cloak, her hair is twisted into a loose braid that falls over one shoulder and down past her breast. The silver strands, now exposed to the moonlight, glint as she shifts her head to look up at me.

I can barely breathe for wanting her so badly.

I want to wrap that braid around my wrist and yank her towards me.

For a single heartbeat I’m dumbstruck before I pull myself together and sheath her other dagger. “He’d probably think twice about plotting your murder if you threw a few daggers at his head.”

Violet’s face looks half irritated, half confused, “Because the honor of my murder belongs to you?” My words from earlier play through my head. Mine . “You wanted me dead long before your little club chose my tree to meet under, so I imagine you’ve all but buried me in your mind by now.”

I look at the dagger pressed between us. She looks closer to burying me than the other way around. 

A small shiver of fear courses through me. I’ve made a dangerous gamble in letting her hear all that was said tonight. “Do you plan on telling anyone about my little club ?” 

“No,” She says bluntly.

I can feel my eyebrows knit together. The answer I was hoping for, but not necessarily the one I was expecting. “Why not?” I ask. My head tilts to the side as I examine this girl in front of me, so different than I had assumed. “It’s illegal for the children of separatists officers to assemble in—”

“Groups larger than three,” Smart little thing.

She continues, “I’m well aware. I’ve lived at Basgiath longer than you.” Arrogant little thing too.

“And you’re not going to run off to Mommy, or your precious little Dain, and tell them we’ve been assembling? ” I can’t help the contempt that drips off my tongue at the thought of Dain. Of his hands on her face, searching through her memories.

“You were helping them. I don’t see why that should be punished.” 

I give her an assessing glare.

She looks thoughtful, her mind turned inward for a beat before her eyes refocus on mine, “I’m not going to tell.”

I can’t get my hopes up, but they’re soaring anyways.

Her defenses are slipping away, rotating back to a familiar look of fear.

I don’t want her to be scared of me.

She needs to be scared of me. She should want nothing to do with me. 

If I can just manage enough self restraint to put some distance between the two of us.

“Interesting. We’ll see if you keep your word, and if you do, then unfortunately, it looks like I owe you a favor.” I say, my thoughts of staying away are already completely abandoned.

I turn to go and she calls after me, “You’re not going to handle me?”

“Not tonight!” I yell over my shoulder, a smirk on my face.

She makes an indignant sound, “What are you waiting for?”

Gods I can’t help but play with her, “It’s no fun if you expect it. Now, get back to bed before your wingleader realizes you’re out after curfew.”

“What?” She almost shrieks, voice full of confusion.

 I start to pull my shadows around me, cloaking me from view, but not before I hear her shout, “ You’re my wingleader!”

Yes the hell I am. 

In the shadows my smirk has bloomed into a fierce grin.

[stardustandash]

where flesh and metal meet

Whumptober Day 21: Body Horror

Some days Echo wakes up still expecting his hand and legs to be there. He’ll roll out of his bunk and fall when his limbs end far before he expects them to. He’ll wake the others with the noise and they’ll laugh it off, connect his limbs, and go about their day.

Ao3 Link

Some days Echo wakes up still expecting his hand and legs to be there. He’ll roll out of his bunk and fall when his limbs end far before he expects them to. He’ll wake the others with the noise and they’ll laugh it off, connect his limbs, and go about their day.

It’s not that bad. He’s made his peace with it.

There’s far worse things to miss than a couple of limbs.

Instead the metal limbs and scomp arm mean that he’s far more useful than ever. Echo can run tirelessly, jump higher, and hack into nearly any computer. He’s accepted his new limbs, they’re a part of him now.

The cybernetics are harder.

The only person Echo trusts to help him with his cybernetics is Tech. And even then, he only lets him work on it in the middle of the night. He doesn’t want the others to see, or know, the extent of what the Techno Union did to him.

Echo sits with his back to Tech, gazing out of the corner of the Marauder’s viewport at the stars. The wires that connect his head to Tech’s datapad burn across the skin of his back. They feel like flies against his shoulders and it takes everything in him not to twitch.

“There are no new codes in your system,” says Tech.

Echo can’t see his face, but he can hear the confidence all the same.

“Good.”

“However, some of the programming and interpretive software is out of date. I could create some updates for you if you like,” says Tech.

The clacking of the datapad’s buttons are the only noise in the ship.

“What?”

“The programming that lets you hack using your mind via the scomp link is not running as fast as it could be, and I could improve the haptic feedback from your legs to give you better balance over rough terrain,” explains Tech.

Echo goes icy cold.

“Are you saying I’m programmable?”

“Well, yes. Your cybernetic implants are, after all, computing parts. Your mind is like the central processing unit, while the implants take on other functionary roles.”

Echo is a good soldier. He’s been trained since birth for battle, then trained further to make ARC trooper. His squad died without him, Fives died without him, and he’s survived being blown up. There are very few things in the galaxy that are capable of frightening him. Learning this is one of them.

“Could someone reprogram me? Give me different memories or change my allegiances?”

Tech pauses. Echo can’t hear his fingers tapping away as Tech considers the question.

“At a guess, that is what was being attempted in your captivity on Skako Minor. In order to use you to your full effectiveness, it would have been best to erase any of the parts of your mind that were not related to Republic battle strategies and tactics. Since you were able to call out with your designation number, and retain your memories of growing up on Kamino and fighting in the war, their attempts to do so were overthrown,” says Tech with hardly a break for breath. “So I believe if anyone tried reprograming you like that, they would have a rather difficult time of it.”

Echo listens to the rambling explanation and tries to relax. Tech is trying to tell him that he’s in no danger of losing himself. It should be reassuring. Yet the fear is still present.

“Thanks, Tech,” says Echo anyway.

“Whatever for?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

The tapping resumes. “Would you like me to craft the updates?”

“Maybe… Maybe not quite yet,” says Echo.

Even though it’s Tech, and he just explained that Echo can’t be sliced or overridden, Echo still feels uneasy at the thought of someone simply uploading something into him. To improve him like he needs improving.

Echo made his peace with the prosthetics and the things he’s missed since being held captive and presumed dead. But the cybernetics are another story. He remembers being hooked up to computers, barely clinging onto himself. He remembers the feeling of hands digging around underneath his skin and the shock of electricity as parts were connected without his consent. Those are the things that keep him up at night.

[topguncortez]

its been a couple of days since i made the tough choice to cut ties and temporarily walk away from a place that i love really really deeply.

but i’ve had some time to reflect and come to some conclusions about myself.

now excuse me while i vent out loud:

1) the phrase “once an addict, always an addict” is true. just because i don’t take pills anymore doesn’t mean i haven’t found a way to feed the craving of being addicted to something. im not 100% sure what that addiction is; maybe it’s that im a sucker for pain, maybe it’s i can’t walk away when i know i should, maybe it’s fucking caffeine (it’s 97% caffeine).

2) everyone heals and handles things differently. again, back to my past with addiction; some addicts can heal with still being able to be around the thing they are addicted to. i learned a long time ago, i am not that person. i have a hard time knowing when to walk away, but once i do… its like breathing fresh air. it hurts like a bitch sometimes but its also one of the best things for you. sometimes we get so blind with those rose colored glasses on, that we truly can’t see our own faults until we step back and reflect

3) i’m an angry person. i always have been and probably always will be. i’ve dealt with a lot of shitty things in my life. i’ve lost people who didn’t deserve to be taken away. i’ve watched some of the most vile humans get away with horrible offenses. i have been abused and assaulted. i’m angry. and there’s little i can do to shake that anger. however, i can control it. i can lock it away and deal with it in a healthy manner than just let it explode all over the place.

4). God knows what’s best for you. now, i don’t mean to get all religious on yall. i have struggled with my faith for years. I went through a period of time of questioning who God is and what his intentions are. If this great and almighty God sent his son to die to end our suffering… why are people still suffering? I still struggle with my faith, but i am relearning to put my trust in him and know that He is putting things in my life he knows I can overcome.

And finally,

5) never feel bad for doing things for yourself. i have been so well trained to put other peoples feelings above my own. for years, i have bit my tongue and told myself “i can’t say that, that’ll hurt their feelings” and let people continue to roll over me. believe it or not… i hate conflict. i hate awkward situations. i hate feeling like im being suffocated and i can’t breathe. i have become more vocal (good and bad thing) in speaking up when i have been hurt. it’s a slow learning process and sometimes it comes back to bite me in the ass cause i’m thrust into another situation i don’t know how to handle and the anxiety builds and then there’s tears and all that shit. but i have learned i should never feel bad for doing things for myself.

anyway, i know this is just a long ass vent that nobody is gonna read, but i hope maybe, just maybe this reaches someone who has been feeling the same way i have these past couple months.

i know not everyone has a great support system in real life that they can rely on when things get hard. i can honestly tell you that without some of the people in my everyday life and online life being there and helping me and offering me an ear to listen while i vent and scream at the world… i don’t think i’d still be here. but i want yall to know, if you need a place to vent and scream at the world, i am here for you. and i’ll do whatever i can to get you the help and resources if you need it. or if you just wanna get shit off your chest.

i’m here for you.