#i had severe insomnia like a year back and I cried every minute when i havent sleep at night
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ayumunoya · 1 year ago
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I love sleeping but I also love staying up all night bc that’s when I have the most peace…
…and ideas!
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the-last-kenobi · 4 years ago
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Most of your fics absolutely destroyed me emotionally so, on my own risk, may I request #13 “You shouldn’t be this easy to carry" with Qui-Gon and padawan Obi-Wan? Thank you!
Ohhh I’m happy to write this one! Thank you! (Always pleased to hear I’ve emotionally wrecked innocent people lol)
From this various prompts list.
_
Qui-Gon descended the ramp of his ship with something less than his usual grace, his expression was rather sour. Other than that, he looked his usual self, untidy but comfortable and serene.
He waved to the attendant heading towards the ship, and bowed to a small mechanic droid that squeaked with excitement, ran in circles around him, and then darted off after the attendant.
Qui-Gon chuckled. He paused to take a deep breath, tasting the metallic scent of Coruscant on the air, but also the warm and familiar notes of the Temple, of home. It was good to be back. Tedious diplomatic assignments that ran well overtime were nothing worth dwelling on, especially when it was done alone.
“Master Jinn!” a warm voice called.
He turned his head and saw Shaak Ti walking towards him, a smile on her lovely face with its striking colors.
“Knight Ti,” he greeted her. “How are you?”
“I’m well,” she answered. “I’m just about to depart to Alderaan; it’s a royal wedding and I’m the token Jedi invitee,” she informed him, but there was no offense in her voice. Alderaan was well known to be genuinely welcoming, and had been more than courteous in their dealings with the Order for centuries on end.
“Enjoy it,” Qui-Gon advised her. “Weddings are rarely something you’d like to miss.”
“I will,” she promised. “Oh, is your Padawan around? I was hoping to catch him when he returned, he forgot to sign off on his departure notice and was scheduled for three shifts in the crèche, which he obviously missed.”
Qui-Gon’s head tilted to one side, and he frowned.
It was obvious that Shaak Ti believed that Obi-Wan had accompanied him on his mission, which had in fact been a solo assignment. The twenty-one-year-old Padawan had remained behind for class rotations.
And Obi-Wan had never missed... well, anything. He was notoriously early for everything, beyond punctual. It was almost annoying.
Perhaps he’d finally slipped into a belated teenage fit of laziness, or he’d fallen so behind on class work that he’d forgotten about the crèche. Both would be extremely out of character, but one instance of this in nearly nine years of training could perhaps be excused.
Shaak Ti was waiting for an answer.
“I’ll talk to him,” he promised, revealing nothing. “Thank you for letting me know. I had no idea.”
She waved it off. “These things happen. You have a good student on your hands; he’s easily forgiven.”
Qui-Gon smiled.
~
The door to their quarters opened for him with a casual wave of the hand. Jedi did not lock their doors often; privacy was an understood thing, something not casually breached. No Jedi would enter another’s rooms without first asking permission.
He wasn’t sure what he expected.
Obi-Wan in the common area, reading.
Or Obi-Wan out and about, somewhere off with some of his more trouble making friends. (Quinlan Vos.)
He was not expecting to find Obi-Wan huddled in the corner of their kitchenette, half-hidden in his cloak, knees drawn up under his chin, crying.
Obi-Wan saw him enter and flinched away, shuddering.
Qui-Gon stared.
The entire scene was so unexpected, so wrong, that for a full five seconds he simply stood there, unable to process it. Obi-Wan had buried his face in his knees and was attempting to stifle his tears, seemingly by holding his breath, which was only making him shake harder.
Qui-Gon jolted out of his paralysis and stepped nearer, dropping onto one knee, sensing that looming over his Padawan was not going to help.
“Padawan?” he asked cautiously.
Obi-Wan looked up reluctantly. His face was a sickly grey; his cheeks were bright red and his blue eyes were feverish. They darted around, seeming to fix on nothing.
“Obi-Wan,” the Master tried again, warily reaching out a hand and resting it on top of one of Obi-Wan’s, clenched around his knee.
Obi-Wan took a rattling breath, more tears spilling down his cheeks. “...What... day is it...?” he gasped.
Qui-Gon’s chest tightened with something close to terror. What in all the galaxy was going on here?
“It’s the 29th,” he said gently. “Taungsday. I returned a day late from my solo mission. Do you remember that?”
Obi-Wan’s tears had increased throughout the brief speech. “Y-yes.”
“All right,” said Qui-Gon, struggling to remain as calm and patient as possible. “All right. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Obi-Wan shook his head, his expression crumbling. Suddenly he very much resembled the boy Qui-Gon had met on Bandomeer, uncertain and frightened, although even then he had not cried. This was different.
“Are you sure?” Qui-Gon pressed.
Obi-Wan nodded, strangling a loud sob by clapping one hand over his mouth. He said something, but of course it was impossible to understand behind his clamped fingers.
“What?” asked his Master.
“...so...stupid,” Obi-Wan burst out angrily through his tears. “I just... don’t feel well.”
“Don’t feel well?” Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice in confusion. “You’re sick? Obi-Wan, why didn’t you just go to the Halls?”
Obi-Wan shuddered. More tears slid down over his flushed cheeks. “I...I...I fell,” he said, sounding deeply uncertain. “I was working, and it was late, and I fell. I think I fell. I can’t walk. I can barely move. I don’t know how long it’s been—”
Qui-Gon was already moving, alarm ringing in his head like sirens. In two seconds he had Obi-Wan in his arms, cradled like a child, his head resting under Qui-Gon’s chin.
“You shouldn’t be this easy to carry,” he said tensely. “You haven’t had anything to eat or drink since you fell?”
“Some... some water,” Obi-Wan murmured. His skin was blazing hot against Qui-Gon’s, a sick and feverish heat. He had stopped crying — his tears seemed to have stemmed from a combination of confusion and shame, not pain — but he seemed on the verge of passing out. “I... I got some water... don’t remember when...”
“Stay awake,” Qui-Gon ordered. He was striding down the hallways, ignoring the few bystanders who watched them pass with bewilderment and concern. He did send a grateful nod to one young woman who raised her comm in her hand at him, asking a silent question, and at his gesture raised it to her lips and murmured ‘Tell the Healers that Master Jinn is bringing in his Padawan. Have someone ready.’
Obi-Wan murmured something vague.
“Stay awake,” insisted Qui-Gon. “Don’t fall asleep.”
Obi-Wan moaned but nodded, forcing his eyes to stay open. “I...I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” The words came out harsh and insincere in Qui-Gon’s urgency, and he realized it, because he dropped a swift kiss to the top of the fevered head in apology. Obi-Wan relaxed ever so slightly.
They arrived in the Halls of Healing and were immediately received by a Healer and his apprentice, who had Obi-Wan safely tucked in a bed and monitored in less than two minutes. Obi-Wan had closed his eyes against the bright light and seemed in danger of falling asleep again.
“Stay awake just a little longer, Padawan Kenobi,” the Healer instructed kindly. “I’m fairly sure of your diagnosis but I have to be more certain before I can administer treatment. Then you can sleep.”
“Yes, Healer,” rasped the young man.
Qui-Gon watched from the wall, his hands tucked deep in his sleeves to hide how they trembled. The shock of the last quarter hour was setting in, and he scrambled to keep his wits about him, worried about what this diagnosis might be. He still remembered Obi-Wan’s confusion about the day, his bewildered tears, and that memory was not going to be going away anytime soon.
He had been far too light in his arms.
Just how long had Obi-Wan been trapped in their rooms, unable to call for help and too confused to figure out a way around that? How long had he gone without eating and sleeping?
He found out.
An hour later, Obi-Wan was fast asleep, hooked up to an IV and blissfully pain-free due to a dose of pills he had managed to swallow. The Healer turned to Qui-Gon with a weary smile.
“You’re all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine. I’ve just returned from a mission, but I wasn’t hurt.”
“That’s good to know. I was asking about shock, however,” the Healer said gently. “I know this can’t have been a pleasant homecoming.”
Qui-Gon’s throat tightened, but he said nothing.
The Healer seemed to understand. “Obi-Wan has contracted a strain of the flu,” he explained, moving past the brief surge of emotion. “As you know, most strains of the flu are easily combated these days and many species have evolved or inoculated to the point where it’s hardly a concern. But sometimes the flu is stronger. In this case, it’s clear that it’s job was made easy. I don’t think Padawan Kenobi was eating or sleeping properly before the sickness began to set in. It would explain the severity of his malnutrition, and his confusion.”
Qui-Gon’s eyes flickered to the bed where Obi-Wan was sleeping, the fever still burning in his cheeks.
“...How long?” he asked.
“A few days at most,” the Healer said. “But I suspect it’s a habit that’s related to stress and overwork. Does Obi-Wan struggle with stress or insomnia?”
The Master hesitated a moment, opening his mouth to deny it, and then stopping to think better of it.
“...Maybe,” he admitted. The hesitation stung. Shouldn’t he know? “He’s very private with his habits when we’re in Temple. He prefers to study alone in his room, and we usually only manage to share one meal a day during his busier semesters, if that.”
The Healer nodded. He didn’t look or sound at all accusatory when he said, “That’s understandable. I’m going to suggest keeping a closer eye on that. Don’t force him out of his comfort zone, at least not right away, but make sure he understands that three square meals — or better yet, a light meal or snack every two or three hours — is expected of him. As is sleep.”
Qui-Gon nodded, his throat tightening again to the point of pain.
“Rest easy, Master Jinn,” said the Healer, briefly laying a supportive hand on the taller Jedi’s shoulder. “He’ll pull through this. The illness, and everything else. I believe it’s nothing more than a bad habit formed from good intentions. There are crueler demons out there.”
“Yes, I know,” said Qui-Gon. And he did know. One didn’t reach Jedi Mastery without learning the galaxy for what it was.
But he didn’t think he would ever quite move past the shock of today, of carrying his adult apprentice in his arms, sick to the point of tears and helplessness, and then discovering that he could possibly have prevented this if he had paid a little more attention to Obi-Wan’s work habits.
Well. They would, as the Healer said, overcome this.
Qui-Gon drew up a chair to the side of the bed, resolving to wait until Obi-Wan woke, and slowly reached out and set his hand next to his Padawan’s. After a moment, Obi-Wan stirred, and even in his sleep he gave a contented sigh and shifted his hand, his fingers searching blindly for his Master’s hand. Qui-Gon took it and held it tightly.
They had overcome so many things in nearly a decade together.
They could handle this.
And besides, Qui-Gon told himself, even after Obi-Wan was Knighted, he would always be here to watch his back.
He would never abandon Obi-Wan.
_
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ageofevermore · 4 years ago
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Golden
summary → in which Harry doesn’t understand how he can possibly love such a small baby so painfully much. 
word count → 1.7k
note → this might require a few deep breaths because oh lord, i really laid the fluff down thick. 
add yourself to my taglist
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When you and Harry had fallen pregnant it was unexpected. You had been talking about starting a family in the near future, but hadn't felt the need to fall in deep. You were aware of the problems you might face with natural conception, especially due to the stress of being employed by the entertainment industry, but just three days after your conversation, the both of you had gotten carried away in a moment of beautiful love.
You had been on birth control ever since your seventeenth birthday when your mother figured you might begin to explore your sexual desires. It was something she was quite open about, making it easier to tell her that you were seeing a green eyed wonder called, Harry.
It was just after a morning run through LA that you took a test. It was some cheap brand, an impulse buy after laying in bed worrying about your lack of protection weeks prior. You had been paranoid for days, your cycle abnormally long and lacking the usual symptoms of tension and muscle aches. Instead, you had full fledges cramps and headaches.
When the first test came back positive you almost fainted on the floor of your en-suite. Harry was just downstairs and heard the unusual commotion. You were usually light on your feet, a classically trained ballet dancer as a child. It was worrisome to find you doubled over on your hands and knees beside the tipped over nightstand. Harry had immediately rushed to your aid, collecting your frame in his hands and pressing soft kissing to your forehead until he could get your attention. Your eyes were dazed, hands balling into the fabric of his thick black jumper. You were completely beside yourself with joy.  
"What's a'matter, moppet?" He mumbled against your forehead, pulling your legs over his lap so her could bring you closer. He softly pried your hands away from his jumper, kissing your clenched knuckles fervently. "Scaring me, love. What's got you so worked up?"
The thought of the positive pregnancy test in your palm brought on a new wave of tears. The tip of your nose trembled as you broke into a wide grin, breaking down completely into Harry's chest with gleefully shocked giggled. Harry didn't waste a minute, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you closer to his chest. Your legs wrapped around him like a koala, but it only made this moment sweater for you. For now, you were the only one that knew about the growing baby making a home for itself inside of you. For years you had overlooked how special this moment would be.
"Pet." Harry cooed, bringing his fingers down your spine. The metal of his rings was cold when he lifted your shirt and tickled your back with scratches. "Gotta tell me what's got you so giddy."
Uncoordinatedly you smashed your lips against Harry's. Your teeth knocked against his harshly, but all you could manage was a smile that left his lips wet, "We're parents." Your whispered.
-
The end of your pregnancy was brutal, complete with unbearable braxton hicks and obscene swelling. You had been riddled with insomnia for weeks as well, and the throbbing in your fingers was brought on by the wedding band stuck between your knuckles that even elevation and heating pads couldn't help. Harry had done his absolute best to make you comfortable, but even his hour long foot rubs and 3am snack runs did little for you. None of that was relevant now, nor was the stitching holding your torn vagina together. Your baby, sweet Indie Anne Styles, was here. She was perfect, and she was finally before your eyes.
Her warm pink body was flush against your chest. Harry stood off to the side, tears blurring his vision as he took in the picture before him. His first true love was embracing their own little mini. He had no doubts that his little Indie was a product of the truest breed of young love. Indie, Harry wasn't so sure the big name fit her little body and button nose.
"Look at her, lovie." You sniffled, running your finger down her cheek. She had finally stopped wailing, settling into your warmth and letting herself fall asleep in your embrace. You were certain birth was tiring for babies, glad to see that your little love was resting up now and getting ready to experience the life you and Harry had shaped just for her. "She's perfect."
"Knew she would be, love." Harry came closer to the both of you, bending down to press a kiss to your sticky forehead. He loosely grabbed the newborns hand, chocking on a sob when she gripped his thumb. Her grip was tight for such a tiny human, and already Harry was sure he wouldn't be able to live every day with a heart so heavy with love.
Your husband was barely keeping himself together over your shoulder as he admired your daughter. You had gently coaxed a pacifier between her lips after watching her squirm, and the soft pink plastic only brought Harry a new wave of overwhelming love and protection. He never wanted anything to hurt his littlest love, his precious baby Indie.
"Thank you, pet." He cried into your crown, pressing gentle kissed to your hair and face at an uncomfortable angle. He didn't want to hurt you, but he needed to thank you for this moment. It was everything he had always dreamed of and so much more, "Thank you for her. Thank you."
-
It had taken Harry three weeks to call Indie her name, having a habit of referring to the newborn as 'his little angel'. You didn't mind the title, but hearing her name on the tip of his tongue made you weak. He had taken great to becoming a father, like you knew he would. You had never had any doubts about just how unconditionally Harry would love your little human. He was up with you during every feed, changing all the diapers until you were healed enough to bare standing at the change table for long stretches.
He bought only the best for his Indie too. Her nighttime routine was prepped with high end vegan moisturizers and ointments. Her diapers were made of organic, non toxic, vegan materials. He didn't care for prices, only quality. Harry was as relatively humble man. He never talked about wealth or thought it as anything valuable, but he also, despite what it seems, didn't splurge on high end products often. He had his limits and boundaries, but his money was used wisely and not thrown away on material. He refused to let Indie soak in a cheap diaper though, even when you assured him that most diapers were exceptionally made and there was no need to spend a few hundred dollars every month.
It didn't take long for Indie to form more defined features, one being her insanely bright blue eyes and thin strands of soft blonde hair. You weren't quite sure where your baby girl came from to be honest, seeing as your eyes weren't near the same shade of color as hers nor were Harry's. Her hair was ungodly as well. Almost like your favorite disney film, her locks were strikingly golden. It had only taken a month before you caught Harry above her crib, whispering a fond, "Good morning, golden girl."
Golden had been her name since that dewy spring morning. You couldn't see her as anything but, adoring the nickname Harry had brought upon the three of you. It was odd when you had family visiting and they would refer to your precious Golden as Indie.
It was just after two am when the shrill screams of your infant severed the sleep you and Harry were catching up on. His arm was thrown around your waist, and for a minute neither one of you moved. She was going through a growth spurt meaning the usually laid back baby you shared a house with was needy and desperate for her fathers attention and your satin milk. It was hard to give her what she wanted at times. You knew she was hungry, but she didn't want to leave Harry's arms.
That had happened just the other day. With the luck you were working on, you had forgotten to pack away another pre-made bottle. She was eating so frequently you hadn't had the need to pump, but that decision came back to bite you when she woke up from her nap hungry and only wanting her daddy. You both had eventually figured out a way to please her, but it had been frustrating and stressful on the three of you alike. It was safe to say you were always on top of bottles now.
When Harry finally did pull away from your warmth, he kissed your temple before feeling the room, not before you heard the last of his mutter, "I'm coming, Goldie."
You were sure your heart exploded in that moment. When you saw him again, this time with a squirmy baby impatiently suckling on the nipple of a pacifier, tears were gathering in your eyes. You smiled widely down at your little love, affectionately stroking her cheek. You settle her against your chest, wincing when she latches, but relaxing when her sucks become rhythmic and predictable.
In the darkness Harry couldn't make out your teary smile, instead just moving around the master and preparing another diaper for Goldie, having felt the wet one when he picked her up from the crib moments ago. He could hear you praising the baby for doing such a good job, promising that it was okay if she woke up every thirty minutes, but what caught him off guard was when you brushed your thumb over her cheek and whispered, "Look just as pretty as your Daddy, Goldie."
"Y'heard that, huh?" He stuttered. He knew you weren't too fond of the first few nicknames he had given Goldie, and he was almost fearful that you would reject his shortened version of Golden.
You rolled your eyes softly at his question, patting a patterned on your baby girl's diapered bottom as she nursed with sleepy eyes. "I think it's cute, fits her."
Harry smiled widely at the pair of you, the dim moonlight capturing the perfect moment in his memory. His love for you and Goldie somehow got deeper every day. He never wanted to leave this stripped down midnight moment. This perfectly golden moment.
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kyber-crystal · 4 years ago
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➳ good enough || s.r.
summary: after a long week you’re left completely exhausted. steve comforts you and helps you unwind. 
words: ~1.6k 
warnings: slight mentions of violence, angst, angst-to-fluff, a lil friends-to-lovers (i’m SORRY literally all of my oneshots are some variation of this but i just can’t resist), minor age gap? (if you call 5 years a lot). also civil war happened but they resolved it so 2017 au teeheeeeee
a/n: this sucked omg. why is my writing going downhill. also this is a red-room-turned-agent-reader who helped steve adjust when he came out of the ice bc i love cliche love backstories hehe...i tried to be very descriptive here but that failed oops. this is prolly one of my worst fics ever (it’s unedited) but my other one got deleted so i’m uploading this in its place!
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Steve knew something was wrong the minute you came back from your mission. You always acted a bit off the first few days following your return, but for some reason, today seemed different. For the past week you'd been blatantly avoiding his gaze, refusing to meet his eye unless forced to. 
You don’t even return Sam and Bucky’s sarcastic one-liners - and you always make sure to send a cheesy joke right back at them. It’s not typical for you to be so quiet and reserved like this; frankly, it scared him. 
He knows that as a former Red Room assassin, you never had it easy. As the youngest of the twenty-eight dancer-disguised warriors, you were merely eight years old when you were admitted (Natasha was thirteen). At eight, there was much you didn’t know. You were naive, easily shaped to conform to the strict rules they’d set out for you. 
But despite all the hell you’d gone through in the past, you managed to find it in your heart to forgive and create a compassionate nature towards others. Especially him. He always wondered what he deserved to get someone like you-- he felt more than lucky to have you in his life.
It was 4 a.m, and his insomnia was at its worst. It had peaked ever since he’d come out of the ice - he was 27, had so much of his life before him before it was abruptly put to a stop. But then he met you, with your warm eyes and kind smile that was such a sharp contrast to the girl you used to be. 
The sound of muffled shouts coming from across the compound makes him look up - he sets down his mug of coffee and immediately heads down the hall to see what’s going on. 
Steve carefully pushed open the glass doors to the training facility, seeing you standing in front of a punching bag and attacking the hell out of it with an almost murderous look in your eyes - one he’d never seen before. The tape around your knuckles were splattered with your crimson blood. Despite the dim lighting, he could see the outlines of fresh bruises all over your arms and shoulders. The sight made bile rise up in his throat. He felt his heart break.
Every heavy blow of your fists was accompanied by a ground-shaking boom that echoed across the gym, unleashing the monster trapped inside. You pick up the pace and increase your speed, channelling all your pent-up anger and frustration and guilt into what you were doing. 
It hurts. You would give anything to get rid of the pain. It hurts like hell, but you would trade living a regret-ridden life for a guilt-free one in a heartbeat if that’s what it takes. Besides, you’ve experienced far worse before-- six-inch knife wounds, bullets to the abdomen and upper arms, broken ribs and noses. This should be a walk in the park.
The concerned super-soldier stood several feet away and observed you, silently watching you murdering the poor punching bag that’s barely withholding all the fury you’ve poured into pummeling it; it was about to burst at the seams.
“Y/N.” You didn’t hear him and kept going, so he repeated himself again. “Y/N.”
“What?” you snapped, keeping your gaze trained in front of you. “What the hell do you want?”
“Shouldn’t you be in bed? It’s late. What’s keeping you up at this hour?”
“Nothing,” you replied plainly, but he caught the brief flash of a grief-stricken look cross over your expression and your eyes glaze over, “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”
“You clearly aren’t. Y/N, talk to me. Please.”
“I told you, I’m,” you increased the force of your fists with each word you spoke, as you felt your eyes stinging, “just, fine!”
“Y/N...” he whispered, so softly, as if he was afraid he’d break you with a single sentence. 
That was the last straw. The tears spilled over. Your vision began to blur as you didn’t even bother to wipe them away. The broad-shouldered super-soldier, your fists, and the punching bag and everything insight are turned into blurry, shapeless blobs. You try blinking them away but it was no use; but you keep going. 
“Please tell me what’s going on. Tell me what’s wrong...please don’t shut me out. I only want to help.”
“Leave me alone,” you repeated with a growl, arms now aching with the pain of a thousand tiny needles. But he doesn’t, and he stays firmly rooted in his place. You hastily wiped at your nose with your hands. “For gods’ sake, Rogers, leave,” smack “me,” smack “alone.”
Your last punch was so hard the walls shook and caused Steve to take a step back in alarm. But after that, all the fight is gone from you. Your knees buckle from underneath you and your shoulders slump in defeat and you crumble to the floor. A sound so raw and hoarse escapes your lips and it sounds nothing near human. 
The metallic scent of blood mixed with your salty tears and sweat overwhelms your senses and makes your head spin. Suddenly the act of taking in a single breath seems impossible and your chest tightens, preventing you from being able to breathe properly. 
The ever-so-fragile wall that had been struggling to hold your tears at bay finally broke. 
Heaving, wrenching sobs clawed their way up your throat and tore through your already weary heart - escaping in broken, agonized cries and heart-wrenching howls that make Steve feel like his heart is deliberately shattering into a million, tiny fragments of glass. He doesn’t know what to do because for the first time in his life, the woman he’s always seen with her head held high and an unmatched confidence that could almost put the President to shame was vulnerable, letting it all out at once. 
Steve doesn’t ask any questions nor does he push to to speak up, but silently comes over to you and wraps you into a tight hug, cradling you against his chest. Your arms find their way around his torso, pressing your forehead against the soft cotton of his T-shirt as his free hand makes a gentle trek up and down your back. 
As if you were a delicate flower, he carefully brought your head closer and pressed a kiss to your temple, letting his lips linger for a second longer than normal to reassure you. To reassure you that everything would in fact, be okay. Because he was there.
“Don’t leave me...please don’t leave me,” you choked out as he tightened his hold on you. “Please don’t leave.”
“I won’t, darling, I promise,” he cooed, lips brushing against your forehead, “it’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay, we’re okay. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”
Then, the suffocating pressure is eased off your chest, little by little. You began sinking into the comfort of his warm arms and soothing words. And with his reminder that you didn’t have to go through hell and back alone, because he’d be there, you began to heal. 
...
ONE YEAR LATER
“...Joining the Avengers has been one hell of a ride. I went through hell and back, had my fair share of ups and downs and fought in countless wars. But along the way I’ve been blessed with the privilege of getting a built-in second family and making some of the best friends I’ve had in my life. I met my soulmate.” Steve gazed down at you warmly as you spoke, “I honestly had no idea things would ever work out like this but now, I can’t imagine a life without knowing who all these amazing people are.
“It’s been 15 months since the day he saved me.” Everyone immediately fell silent. "I had hit a very, very low point in my life and I was just about ready to give up. It was like I was screaming into a void and nobody was there to catch me when I fell. I felt so helpless and lost. Stuck. If Steve hadn’t come along at the time he did...I don’t know what would’ve have happened instead. So, Steve...I want to thank you...for everything. I can’t even begin to list all the things you’ve sacrificed or done for my sake and I owe you. From this point forward I promise to always stick by your side no matter how rough things get. I promise to love you at your best and your worst; whenever you need me I’ll always be here. No amount of anything I do will ever match what you’ve done, but I can promise you this: I’ll love you until the day I die, ‘til death do us part.
“’Till death do us part,” Steve repeated, smiling through the tears in his eyes. “God, I love you.”
You broke into a gorgeous grin that had him weak at the knees.  “I love you too.”
“The rings, please,” Fury nodded over in Peter’s direction, and the teenager handed them over to the two of you. “Agent Y/N Y/L/N, do you take Captain Steven Grant Rogers to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do,” you said softly, as you put on Steve’s ring.
He turned to the super-soldier. “And Captain Steven Grant Rogers, do you take Agent Y/N Y/L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Steve took your hand in his and slid the diamond ring over your finger, “I do.”
“Very well, then,” Fury smiled widely, a rare sight. “You may now kiss your bride.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Steve rushed forward and pulled you close, dipping you down low before bringing you back up and kissing you passionately. 
His warm lips serving as a reminder of all that you still had left to live for, that you had so much of your life ahead of you. A life with him.
...
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steve rogers/chris evans tags: @speechlessxx @angrybirdcr @stainedsouvenir @marvelfanatic16
permanent tags<3: @poesflygirl @sandwitch-god
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aki-mochi · 3 years ago
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Ch. 4: The Truth
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WARNING: contains vulgar and sensitive scenes of human butchering
Several hours have passed since Levi had taken down Zeke and dragged him to where Y/n was. His emotions were going fucking haywire in his mind. He loved Y/n. God, did he love her. They’ve been together for four years since the tragic 57th expedition. She was the only survivor of his Special Operations Squad, other than Eren. The countless nights he spent with her in his arms as she slept, the long hours of quiet talking as she played with his hair to lure him to sleep due to his insomnia, the passionate nights as he loved her between the crisp white sheets of his bed, and when they both ventured beyond Wall Maria and saw the ocean for the first time. She meant everything to him and was there when he needed her the most, and he for her.
But then he recalled her betrayal back in the forest. It pissed him off to no end. He was hurt. He was supposed to trust her and yet she ran away with that fucking bastard of a monkey, leaving him to die at the hands of his comrades who were turned into pure Titans because of that damn wine. Levi growled lowly to himself as he glanced back towards Y/n and Zeke as they remained unconscious, secretly relieved that she survived the explosion caused by Zeke.
Driving the wagon as the sun started to set, his ears perked as his ashen eyes glanced over where Y/n was laying as she stirred from her unconscious state. Pulling at the reins, he stopped his horse and climbed into the back of the wagon and watched as she winced in pain when she sat up, probably from the massive headache she might have or from when Zeke forced himself onto her. Her eyes roamed about to clear her vision before they landed on the stoic man before her.
“Levi?”
“Oh, so you wanna talk now?” He snarled. “You’re lucky you survived with only minor injuries. But this one won’t be minor.” He said as he stood from his spot and stalked his way over to her form with a menacing glare.
“Levi…what are you doing? Please stop, you’re scaring me.” Y/n quivered when he got in front of her.
“I can’t help it. I’ve been waiting to do this since I saw you run away with Zeke. So damn right you should be scared of me. I hope you know who is in control.” He stared down at her with a cold look. It happened in a blur as Levi kicked her harshly in the torso. Her eyes widened in utter pain as her breath was knocked out of her before collapsing down onto her side. Her arms held her stomach as she wheezed and violently coughed. Tears pricked her eyes as she glanced up at the man she loved through the tresses of her hair as he stared down at her with a malice glare.
“Levi….why….?” Y/n asked between breaths.
“What do you mean? It should be fairly obvious, traitor.”
Levi saw the look on her face, seeing how heartbroken she looked after he had kicked her. He understood now. “Oh, I see….you think I saved you…because you think I love you, am I right?”
He knelt down and reached to move her hair away from her face so he could get a good look at her to make sure she was listening. “Let me get this through your head, princess. I only saved you….so I could be the one to kill you with my bare hands.” He glared.
Y/n’s eyes widened at his words. Kill her with his bare hands? She sacrificed everything, even her own friends, to keep him alive and he wants to kill her. She was trying to protect her lover from the hands of Zeke and his tainted wine but all he saw her as was a traitor. She couldn’t really blame him, she would see herself as a traitor too if she was in his shoes. But she had to try explaining the situation to him so he would understand why she had done what she did. She grit her teeth and tightly shut her eyes as tears fell down her face. She laid her head against the floor of the wagon, not having the strength to speak her words as the pain in her stomach was too great from where he kicked her.
Levi furrowed his brows at her, his heart tugging harshly at the sight of her but knew it was for a good reason. Standing up, he tied her hands behind her back and let her be for now as he walked back over to his seat at the front of the wagon. He watched her until Zeke started to stir from his spot.
“Morning shitbag.” He snarled.
Zeke’s vision focused as he tried to move. Looking down, he saw that his arms are tied securely behind his back as well as a thunder spear sticking out of his abdomen while the string was tied around his neck. Gritting his teeth, he felt an unpleasant feeling in his stomach before puking his guts out onto the floor of the wagon by his head. Y/n cringed from the smell and wanted to throw up herself before Levi’s voice spoke to her.
“Let me show you something Y/n. This is how you take care of the enemy. Tie them up and put them in a position where they can’t move or else they’ll get blown up.” He pointed as her eyes fixated on him as he spoke. She said nothing as she lowered her head.
“But Y/n, I want you to tell me something.” Levi grunted as he drew out a blade from his gear and came closer to her once again.
“Levi, what are you-!“ Her sentence was cut short as he held the blade up against her neck, the pressure forceful enough to make a cut along her skin as crimson blood dribbled out. Fear stretched itself on her face as she looked up at him, a harsh glare on his own face.
“I just wanna know where’d you get the idea that you could run away from me and survive. Because looking at you right now makes me want to kill you.” His voice was cold and demanding.
“Levi, please! Untie me and let me explain!” Y/n begged.
“Explain huh? What could you possibly explain now? How could you let him poison our comrades? Or how you left me to die?” His voice grew louder as he spoke; moving the blade away from her neck and raising it above his head as he prepared to strike.
“Either way there’s nothing to explain now over what you did for this hairy bastard!” He yelled as the blade came down to slash Zeke’s feet in half, making him scream in agony from the pain.
Tears welled in his eyes as he spoke with a raspy voice. “See Y/n? I told you he’d hate you even after you saved his life.”
At this, Levi’s glare slightly faltered. “What did you just say hairball?”
It was uncomfortably quiet between the three of them. Levi tried to understand what Zeke had said before he looked towards Y/n for an explanation. “Y/n, what is he talking about?”
“You don’t get it, do you? I did it for you! He told me he wouldn’t give you the tainted wine if I went with him! I love you Levi! I just wanted you safe!” She cried.
Levi just huffed at her response. “Stop talking nonsense. I saw you two in the carriage! Don’t lie to me-!”
“No, you don’t understand!” Y/n cut him off. “I tried to stop him but when he took my gun I was vulnerable!”
His eyes widened at her words. “Vulnerable? Is that what happened?” He looked over at Zeke who laid in his spot, he could see the smugness behind his eyes even if he was in pain from getting his feet sliced off. Levi’s glare darkened. It took every ounce of both their strength not to shiver in fear. Levi’s never looked so pissed, and it’s been a while since Y/n had seen that look.
“You took advantage of her?! You asshole!” He quickly raised his blade once more and started to mercilessly cut at Zeke’s legs. “HOW *slice* DARE *slice* YOU *slice* TOUCH *slice* HER *slice*!? If I can’t kill you right now, I’ll slice you up into tiny pieces!” He yelled as he continued to cut inch by inch of his legs off his body like he was a chunk of raw meat. Zeke screamed, his voice getting louder with each painful cut. Y/n couldn’t watch the bloody scene as she closed her eyes and turned her head away, wanting to cover her ears to mute out the sounds if her hands weren’t tied behind her back.
Levi panted slightly when he was finished before giving a growl. “And I’ll take you where you’ll meet your end.”
As Zeke went unconscious again, Levi clicked his tongue and went back to the front of the wagon. Grabbing the reins of his horse, he snapped them to make the horse move towards his destination. Levi drove for a good hour, watching as the sun gave its last little rays of light before dark clouds embedded the sky. Feeling a few drops of rain fall onto his clothes, he stopped the wagon for a minute and climbed into the back of the wagon towards Y/n. His eyes softened at her sleeping form. Even though his heart ached for what she did, he wasn’t heartless. After gently cutting the rope from her wrists, he took off his green scout cloak and covered her up to somewhat shield her from the downpour that was about to come. He moved a few strands of her loose hair away from her face before stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers as she slept. Quietly, not to wake her, Levi made his way back to the front of the wagon to continue his drive when it began to rain.
Letting out a sigh, he glanced back at her once more as he spoke softly. “Don’t worry, Y/n. He can’t hurt you if I’m here. So, just keep sleeping…I’ll protect you…”
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vexfulfolly · 4 years ago
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The Fondest Memories
hi @cosmicpines I was your gifter for @codesecretsanta!!! I hope you enjoy!
It seemed like a great idea, bringing Aelita into the real world and enrolling her at their school. It wasn’t like they didn’t have time to plan things out— to make sure her transition was as smooth as possible— because they had plenty of time to do so. Whether or not that time was spent agonizing over details that were practically meaningless until confronted later. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there was their daily motto for almost an entire year. 
So they weren’t exactly thinking it all the way through when they created Aelita’s new identity. At a glance, it was watertight. No one would dare to look too deep into anyone associated with the de la Robbias. Looking at Odd’s records was an absolute mess, so why even bother with Aelita’s? 
It was a quick way to get her in the door and out of deep scrutiny, but that in and of itself presented problems. Like right now. It was a month before winter break and each warrior’s family was making plans to bring their children home for the holidays. Except Aelita. 
As it stood, there were only two viable options; someone had to take Aelita home with them (which would be the markedly tougher option), or someone would have to stay behind with her. Despite being somewhat acclimated to Earth, she was still wobbling on fawn-like legs during social situations. Or most situations, granted she was unsupervised. 
Which was what brought everyone together on a crisp afternoon in early November, piled into Jérémie’s room and in deep discussion.
“I hate to say it, but I can’t stay,” Jérémie sighed. “My parents have already booked a flight for me. They thought having a tropical Christmas would be a good idea for some reason.” 
To add insult to injury, he sounded truly apologetic. 
“I’ll be around the corner, but granted I don’t stay at the dorms anyway, my parents definitely won’t take well to me “sneaking off” during family time,” Yumi grimaced, making sure her displeasure over the last few words was clear. 
If the rest of the conversation went as positively as this first two minutes had, they were all screwed. The only two people that remained were Odd and Ulrich— the two people most likely to want to stay at Kadic through the break. 
Odd snorted. “My parents won’t even notice if I’m here or there, but they did book train tickets. If I never showed, they wouldn’t care. So, what say you, good buddy? Am I staying behind or have you already worked it out?” 
Every eye fell on Ulrich in anticipation. 
“I’m staying,” he said simply. 
He was met with several sighs of relief, and one disappointed Odd. “You’re really gonna make me go?” He pouted, though it sounded more like a demand. 
“Yeah, otherwise Jim will get suspicious of too many of us staying behind. Besides, you’ll be able to let Kiwi play in the snow without worrying about getting caught.” 
The resulting whine from the blonde was a cross between exasperation and resignation, and Ulrich had never heard a sound so sweet. Aelita decided she’d make presence known at that point, carefully patting the blonde on the back as he grumbled. “Well, what do you even do over a break? Especially the winter one?” She asked. 
Ulrich shrugged. “Winter stuff.” 
The topic was dropped. 
The first day of the winter break was reserved exclusively for seeing the gang off. Most kids were heading home, though a teeny-tiny minority stayed behind. Ulrich and Aelita were now a part of that minority. 
By the time everyone had left the school, and the halls no longer buzzed with sound, dinner was ending and it was almost curfew. Aelita and Ulrich had spaghetti and meatballs together— much to Odd’s vocal displeasure when he saw it on that evening’s menu— and parted once they reached the dorms. 
“What will we be doing tomorrow?” Aelita asked. 
Ever the over-communicator, Ulrich glanced out the window at the blanket of snow that never seemed to stop growing. “I’ll introduce you to normal winter stuff. Dress warm, we’ll be outside,” he said before waving. “Good night.” 
The next morning found Ulrich walking Aelita through the woods. They wound through thickets and tall snow banks, truly getting to experience what winter had to offer. It was a quiet walk (though, at this point, it was more of a hike than a walk). As they approached the tree line, Aelita’s emerald eyes caught sight of the factory from between the bare trunks. 
“The factory?” She blinked, like it was the last place she’d expect to see. “Why are we here?”
“We’re not here for the factory,” Ulrich started. The duo broke through the edge of the forest and basked in the midday sun. It was then that Aelita noticed that the water that acted like a moat was frozen. 
“We’re here for the lake.” 
Suffice to say, without ice skates, music, and other skaters, the duo were nothing but inelegant. Ulrich taught Aelita how to slide about on the ice, how to skid into something resembling a stop, and getting her to glide backwards. Eventually their ice skating devolved into races around the factory, and to hockey— which they played with two tree branches and a pine cone. 
By the time they started heading back to the school, the sky was dimming. Aelita’s cheeks were cherry red and her breath was coming in short puffs of exhaustion, but the grin on her lips was the most genuine thing. Ulrich even found his own lips tilting upward at the sound of her elated laughter. 
“Oh, that was wonderful, Ulrich!” She beamed, bouncing to and fro through the snow banks. “Can we do this again tomorrow?”
He fought off a chuckle. “Sure. I can show you the other stuff later.” 
Though her curiosity was piqued, she didn’t inquire further about the “other stuff”. Ulrich was coming to realize that she liked surprises. 
Aelita hummed happily the entire walk back to Kadic. The thought made Ulrich warm. When they stumbled back indoors, the fiery sensation of needles on bare skin told the duo they’d been out a bit too long. The back of Ulrich’s thighs were on fire, and Aelita’s fingers cried out in pain. 
She was wincing and nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot when Ulrich pulled her out of her head. 
“There’s only one cure to freezer burn,” he started leading her to the cafeteria, though dinner wasn’t going to be served for hours. “C’mon, I’ll show you how to make it.” 
When they made it into the cafeteria, Ulrich made straight for the kitchen doors, which gave Aelita pause. Students weren’t allowed in the kitchen on a good day— what made Ulrich think trying to get in there over winter break would be a better idea? Even then, one of the lunch ladies was probably in there starting on dinner. They’d be caught in no time, so what was Ulrich planning? 
“You coming, Princess?” 
Aelita had been so deep in thought that she’d completely stopped walking, and was staring intently at Ulrich’s relaxed form. 
“Are you sure that—“
“We’ll be fine. Trust me.” 
With Ulrich acting as cocksure and confident as Odd, Aelita could do nothing more than follow behind him and hope for the best. The moment the door swished shut behind her, Ulrich was greeting Glenda with a nod before heading to the opposite side of the kitchen. He flitted in and out of cupboards and pantry doors before placing a shallow pot on the stove. 
He was still gathering things here and there when Aelita asked, “Why aren’t we getting in trouble?”
Ulrich placed two mugs side by side on the counter. “Odd and I have had our fair share of early mornings and late evenings. Glenda’s always the first one in and the last to leave. Let’s just say, she’s fine with us being here so long as the other students don’t know and we pick up after ourselves.”
Aelita didn’t know why she was so surprised by that fact. Of course, every warrior had their fair share of trauma from Xana. If Odd and Ulrich suffered from nightmares or insomnia, Aelita was no one to judge. Shaking herself from her thoughts, she watched as Ulrich melted a good amount of chocolate in the pot before mixing in some milk. He stirred it lightly for a few minutes more before splitting the contents of the pan between the two mugs. He added a tad extra milk to each one before passing the pinkette a plastic spoon. 
Ulrich tilted his mug in her direction, as if to toast. “To winter break?” He asked. 
“To winter break,” she replied. 
Their cups clinked together, and the second day of winter break came to a close. 
“Since when did you know how to cook?” Aelita asked later that evening. “I didn’t take you as one to— not to offend— be knowledgeable about it.”
Ulrich chuckled lightly. “I’m a terrible cook, I just know how to make hot chocolate. My mother taught me when I was younger. Every year we’d play hockey in brook behind the house, and when we came back we’d make hot chocolate to warm us up.”
Ulrich hasn’t said that many words directly to Aelita for almost as long as they’ve known each other. 
Aelita smiles tentatively. “That’s… really nice.”
Ulrich hums warmly before waving good night to the girl. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early,” he says. 
And Aelita can’t stymie the excited laugh that bubbles up from within. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” 
Even as they walk their separate ways, Aelita likes to think she sees a ghost of a smile on his lips in the reflection on the windows. 
By the time winter break is over, Aelita has been officially inducted into the exclusive group of students given kitchen rights. Four days after starting classes once again, Aelita finds herself standing in the kitchen at half past the witching hour, wondering why her world weary body brought her here. When Glenda sees the girl half asleep in her cup of cocoa, she simply gives the girl a nudge and pushes her out. “Wait! I didn’t get to do the dishes!” She tries to argue. 
“Get some sleep before classes start, and I might forgive ‘ya,” Glenda tuts, and Aelita knows that the lunch lady has won this round. 
When Aelita curls up in her bed, anxieties and nightmares long forgotten, she takes in the lingering scene of hot chocolate in the air and thinks about Ulrich and the week of shrieking laughter and restrained joy they shared. 
Aelita sleeps through the first three classes and shuffles down for lunch looking like death warmed over, but Glenda serves her the best part of the lasagna with a knowing look, and the young girl dines with her friends. 
She feels more like a living, breathing human at that moment than during any other. 
To her, the most human emotion isn’t rage or something as simple as love, she thinks it’s the gleeful innocence of playing in the snow on a cold day, and the creature comfort that is fuzzy socks and diamond snow. 
She no longer feels in binary and thinks in CSS. 
The girl that is Aelita Stones is born on a cloudy day in December, and she is utterly grateful to the boy who pushed her into the wild and wonderful world she now resides in (even if he pushed her into a snowbank to do it).
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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago
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Best Part of Me -Chapter 83
Warnings: none
Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @alievans007​
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The call comes shortly before four in the morning; the shrill ring and the incessant vibration of the phone against the nightstand startling him awake. Tyler groans at the intrusion; annoyed by the abrupt end to what had been an uncharacteristically peaceful sleep. Insomnia had settled in their first night in Dhaka; rattled by the ongoing threats against his family and the turn to the very place  where he’d nearly lost his life. Seven years feels like seventy some days; given reprieve when the memories don’t creep up for weeks, sometimes even months on end. Yet there’s times where it feels as if it were seven days ago; vivid recollections of the taste of his own sweat and blood, the smell of gunpowder and spilt gasoline, the cries of the wounded and dying. It’s been years since he’s had what he considers a decent sleep; five to seven hours without being disturbed by pain or bad dreams or being woken by a crying baby or little ones climbing into bed alongside him.
 While it only been three hours since he and Esme had returned upstairs the short period of rest that had preceded their love making had been the deepest and most restful sleep in recent memory.   The day’s roller coaster of emotions finally caught up to him; initially channelled into languid and gentle -and ultimately desperate- sex. The realization that it may very well be the last time they would physically enjoy each other fuelling the need; hands and mouths working together to fully worship and pleasure one another before giving in to the act itself. Moving slowly inside of her at first; long, soft kisses being exchanged as her hands roamed his shoulders and back and travelled down his arms.  Those huge, dark eyes and her legs wrapping around his waist and heels digging into the small of his back signalling that she needed more from him. WANTED more. And he’d obliged; repeatedly driving into her with near brutal force. Thrusts that pushed her further up the bed and had her crying out in a mixture of pleasure and discomfort; teeth sinking into his shoulder and nails breaking the skin as they raked down his back and over his ribs. Enjoying the way his name sounded coming from her mouth; whether it be the whispers and whimpers or the begging and pleaded and eventually the cry of her released.  It’s always been her favorite thing to hear, even outside of sex. The way it sounds when she’s giggling while he teases her or when it’s sleepy and slightly disoriented after he’s woken her up after falling asleep on the couch.
He can remember what it had felt like when she’d said it for the first time; in that cramped and dirty hotel room in the city centre. Since their initial first meeting at that old shack in the outback, she’d been calling him by his last name; a habit picked up in both the military and her time on the job. First names are usually abode; too personal considering the unpredictable circumstances and the very short time you’re actually in someone’s life. But in that moment...in the heat of an intense argument between two severely obstinate people...with his hand around her neck and those dark eyes -stoic and unnerved- staring up at him, everything changed.
“Admit it,” she’d snarled. “For the right price, you’d leave me AND the kid behind. Admit it, Tyler.”
It was the first time she’d said it; his first name. And it had caused something inside of him to snap; that stubbornness and assertiveness and those eyes his complete undoing. It had been years since a woman had made him feel that level of want and need, and despite the rational side of his brain screaming at him to walk away, he’d given in. His hand still on her throat as he kissed her with a complete loss of control he’d never exhibited with anyone else. Spurred on when she’d so eagerly responded; unable to stop things from progressing even further. Taking her right there up against the wall, pounding into her with punishing thrusts that were fuelled by years of anger, guilt, and regret.  And that little body had taken everything he’d unleashed on it; hands tightly gripping his hair and her legs wound around his waist. Encouraged by the way she begged and pleaded for ‘more and ‘harder’ and the way his first name suddenly couldn’t stop tumbling from her lips.
After that, she never called by his last name ever again. And he’d have to stop himself from smiling every time she said his first. It sounded THAT good.
Propping himself up on his elbow, he reaches over his wife’s still, sleeping form and snags the phone before it can go to voicemail. There’s that brief moment of panic of late night calls while on a job; someone getting a hold of him to say that something to one -or all- of the kids. The tightness that forms in your chest and the way your heart hammers wildly. But the relief is instantaneous at the sight of Yaz’ name on the screen. Although it brings a whole host of other emotions with it.
“Yeah?” His greeting is simple. Voice laced with the lingering remnants of sleep.
“Be ready to go in three hours.”
“That was fast.”
���Guy I sent to try and get eyes in Asif’s place had other ideas; decided to go a different route. Grabbed one of the street thugs and beat the shit out of him and threatened to blow his knee caps and his dick off if he didn’t tell him where Neysa and Aarev are.”
“And he rolled over on his buddies?”
“Guess he really wanted to keep the family jewels. You were right; it IS a storage facility. One that hasn’t been in business for a while. About ten minutes outside of the city centre, going west. Sent my guy there to check it out; three separate buildings. They’re being held somewhere in the centre one. Sorry I couldn’t narrow it down any further.”
“I’ll work with whatever you give me. How many hostiles  on site?”
“My guy counted six. I was able to get some surveillance set up; I’ve only seen ten at the most. Not too bad, right? If you can take out a whole apartment of assholes…”
“I’m not the man I was back then.”
“It was only seven years ago. Not seventy.”
“Tell that to my body.”
“You gonna be alright?” Yaz asks. “Think your old bones can handle this?”
“It’s not my bones I’m worried about.”
“If you can’t mentally do this. I’m not going to hold it against you. If you think whatever is left of your sanity won’t hold up...”
“I’ll be fine. In and out, yeah? Sounds like a pretty straight forward extraction. Not too many hostiles to deal with, a pretty open space, we’re away from the market area. What could possibly go wrong?”
“You know better than to ask something like that.  It was a good call on Esme’s part; going north. Not a single damn roadblock that way. They’re expecting trouble to come over the Buriganga.  That’s why they’ve shut the bridges down. I’ll drop you guys off just north of Dhaka; there’ll be two SUVs waiting.”
“How far back into town?”
“Twenty minutes. I'll be waiting at the extraction point. By the time anyone realizes what went down at the storage place AND get there, you’ll already be on your way back. We’re going to cause a big old thing on the Sultana Kamal Bridge.”
Tyler grins. “Big old thing, huh? I’d expect nothing less from you, Yaz.”
“Got a couple guys coming to pick the three of you up. Seven. You good to go?”
“I will be.”
“I’d expect nothing less from YOU. See you soon.”
“Yep,” he confirms, and then disconnects the call and returns the phone to the nightstand and rolls  over onto his back. He groans  at the discomfort in his shoulder and across the small of his back, then rakes his hands through his hair and runs them down his weary face.
He doesn’t move for several minutes; a forearm draped over his eyes. Finding himself oddly calm; long ago relegating himself to both the seriousness of the mission and his chances of getting out of it alive. The latter has improved with news of location and the number of hostels; with Koen and Rata and Anil’s two men, there will be more than enough bodies to handle everyone on site. A large indoor space will be much easier to navigate, and provides more places to grab cover if needed. He much prefers working in that kind of environment; having more room to move and not feeling as he’s being confined and suffocated. While everyone assumes the apartment seven years ago had been easy, it had in fact been one of the harder take down’s he’s ever done. There’d been a lot of people in that little space, and he’d had to work quick and with whatever items were at his disposal once he was unarmed.
Tyler moves back onto his side; sliding closer to his wife’s sleeping form and wrapping an arm around her, hand settling on the small -but very visible- baby bump. The fear is there; that this is the last moment of this kind he’ll get to spend with her. That worry that he’ll never again experience that soft, supple skin pressed against his own or breathe in that familiar scent. That he won’t get to see her grow bigger with child. HIS child. The way her body changes and she becomes even more beautiful and desirable; the extra weight and curves and the way her face fills out and seems to glow. She’s never seen herself the way he does, especially while pregnant. And she could never understand how incredible she actually is; selflessly giving her body in order to nurture and protect a life that he had a hand in creation.  He never thought it was possible to love someone more with each passing day. That devotion that grows impossibly stronger when she watches her as a mother.
Esme stirs. Giving a long, content sigh and then pressing herself back against him; hand slipping down to briefly rest on top of his. Her fingers grazing along his own and then over his wrist and across his forearm. Her touch is soft and deeply intimate, and the quietness and the innocence surrounding it profoundly affects him; tears pricking his eyes and his throat and chest tightening with emotion. When her hand once more settles on top of his, he pushes his fingers through hers and holds as tightly as she can stand. It’s desperate; all of his fear and his worry communicated through something so simple.  And for several minutes neither move nor speak his eyes closed and the top of his nose pressed against the back of her neck.
“How long?” she asks.
“Three hours.”
“That was fast.”
“It was,” he sighs. “Way too fast.”
He’d thought he had more time. That it would take Yaz at least half a day to mobilize his teams;  to get eyes into Asif’s place and scouts sent north. And he’d planned on spending every remaining waking moment with her; doing whatever it took to make sure she knew exactly how much he loves and worships hers. Words have never come easy to him; often lost on what to say past those three simple -yet profound- words. The last thing he wanted -of the worst case scenario came into play- was her being left with doubts surrounding how he felt about her. Actions are easier for him; those small, thoughtfully little gestures that always bring a smile to her face. And he’d thought he’d get that chance; an opportunity to show her just how -and what- he feels. Three hours will feel like three minutes. With a deadline like that, he’s suddenly at a loss; not knowing  if there’s any words or actions that could ever truly communicate how much he DOES  love her.   How thankful he is for the second chance he’d been given seven years ago. And how he always thought they’d have more time together than that.
“How much do you have to do to get ready?” she asks.
“Everything’s ready to go. There’s nothing I need to do.”
“So we can just lie here like this? For a little while?”
“For the next three hours if you want.”  He raises his head from his pillow and presses a kiss to her temple, then her ear and her cheek and finally the corner of her mouth.
Releasing the hold on his hand, she rolls over onto her side to face him and slides even closer to him, settling her cheek on his pillow. The tips of their noses touching and their mouths mere inches apart, eyes locked. He tries not to notice the tears that sparkles in hers; the way she chews on her bottom lip as she struggles to control her own tsunami of emotions. He manages a small smile and presses his lips to her forehead, allowing them to linger for several seconds before pulling back to look at her. Eyes slowly scanning her face as calloused fingertips trace the burrows in her brow and move across the tops of her cheeks and down the bridge of her nose; travelling along the outer edges of her hair and across her lips.
“Don’t go,” Esme whispers. “Please don’t go.”
“I have to.”
“Let someone else do it. You don’t have to do this. It doesn’t have to be you.”
“It does. You know it does.”
“I thought I was prepared for this; that I was ready to see you walk away. But I’m not. I’m nowhere near ready. Please don’t go, Tyler.”
“It’s going to be okay,” he promises, and kisses the bridge of her nose before gathering her into his arms; pulling her flush against him with one hand on the small of her back and the other at the nape of her neck. “It’s alright,” he whispers, and places a series of feathery pecks across her shoulder. “I’m right here. I got you.”
The tears come now; loud, heartbreaking and gut wrenching sobs that shake her entire body and he feels to his very soul. All of those emotions pouring out of her; feeling the hot, bitter drops against his skin and the way her hands desperately clutch at his upper arms and the back of his neck. Even when things had been their darkest and their hardest, she’d never control to that extent. There’s nothing left to say; no possible words that could bring her comfort. Instead he lets her cry. His eyes closed and his lips pressed against the side of her neck;  a palm sliding up and down her back in an attempt to soothe her. There’s little more he can do; no promises he can make or words that will lessen the severity of what lies ahead. No snide or humorous comment that will bring a smile to her face. It’s way beyond anything either of them have ever experienced; a fear and uncertainty that no other job has ever brought with it.
Eventually the sobbing subsides; transitioning into light whimpers and then a silence that’s occasionally interrupted by soft sniffles.
“You alright now?”  Tyler asks when she pulls away. The hand that was in her hair now moving to her face; fingers clearing the remaining tears off her cheeks and the sides of her nose. He hates seeing her cry no matter what the circumstance. Especially when he’s the reason behind it.
“Not really,” Esme admits. “But I will be. When this is over and you’re back here. Safe and sound.”
“Hopefully it won’t be an all day thing. Sooner I’m out of there, the better. Last thing I want is to get trapped in the city. Didn’t go so well the first time.”
“This time you’re not doing it all alone. Or least you’ll have people watching your back. I could only do so much, and Ovi was just a kid. You pretty much had to carry the entire thing.”
“I think you totally underestimate how much you actually did.”
“I know I slowed you down. A lot. I know that you’d just listened to Nik…”
He pecks her lips. “We’re not going to talk about that. That’s the last thing I want to talk about.”
What DO you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know. You have any more dreams?”
She nods. “A good one this time. A very good time.”
“About what?”
“About when we got married. How nice you cleaned up; suit, tie, the beard all trimmed.”
“I was going to cut my hair too. But I figured you’d be pissed off enough to turn around and walk out.”
“I so would have left you at the altar if you’d done that,” she teases. “That was the one thing I asked you not to do; cut your hair.”
“I will never understand your obsession with it.”
“It’s just how I know you. It’s how it looked when we met. I guess it’s just what I’m used to. I’m sure one day I won’t mind if you do something different. But I swear to God, if you ever ask me shave it off again….”
“I know it broke your heart the first time. I won’t do that to you again. Maybe I’ll keep the hair and shave the beard off.”
“Don’t you dare,” she warns, and presses a kiss to his lips. “Do you remember the morning after? The hotel in Byron Bay?”
“I vividly remember that morning. And the night before.”
“I don’t mean THAT. Although, THAT was pretty incredible. I remember thinking afterwards that it felt different. In a good way. An amazing way. Because now it just wasn’t my boyfriend or my fiance or whatever making love to me. It was my husband.  I don’t know; thinking about it that way made it seem different. Is that weird?”
“No. It’s not weird.  I remember watching you sleep and thinking ‘that’s my wife’.”
“You did?”
“Seemed surreal; my fake wife now being my real one. Especially after I said I’d never get married again.”
“After Mark, I told myself I’d only go for girls for the rest of my life.”
“Yeah, it’s easy to see why he ruined all men for you.”
“I guess it just took a certain man to change my mind.”
“Yeah, one who could put up with all your shit.”
“I didn’t come with THAT much shit. You came with enough baggage for both of us. And I still didn’t run away. Maybe I’m the glutton for punishment.”
“Maybe,” he grins, and kisses her.
“But do you remember that morning? We had breakfast out on the balcony. And it was so nice out; it wasn’t too hot and the sky looked amazing and the way the sun shone on the water…” she sighs. “...it was like I woke up that morning and everything seemed even more beautiful than before.”
“I remember you had your hair down; the sun was making all the red in it sparkle. And you had that on this pink shirt that was off the shoulder and tied at the middle of your back. You were already showing pretty good with Millie; I remember thinking there was no way you could possibly get any more beautiful. And I remember wondering what the hell I’d ever done to deserve my life; a new wife, a baby girl on the way. You were really talkative and giggly that morning.”
“I was a newlywed. It was my honeymoon. And you’re the bringer of multiple orgasms.  We should go back there; stay at the same hotel. A little getaway.”
“We can do whatever you want, baby.”
“What I’m going to say next is probably going to sound sappy. Promise you won’t laugh?”
“Why would I laugh?”
“It’s really sappy. Like really, really, REALLY sappy.”
“Try me.”
“I remember watching you and seeing the ring on your fingers and thinking how good it looked on you. And I was the one who put it there. I remember thinking ‘I have a husband now’ and it felt really good to think it. And it felt even better that it was you I was thinking it about. Is that weird? That I thought that?”
“No, baby. It’s not weird. It’s not weird at all.”
“And I know you don’t think it sometimes, but you’ve been an amazing husband,��� her voice quivers with emotion and tears once more sparkle in her eyes. “I know things haven’t always been easy; that I haven’t been the easiest person to be with. That I’m tough to love sometimes. But you’ve been the one person I can count on; who makes me feel safe and protected. And I guess I just needed you to hear that. That there hasn’t been a time I didn’t love you.  Even when things were shit, I loved you. Even when we didn’t know if we were going to make it or not.”
“But we did. We DID make it.”
“Seven years is not enough. And I’m scared that if you leave…”
“Everything’s going to be okay. In and out, right?”
“Nothing’s ever that simple.”
“Maybe this time it will be.”  He brushes her hair off her forehead. “Maybe this will be the one time things don’t go to shit.”
“Maybe. But I wanted you to hear all that. About how amazing you’ve been. About how much I love you. I didn’t want you to walk out here not knowing all that.”
“I’ve always known. I’ve never doubted it. Have you? Ever doubted it?”
“How you feel about me?”
Tyler nods.
“No. You’ve always made sure that I know. Even if you don’t say it, you’ve always found a way to show it. And I see the way you look at me sometimes; you think I don’t notice, but I do. And I can’t describe it; what it looks like. How your eyes and your face look.  I just know how it makes me feel when I see it. It makes me feel beautiful and incredible and...I don’t know…loved.”
“I’ve always loved you. I always will. I need you to know that. Just in case. I need to know that you know.”
“I know. I’ve always known, Tyler. I knew on the bridge. I knew before you did. It was in your eyes. It’s always in your eyes.”
“I have a confession to make. About seven years ago.”
“Uh-oh. I don’t know if I like the sounds of that.”
“It’s nothing bad. It’s just…it’s about the first time. In the hotel room. When I grabbed you.”
“When you tried to choke me out, you mean?” she lightly teases.
“I wasn’t angry. I mean, I was. I was pissed off that you didn’t listen to me. But I wasn’t THAT pissed off. That’s not why I did it.”
She combs her fingers through his hair. “Okay…”
“I was trying to scare you.”
“Why?”
“Because I was scared. Because I liked the way you smiled at me. I liked the way you’d always find a way to touch me. I liked the sound of your voice and the way you laughed And I hated that I DID like all of that. I didn’t want to like it. I didn’t want to like YOU.  So I tried to scare you away. Because I didn’t want to feel anything else for you.  Because everyone I’ve ever loved? I’ve lost. And I didn’t want that happening. Not again. That’s why I did it. I wanted to scare you away.”
“Were you surprised? When it didn’t work?”
“I think it made me even angrier. Because you wouldn’t let me get away with it. But I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was trying to protect you. From me.”
“There was nothing to protect me from, Tyler. You’re not the monster you think you are. You never have been. And I saw you; the real you. The one you hide from else. There was nothing you could have done to scare me away.”
“And to think you call me stubborn.”
“You are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. But you're also the sweetest. And the most adorable.”
He frowns. “Shut up.”
“I’m sorry. You are. You have a huge heart in that big body of yours. And you may have been able to hide it from everyone else you’ve ever known, but you’ve never been able to hide it from me. And I love that about you; you’ve never felt a reason to hide it.  You’ve always trusted me; right from the first night in Dhaka. When you told me about Austin. You let me see all sides of you. Even the ones that aren’t so pretty.”
“Don’t call me pretty.  Or adorable. Or cute.”
“I don’t care what you say. You’re the most adorable mercenary ever.”
“How DARE you insult me like that.”
“I love you,” she says, and pushes his bangs off his forehead. “I only hope one day you’ll know how much,”
“I already know. And I love you. So much. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“You. Us.  My kids. My life. Everything.”
She manages a shaky smile, then breaks down once more. Both arms circling his neck as she buries her face in his shoulder. “Can you just hold me? That’s all I want. Just hold me, okay?”
“Okay,” he says, then drops a kiss on the top of her hand and wraps both arms around her. As tight as he possibly can.
*****
Three hours later she finds herself standing on the front porch, watching as the last of the needed gear is loaded  into the trunks of the ‘getaway’ vehicles. Despite the stifling heat and oppressive humidity, she can’t stop shivering; the fear and anxiety so powerful it creates a damp, cold sensation that stretches from head to toe and seems to burrow into her bones.   It’s nearly a hundred degrees outside and she can’t seem to get warm. Not even with the fleece lined hoodie she keeps tightly wrapped around her.
Every time he leaves for a job it’s difficult; the uncertainty of the situation, the possibility of things going wrong, the potential for serious injury or even death. Normally she’s more optimistic; refusing to let doom and gloom settle in despite how dangerous a mission sounds. But this is beyond anything she’s ever experienced before; aside from seven years ago. How fitting that it’s the same place that carries such a heavy weight; the vivid and brutal memories of the past making it nearly impossible to envision a different outcome in the present.
“How are you holding up?” Koen inquires, as he joins her on the porch. A tactical vest slung over one shoulder, backpack perched on the other.
“I was just going to ask you the same thing.”
“You know me; I’m always up for a challenge.”
“Usually that means a red head with daddy issues,” she teases.
“You’re way too quick for me, you know that? I see how you keep him on his toes. Although I don’t think he stands a chance against you.”
“He’s been a good sport. He hangs in there for some reason. He’s been sticking around for seven years. I’m just hoping he’ll stick around for at least seven more.”
“I don’t think he’s going anywhere. I think he’s a little too crazy about you.”
“Yeah,” she smiles, and pulls the sides of the hoodie even tighter around her. “I’m pretty crazy about him too. Which is why this is so damn hard. I thought I was ready; that I’d be okay when the time came. But I’m not okay. I’m far from okay.”
“Just hang in there a little while longer, kiddo. You’ve come a long way already; be a shame to break down right before the finish line. Your man’s got this; he knows what he’s doing. Smart as hell. Even if he does do dumb shit sometimes. Has a knack of getting me into trouble, that’s for sure.”
“He appreciates it. Koen; everything you’ve done, everything you continue to do. You backed him right away; when he showed up at your place and told you about the business. And you didn't think twice about helping him when all this started. You just agreed to it. Knowing how bad it could get.”
“Well, as much as I shit talk him, I really do love that drongo. I’ve got a soft spot for him. And you and the littles. How could I not? You’re the one who made him who he is now.”
“I know you’re totally overestimating my role in his life.”
“You’re the one who gave him a second chance. Saw past the mess he was.  Made him a husband and a daddy again. You’re the one that’s stuck by him through all the bullshit; the booze, the meds, the job. And I know damn well he’s not the easiest person to love.”
“Well he’s made it pretty easy for me. Even at his worst, he’s better than most.”  
She watches Tyler as he finishes the last of the preparations before heading out. Standing at the open tailgate of one of the SUVs, quiet and focused despite Rata attempting to carry on a loud and animated -and most likely nervous- conversation. His eyes are darker and the furrows in his brow are present; lips set in a thin, grim line as he works at filling the pockets on the vest he already sports.  This is the old Tyler; the one that’s all business with adrenaline coursing through his veins and his instincts and senses running on overdrive.
“You know, I used to like seeing this side of him,” she says. “I used to love it, actually. Seeing the mercenary side of him. Intense, focused. I liked knowing what he was capable of. Now…” she sighs. “...well I don’t like it so much now. How sad is that? What kind of wife would even think that, let alone say it? How horrible am I?”
“One that loves her husband and hates what’s happening to him. You’re not horrible. Let’s cut the shit and stop pretending that this time isn’t different; that the stakes aren’t a lot higher. Has he ever walked into something where someone  was intentionally looking to kill him?”
“Not that I know of. Not since I’ve known him.”
“Hard to like anything about a situation like this. Considering what he’s about to walk into?”
“I can’t even believe it got this far. That Mahajan went so far off the deep end that we’re actually at this point? How did this even happen? It’s been seven years! Saju is dead, why would he still want revenge on his family? And to threaten mine? We took Ovi in; we gave him a life. A real life. A real family. We love him like he’s our own. And this is how Mahajan repays us? Threatening my children, putting a bounty on my husband’s head? How the hell did it ever get to this?”
“Some people are fucked,” Koen reasons, and she gives a small, dry laugh. “I wish I had a better explanation. But it’ll all be over soon. We’ll take care of shit here, Anil will handle things with Mahajan. He’s ready to go?”
“As far as I know. He’s got a couple guards he was able to pay off. They’re going to lead him right into the showers when Mahajan is in there. It should be over pretty quick. If you ask me, he deserves something slow and painful. But beggars can’t be choosers, can they.”
“Sooner it’s over, the better.”
“Should have been over a long time ago. If we’d been told about this when it all started, Tyler would have ended it then. But Ovi dropped the ball and then Allison and her games and I just…” she sighs and tucks wayward strands of hair behind her ears. “...a lot of people fucked up. And now my husband has to go and fix it. What else is new? Just watch out for him, okay? Have his back? Please.”
“You know I will. I’ve followed him this far. Might as well go balls to the wall.”
She struggles to hold back a flood of tears. “Would it be too much to ask that you bring him back in one piece?”
“You got it kiddo.” He draws her into a tight hug and presses a kiss to her temple. “Hang in there, okay? We’re almost there.”
“You be safe,” Esme says, and affectionately pats his cheek when he holds her at arm's length. “It’s kind of nice having grandpa Koen around.”
“I never said you call me that.”
“I don’t remember asking your permission.”
“Smart ass,” he smirks, then playfully tousles her hair before stepping away. Giving Tyler a nod and a small smile; patting him on the shoulder as he takes his place on the porch.
“I can’t look at you,”  she says, as her hands busy themselves tightening the Velcro secured straps on his vest. “If I look at you, I’ll cry. And the last thing you need is me crying right now. I can do that when you leave.”
He places his hands on the side of her face, then presses a kiss to her hair.  Neither of them speak; their eyes closed, his chin resting on the top of her head, her hands tightly gripping his forearms.
“Be safe,” she pleads.
“Always.”
“I love you. I love you so much. I wish that was enough; to get you through this”
“It’s enough,” Tyler assures her. “It’s always enough.”
A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, and she finally raises her head to look at him. “I won’t ask. I know you don’t want me to.”
“You ask, and I’ll do it. I’ll stay. And that’ll just bring even more problems.”
“I know.  I know why it has to be you. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“It’s going to be alright.”  He cradles her face in his palms and kisses her. Longer and more intense than usual. “I gotta go,” he moves a hand to the back of her neck and places a kiss to her forehead. “See you when I see you.”
“Yeah, you will.”
He pecks the tip of her nose, then runs a hand over the top of her head and down her hair before stepping off the porch.
“Hey!” she calls to him, and he stops and turns towards her.
“Remember the first time around, when we said we were going to travel when we got out of Dhaka?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“You totally bailed on me. I think you owe me a trip, Tyler Rake,”
A grin plays in the corners of his mouth. “I definitely do,” he says, and then turns and heads for the waiting car.
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secret-engima · 5 years ago
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Stand Strong Drabble: Shaking Hands
(Okay so this was less intentional angst and more my thoughts exploring, just a little, of how Amissa must have felt when she realized that she was going to KEEP JUMPING WORLDS. That nowhere was permanent. That nothing she did or was done to her could make it STOP and how that effects her even now, all these worlds later, even after the Astrals promised her safety and permanence here. Basically all hail the Angst)
...
     Blood, bullets, screaming. All around and in the air and inside her. Copper on her tongue and suffocating her lungs while Flames exploded out of her control in one last gurgling snarl of Fury-Betrayal-Rage-.
     Sun-warmed cobblestones under her fingers, too large clothes sliding off her shoulders as she stared down at fresh pink scars littering a prepubescent torso and cried. 
...
     Amissa opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Waited patiently for the feeling of lead tearing open her lungs to fade and the cold thrill down her spine of again-again-forever-again to fade. She counted the familiar cracks in her ceiling, breathed in and tasted the soft fragrance of her plants. Let them anchor her to the present —to the world, her last world— with the faint thrum of their life forces. She closed her eyes and counted to five, rolled out of her bed in resigned silence. She wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep again, not after that. She knew better than to tempt the dreams.
     She slipped on the knee-length dressing gown her Kids had given her a few birthdays ago, padded across the cold floor and nudged open the doors to the rundown balcony attached to her room. The railing had crumbled years ago under the persistent assault of the tree growing up against the side of the building, but she had never needed the railing in the first place. Not when the branches were thick enough to climb and she had no fear of heights or falling to stop her from climbing up into the foliage in her nightclothes and dressing gown.
     Amissa swung up into the highest branches and looked out across the persistent gloom of little Galahd, busy as ever in its more nocturnally orientated schedule than the rest of Insomnia. She took in a deep breath of air that tasted like magic and the jungle, listened to the faint but persistent drums of some folk song being played a few blocks away, let the shadows hide her form from the view of the passing Kingsglaive darting by on the rooftops on their way to or from a shift.
     All very different from the bright sunshine and warm cobblestones of her dream.
     Good.
     She hated that dream.
     Amissa lifted her hands in front of her face, flexed her fingers, examining their shape, the scars on different places. Adult hands. Normal hands. Something that so many people had but so few appreciated. She pressed her hands over her sternum, pushed her fingers against certain old scars until they throbbed. Old scars she had carried for years and years, lifetime after lifetime. 
     Scars she had carried ever since the first time she’d died.
...
     Flame-soaked bullets rattling the air, the churning fear in Lambo’s eyes as he cradled I-Pin’s unmoving —but breathing, alive, just unconscious— form closer to him and ran away on her orders —her promise that she would be right behind them even though they knew that was a lie, that the backup she was sending him and Fūta to retrieve was just an excuse to get them and the unconscious I-Pin to safety—, leaving her to face the bullet rain alone.
     The taste of the ice cream on her tongue from what had been a pleasant trip out with the kids until an entire enemy famiglia crashed in. The furious haze of taking down more-more-more opponents until she couldn’t and she lay on the floor of that ice cream parlor, suffocating on her own blood and forcing her Flames out in one last attack to keep them from chasing after the children.
     Waking up on sun-baked cobblestones —not the cool tile of the parlor floor, not even the hot concrete pavement of the street outside—, suddenly a child rather than the adult she had finally had a chance to grow into —a chance ripped away twice already by worlds she had existed in one moment and then been torn from in a blink—. Pulling at her blood-soaked shirt until she could look down at the pink, rounded scars that looked like they were weeks or months old rather than minutes.
     Looking up at the concerned voices of the small woman and her massive husband as they approached what they thought was a child in oversized, bloody clothes and spoke in a language that was like German but not quite —another language, wrong language, wrong faces, fictional faces even when she’d been in a world she’d already once known as fictional—.
     Realizing she’d jumped again. Left everything behind again and sobbing into her shaking hands because if death couldn’t stop it…
     Then nothing would.
....
     “Màmag?” Amissa blinked back to the present —new world, different world, last world-she-hoped-she-prayed— to the sensation of someone gently clasping her trembling hands and pulling them away from the bullet scars she was obsessively rubbing at. She looked up into Luche’s worried expression and his flared nostrils and realized she was suppressing again.
     She relaxed her scent and shakily squeezed his much steadier hands, “I’m fine, Luche. You just got off duty, right? You should go sleep.”
     He shifted into a more comfortable position on the thick branch instead, his hands firmly wrapped around hers, as if holding on tight would disguise the way Amissa’s hands trembled-trembled-trembled —hands that had remained surgically steady even during the worst battles and most terrifying, daemon-filled nights— from the things in her head. His scent unfurled, warm like cinnamon and ticklish with just a whiff of garlic. Her eldest sniffed thoughtfully at her scent and then purred comfortingly as understanding dawned in his eyes —he had always seen her too well, just like he saw most people too well, saw them in the way that let him push their every button for good or ill—, “You’re not going to disappear, Màmag,” he whispered quietly, “and neither are any of us.”
     Amissa took a deep breath of air that tasted like jungle instead of concrete and gasoline and rubber like the rest of the city. She looked out over the home she had helped carve out of the refugee district that had started out as a total slum and listened to the heartbeat of all its people —the heartbeat of old-old magic whispering mine-safe-home-welcome-mine—. She thought of ancient beings promising that they would let her stay. That no matter what happened, so long as she did her best to care for the inhabitants of their world, they would keep her soul from being stolen away again. “This Star is the home of your body and soul for the rest of your life,” they had said, “and it will become your eternal resting place when your life passes, this we so swear.”
     She thought on that, clutched it internally like the promise it was but-. But…
...
     Rain and cold and confusion, a small town somewhere in Japan that didn’t look right somehow, a sick feeling as she realized it had happened again. An umbrella appearing over her head and a gentle, if slightly vacant voice saying, “Ara! You look so cold, sitting out here in the rain. Come inside, come on, come on, I made plenty supper for a guest-, oh you’re soaked- Tsu-kun! Tsu-kun get a towel out of the bathroom! Don’t worry about a thing, dear- no- no need to cry. You can stay in our home for as long as you like, I promise.”
...
     Too-big clothes that had fit perfectly moments ago, round, pink scars where there had been fatal open wounds. The clatter of concerned feet as two strangers-who-weren’t ran up to her and crouched down, “Oi- oi kid what are you doing out here in the middle of the street-. Holy-! You’re covered in blood, what happened to you? No let me see, I can help. Come on, come on let’s get you out of the street… there we go. Don’t be scared little one, we’re not going to hurt you, I’m Izumi, this is my husband Sig. Do you have parents we can call? … A home then? … Well. I suppose you’ll just have to stay here then. No, no, don’t argue! You’ll stay here as long as you need. What kind of housewife would I be if I abandoned a child to the streets?”
...
     She blinked herself free of the memories, met concerned blue eyes with her own mismatched gaze, and smiled “I know, mo baeg solas. I’m fine.”
     He stared back at her for several minutes, then smiled back and shifted to settle closer to her, so close their shoulders were touching and he could drag her hands into his lap as he rested his head on her shoulder. With a quiet voice he began to fill her in on the silly, inane things that had happened to him and the others on their last shift, mentioned the things that they wanted to do with her later when everyone was off duty and well rested. He spoke as if they were just relaxing in the tree for no reason other than to chat, and she responded with a relaxed scent and amusing gossip she’d picked up from the Citadel servants. Agreements to all the future plans and little habits that only meant the world to people who had known what it was like to be without those comforts for years.
     She laughed like she was calm and happy and fine.
     He politely pretended that he didn’t know she was lying.
     They both ignored his fingers twined around hers in his lap, as if that would make them stop shaking.
     They both pretended not to notice when it didn’t work.
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mostpopulardisneygirl · 5 years ago
Text
Edelweiss
Prompt: Apprentice comforts Lucio in the Magic Realm/Confronts the Devil
Fandom: The Arcana
Paring: Lucio x Hazel Lily (my fan Apprentice)
Word Count: 2,738
Warnings: mid language, angst
There he was, in the middle of the room, red hot chains around his wrist as he knelt to the floor. The Devil took him away from his own Masquerade, away from her, and now all she wanted to do was stop e Devil’s plan and bring him home. Hazel sprinted across the room to him. “Lucio!” Lucio’s face was drenched in tears, his eyeliner running down his cheeks. He looked weaker than before with his arms growing tired. “Hazel...” he croaked. Hazel ran her hands all around his face. “You’re okay...A-are you...?” Lucio shook his head violently. “No. No, I’m not okay.” Tears were forming once again in his eyes. “You’re just an illusion. Created by the Devil to haunt me. To draw out my frustration and emptiness.” Hazel looked at him sincerely. “Lucio,” she whispered, “it’s me. It’s really me.” Lucio just shook his head violently. “No, you can’t be! How can you really be Hazel? The real Hazel?” How long was he tortured like this? It’s only been several minutes since he was gone, but he looks like he’s been here for days. There was nothing she could do. She took his face gently in her hands and pressed her lips against his. Lucio’s eyes widened at the touch. She was gentle at first, but she slowly deepened the kiss, darting her tongue in his mouth and wrestling with his. This was Hazel. The real Hazel. He knew that kiss anywhere. Hazel broke away from his lips and Lucio chuckled tearfully. “Hazel...!” he breathed as he reached up to her face, caressing her cheek with his fingertips. “My Hazel.” He lurched forward and slammed his lips on hers in a passionate, heated kiss. “Where have you been? I’ve been here forever.” Hazel brought her hands up to his cheeks. “It’s only been a few minutes,” she explained. “I’m going to get you out of here.” For a moment, Lucio caught a gleam in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” Hazel places her hands in her laps when a small blush appeared on her face. “Nothing,” he answered softly. “I was just remembering how cute you looked.” Hazel’s lips curled up into a smile, but then Lucio looked down in despair. “Hazel,” he muttered, “there’s something I should tell you. About your death...”
“Oh, I’d love to hear this tale,” a deep, menacing voice from afar spoke. Hazel turned with a start and there he was. The Devil Arcana. “You!” Hazel shot up and readied her hands to blast him back, but with a snap of his claws, Hazel was bind in the same chains as Lucio and brought to her knees. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” the Devil clicked his tongue. “I wouldn’t waste your magic here. Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to interrupt?” Hazel’s breathing became choked as the chains around her tightened. “Stop!” Lucio screamed. “Let her go!” The Devil grinned at Lucio’s heartfelt cries. He snapped again and the chains around Hazel slithered away, leaving Hazel limped on the floor, gasping for air. “Now, I do believe you were about to tell your precious magician about her untimely demise?” Lucio looked at the weaken magician on the floor, looking at him with soft eyes. “Well, Lucio,” the Devil pulled Hazel up by the hair and used his other clawed hand to squeeze her cheeks, causing her to whimper in pain. “Stop it!” Lucio demanded, pulling at his chains until the disappeared with a snap. The Devil gave him a throaty chuckle. “Why don’t you tell her who’s responsible for her death all those years ago?” Hazel gasped softly. “What?” Lucio’s lips trembled as he spoke. “I am.” Hazel’s eyes widened at him. “You died because of me. And nobody knew it.” The Devil released his grip on Hazel’s hair. “You were my friend,” Lucio continued. “No, more than that. You came to the palace nearly everyday.” Hazel places her hands on her head. “Lucio...” Lucio stepped closer to her. “But I got sick. I was dying. You didn’t want me to leave you.” Hazel ran her fingers through her hair. “Lucio...stop...” her breathing became shallow. “And then you got sick because of me. You sent me a letter...and like a cold-hearted bastard, I threw it away and never read it. And you died.” Hazel became dizzy with all this information, her vision soon became cloudy, and every noise around the realm was muffled out. “Hazel...?” Lucio caught her as she lost her footing and passed out. “Hazel!” The Devil chuckled lightly. “Oh, my. Didn’t anyone tell you that if your dear friend to remember her past life, she would get miserable migraines?” Lucio growled at him. “You bastard!” But before he could throw a punch, the Devil vanished in a cloud of red smoke. Lucio went back down to cradle Hazel in his arms. “Hazel...” he mumbled while tracing her hairline. “My sweet magician...I’m so sorry...” Lucio placed a kiss on her temple and held her close. He hummed a small melody against her hair while he cradled her.
~~~
It was late. The room was silent. Lucio was pacing back and forth in front of his bed, a bottle of red wine half drunk near the table. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. It racked his brain that she cared so much about him. He had nightmares about her, nightmares of her leaving him. He couldn’t sleep for hours now. Lucio even gave her a guest room near his wing whenever she would be over. Mercedes came up to him and nuzzled her head on his leg with a small whimper. Lucio knelt down to her side to giver her some ear scratches. “Daddy is having a hard time sleeping, my princess.” Melchior joined them as Lucio sat with his pups. He looked at the wine and shook his head. “Maybe I should go see her? I wouldn’t want to disturb her if she’s asleep.” Mercedes and Melchior nudged him up from his spot. “Okay, okay,” Lucio spoke. “Let’s go see her.” He walked out of his room and padded down the hall to the guest room. He bit his lips nervously and raised his knuckles, knocked softly on the marble door, and fidgeted with his hands. When the door opened, Hazel was rubbing her eye gently. “D-did I wake you?” Lucio asked fidgeting with his hands and gently pushing the dogs behind him. “I’m sorry, I just...”
“I was already awake,” Hazel answered with a small yawn. “I couldn’t sleep. Are you okay?” Lucio bit his lip gently and rubbed his neck. “I-I...I can’t sleep...” Hazel took a step closer into the doorway, taking a small whiff of his breath. “Have you been drinking?” she asked. “I drink when I have insomnia,” Lucio answered. Hazel took a hold of his flesh hand. “Well, that doesn’t seem healthy.” She lead him inside her room and sat him down on the bed. The dogs followed him inside. “Here,” Hazel poured Lucio a glass of water from the pitcher and he chugged the water down, small droplets falling down his neck. “Feel better?” Hazel asked taking his glass. “A little,” he mumbled. “Lucio,” Hazel places her hand on his forearm, “tell me what’s wrong.” Her voice was soft and soothing to him. Lucio laid his head on her shoulder and shuddered lightly. “I’m having a constant fear that you’ll leave me,” he spoke. “That you’ll go somewhere I can’t follow. Nobody would...love me or care about me.” Lucio took her hand in his and squeezed lightly. “Lucio...” Hazel whispered his name like a wind in the field. “Do you want to stay with me tonight? The dogs can stay too.” Lucio looked into her hazel eyes and gulped softly. “Y-yeah...” he answered. “Yes. It might help me sleep better.” Hazel laid down with Lucio lying on her chest listening to her heartbeat. Hazel ran her fingers through his hair gently, humming a gentle tune. “What is that?” Lucio asked. “It’s a lullaby my grandmother use to sing to me.” Lucio smiled and nodded gently. “Sing it, hummingbird,” he whispered. Hazel’s cheeks blushed softly. “Are you sure...?” she stuttered. “It’ll help me sleep,” Lucio teased. “O-okay...” she cleared her throat and began singing the lullaby to him.
Edelweiss, edelweiss
Every morning you greet me
Small and white
Clean and bright
You look happy to meet me
Blossom of snow
May you bloom and grow
Bloom and grow forever
Edelweiss, edelweiss
Bless my home-land forever
Small and white
Clean and bright
You look happy to meet me
Blossom of snow
May you bloom and grow
Bloom and grow forever
Edelweiss, edelweiss
Bless my home-land forever
“Feel better?” Hazel asked, but the only sound she heard was the peaceful silence of the room. Lucio asleep on her chest, letting her heartbeat soothe him as he slumbered. Hazel smiled and pulled the blankets up to his shoulders. “Goodnight, Lucio...” she whispered as she placed a small kiss on his temple. She drifted off to sleep shortly after, with the Count in her arms.
~~
Remembering the lullaby, Lucio did his best to sing softly to the magician in his arms.
Edelweiss, edelweiss
Every morning you greet me
Small and white
Clean and bright
You look happy to meet me
Blossom of snow
May you bloom and grow
Bloom and grow forever
Edelweiss, edelweiss
Bless my home-land forever
Small and white
Clean and bright
You look happy to meet me
Blossom of snow
May you bloom and grow
Bloom and grow forever
Edelweiss, edelweiss
Bless my home-land forever
Lucio strokes her short hair with his human hand. “For what it’s worth, you made me feel like I could’ve been a better man...” Hazel stirred softly in his arms, a moan escaping her lips. “You...still can...”
“Hazel!” Lucio hugged the magician close to him. “You’re okay. Are you?” Hazel nodded weakly. “Just a headache,” she spoke softly. “I remember...” Tears were building up in her eyes. “I remember everything. You were kind to me. I was always with you. You told me you always enjoyed my company. I remember your masquerades. Your birthdays...we would dance for hours...and I would fall asleep in your arms...but then...” she started swiping violently at her eyes, threatening any tears to not fall from her cheeks. “Then you were so cruel. You hurt me...And I was a fool...because...because I...” She couldn’t stop. Tears were drenching her face, falling viscously from her eyes. “Hazel...” Lucio whispered softly as he placed his hand on her wet cheek. “I’m so sorry...” He lurched forward, embracing Hazel in his arms. “I lost you...You died because of me. Because I was selfish... I don’t want to loose you again, Hazel.” Lucio started shedding tears of his own, sniffling and sobbing into her shoulder. “Lucio...I’m here now...I’m not going anywhere...” They stayed until each other’s embraced for a little while. Hazel broke away gently and took in Lucio’s appearance. “Lucio, you’re a mess,” she took a napkin from her pocket and dabbed his eyes gently. “Here.” Lucio couldn’t resist turning his head gently to kiss her wrist. “Thank you,” he spoke. “I-I feel better now.” After helping him up, Hazel felt a chill down her spine. “Hazel?” Lucio took a hold of her arm gently. “You’re freezing.” They looked around to see the floor covered in frost, the ceiling dusted the realm with snow. After looking back at Hazel shivering lightly and rubbing her arms, Lucio immediately unhooked his cape from his shoulders and wrapped it around the magician. Hazel gasps lightly at his actions. “Lucio,” she spoke softly. “Your cape...” Lucio held up a hand to silence her. “I can always have another one made.” Hazel placed her hands on her shoulders. “But you’ll freeze.” Lucio shrugged lightly. “I’ll get used to it. I’m from the South, remember? It’s like this all the time.” Hazel snorted softly from her nose in a small laugh. “Why is it that whenever we’re in the magic realms together, we always end up with snow?” Hazel took Lucio’s hands and tugged him closer to her. Lucio rubbed her back for warmth and searched the area. “We need to find a warmer place.” Hazel moaned softly against his chest, her eyelids heavy. “Hazel?” Lucio lifted her up from her feet. “Think, Lucio,” she spoke weakly, “think of a warmer place. To rest.” Lucio looked at the weak magician in his arms. He knew the magic realms did work differently than the real world, and everything was connected to his emotions. He closed his eyes to think. “A warmer place,” he muttered. “A warmer place.” But all he could think about was Hazel, resting peacefully in his arms. He thought about her shop, being in the palace, running in the garden, laughing, playing with him and the dogs, dancing at the masquerade, bringing him back to life on his bedroom...His bedroom! Lucio’s head shot up as he thought long and hard. He closed his eyes again and thought carefully. In an instant, he and Hazel were in his bedroom back at the palace. It even had his old painting back on the wall. “Right,” Lucio chuckled. “Magic realm.” Lucio lied Hazel down on his bed, placing the blankets around her shoulders. Hazel stirred softly and opened her eyes to see the count sitting next to her side. She took in the interior of the room. “How did we get back to the palace?” Lucio stroked her hair lightly. “We didn’t.” He pointed at the portrait above them. “It was all I could think of that was warm.” Hazel gave him a light smile and placed her hand on his. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I like it here.” She snuggled closer to Lucio and he placed his hand around her shoulder. “Hazel?”
“Mmhmm?” Lucio ran his fingers through her hair gently. “When we get back, if we win...I want to give you whatever you want as a reward.” Hazel’s head shot up gently to look at him in the eyes. “You name it. Jewels, fur, silks. Maybe even your own exotic pet. Or your own portrait.” Hazel shut him up by lying her head on his shoulder. “I just want you,” she whispered. Lucio’s face grew hot and red instantly. “Hazel...” Lucio whispered, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I’m not the one for you...I’ve made so a lot of oop...” he shook his head like a wet dog, “mistakes in the past. I probably can’t forgive myself for it.” Hazel breathed in his scent and let out a light moan. “Lucio...your past doesn’t define your future. Who you are right now is what should matter to you. Nobody else should matter to you more than yourself.” Lucio watched Hazel’s eyelids get heavy. “You matter to me...” he whispered against her lips. Hazel lightly nudged his shoulder in comfort. “You should rest,” Lucio spoke as he lied her back down on the pillow. “Get your energy up.” Hazel took a hold on his human hand, her eyelids growing heavier. “You need rest too.” Lucio looked away shamefully. “But I don’t have magic like you. I can’t conjure a fire in my hands, or heal a headache like you can.” Hazel gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “But you lead us here. You thought of this place when I couldn’t. You don’t have to be magical, Lucio.” She yawned softly. “Just have faith in yourself. I do.” Lucio swiped at his eye threatening to shed some tears. “Sleep with me,” Hazel spoke lightly. “I want you by my side.” Lucio nodded lightly and snuggled next to her under the blankets. “I won’t leave,” he kissed her temple lightly. “I’ll stay by your side.” Lucio watched her eyes closed as she fell into a small slumber. “I’ll stay with you forever if you ask me.” He lifted his alchemical arm and quickly removed the sharp parts of his fingers. Looking at his gauntlet, he rubbed gentle circles into Hazel’s back while she slept. “I’ll fixed my mistakes,” he whispered against her. “I’ll become a new man. I’ll do it for you.” Placing a kiss on her forehead, Lucio held onto Hazel as she slept, falling asleep with the magician in his arms.
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the-based-brit · 5 years ago
Note
I don't believe that you had the life of reilly. Tell us about your abuse, your feelings are valid
*WARNING! LONG AND VERY DEPRESSING POST INCOMING!*
My biological mother smoked and drank while she was pregnant with me, and I was born with two very severe and debilitating disabilities because of her - Dyspraxia and physical difficulties. The former significantly affects my ability to communicate, makes my brain to slow to process information, and it’s a lot like autism in that it makes me struggle to understand certain social cues and hold a conversation with other people etc.. My short-term memory is...well, very short. I forget things. I can remember stuff that happened years ago, but sometimes I forget whatever it was I did five minutes ago. My brain is broken.
The latter affects my motor skills. My hands are not very strong, and I don’t have a very good grip. Sometimes, I struggle to do things that require a strong pair of hands, such as opening a jar, and I have to get my dad and my stepmother to do it for me. I also can’t bend my right thumb properly, and my handwriting is very childlike and scruffy because I have difficulty holding a pen or pencil properly and it takes a while for me to write things down by hand. I’m much better with a laptop or smart device than a pen and paper. And I’m a writer. Or at least I hope to be some day. My right foot also flicks out and my left foot is actually stronger even though I’m right-handed.
My biological mother never bothered to quit drinking or smoking while she was pregnant with me because she was a selfish bitch with a heart made of stone. Instead of nurturing me and raising me right like she was supposed to, she emotionally abused and neglected me for many years. My dad divorced her when I was three years old because she was horrible to him, and more importantly, to me. He left her for my stepmother and never looked back.
When I got a few years older, she told me he cheated on her with my stepmother, but that was a big fat LIE. Nothing could be further from the truth. My dad was never a cheater and never even thought about having an affair. My so-called “mother” was just butthurt because he left her and thus, could no longer control him.
But she still had me, her boy, who was only three years old and, being so young and impressionable, I was easy to manipulate. So she used me to get back at them. The so-called “affair” was not the only lie she told me. She raised me to believe that my dad and stepmother were the ones who were abusing me and they were trying to take me away from her. I suppose that wasn’t a complete lie because my dad and stepmother did fight for custody over me, but that was only because they wanted to save me from my abuser.
But I was just a kid. I was young and dumb and naive and because she was my mother, I believed her. And every Monday afternoon (I lived with my dad and stepmother during the week and my biological mother had me every weekend), I came home from school, with an attitude problem because she told me horrible things about them. And I accused them of those horrible things and needless to say, they got SUPER angry with me and they would defend themselves, and afterwards, I’d feel bad for what I said, I would cry and I would apologise to them profusely.
And I would be left feeling confused, upset, angry and very stressed out. Until the end of the week, I would come home to her and I would tell her what they told me and she would lie to me again. And again. And again. I felt like I was in the middle of a battlefield. In fact, that pretty much sums up my life at home when I was a kid. Now it’s a lot more peaceful, but the damages that were done to me still never fully healed even to this day.
This happened every single fucking week because of her, and it took a massive toll on me. I was very stressed out, exhausted, frightened, traumatised, confused, anxious and depressed and it literally made me feel physically ill, as well as mentally. I could barely eat or sleep. I would often run to the toilet and throw up in it after eating even just a little bit of food because I was so stressed and anxious, I could not hold it down. And because of that I’m very skinny and underweight and even now, I still have problems eating, though I’ve gotten a bit better at it since then. I also suffered terribly from insomnia and that made sleeping just as difficult.
And this made it hard for me to do well in school. Because of all the shit that was going on at home, and because of my disabilities, I struggled to keep up with the other students. I could barely concentrate, I almost always needed help and I could barely get any work done. My grades are mediocre, at best and nobody could understand why and no one cared to. My parents and teachers just nagged me to work harder, and my special helpers in school insisted on doing more or less all my work for me.
Homework was a bitch, too. It took me, like, three hours at the LEAST to get it done because of my problems. To be fair, I was a pretty lazy kid who deliberately put it off because I didn’t wanna do it and I was young and stupid enough to think it would eventually make me not have to. I HATED my maths homework the most. In fact, maths was basically my WORST subject and I preferred English and IT and History, which I was better at. Science and Religious Education were also pretty cool imo. But I digress.
My learning disorder wasn’t the only thing that broke my brain. My biological mother emotionally manipulated me for years, and that broke me even more. Mentally, physically and emotionally, I was a mess. So many attacks on my mind. My body was left in pretty bad shape, too.
And I think the worst part about all of it was that there was basically jack shit I could do about it. I couldn’t defend myself physically because I was too young, too small and too weak. I couldn’t defend myself verbally because I was far too tired, too over-emotional, too terrible at verbal communication and couldn’t articulate myself well enough. And I was too emotionally abused and bullied, both at home AND at school to even TALK about it. That’s the thing about abusers, they don’t want their victims talking to anyone about their abuse.
And on the rare occassions I did talk about it, no one gave two shits and a fuck. Most people didn’t know about it. Some did, but most of them didn’t give a damn, at least not enough to do anything about it, like get me some help or get me away from my abuser. Because I grew up in a shithole of a town, where there are some good people but there’s a lot more BAD people.
Plus, my abuser was a woman and I’m male. And no one gives two shits about male abuse survivors like myself. I was often told to “man up”, “grow up” and “stop being a pussy” just for trying to open up about my feelings instead of bottling them up inside.
She was a feminist, too, my abuser. I had a biological half-sister who was nine years younger than me and she was treated like a princess while I was treated like dogshit. She never admitted to being one of those crazy man-hating feminist types, not in front of me, but looking back, I realised her actions spoke louder than her words. She was in part the reason I stopped calling myself a feminist years ago.
My dad and stepmother were fairly well-off. Not rich, but not broke, either. Definitely not. I come from a family of teachers. My dad was a teacher, my stepmother is, or was a teacher, and so is my older brother. I could have been a teacher myself if I wasn’t born disabled and abused and neglected for so many years. My dad works in a school full of kids with learning difficulties similar to mine, and he gets paid a lot of money to teach them. And they’re very materialistic and money-oriented people who vote for the UK Labour Party every year, but only because they tax you less. And they think they’re such good parents because they have money and they can buy me nice things, but in my experience, you need more than just money to be a good parent. You have to support your children physically, emotionally and mentally as well.
As George Carlin once said: 
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It’s good that they had more than enough money to put food on the table, clothes on my back, a roof over my head...plus entertainment and any luxury item I wanted, but if they had just provided me with equal amounts of love and emotional support, if not more than equal, I would have been mostly ok. But I’m not. I’m broken. I’m aloof. I’m mentally scarred. I’m traumatised. I’m anxious and depressed. I’m very mentally ill, tired and damaged beyond repair.
Because truth be told, they weren’t much better than my so-called mother. Especially my stepmother. I guess she was not as manipulative, but she was very emotionally and verbally abusive. She would often yell at me over little things, and bully me constantly. Just like my abuser, and the other kids at school who harassed me every. single. schoolday. She was horrible to me. Far as I’m concerned, they are both as bad as each other. She’s calmed down quite a bit and she’s not so abrasive anymore, but she still has her moments, and the damage she’s done to me, emotionally, mentally, psychologically, had a permanent effect.
I never had a REAL mother. The kind who nurtures her children and loves them unconditionally. My family hates my guts because they think I’m a spoiled, entitled little brat and a very spiteful, vindictive, hateful little shit (I was a very angry kid. And for good reason) who always cries and complains when he doesn’t get his own way. I never had any real friends, either. I hardly ever speak to anyone in real life because I’ve tried so many times and it seldom ended well. That, and I’m crippled by a horrible social anxiety, which is not as bad as it used to be, but it’s still there.
I’ve never had a girlfriend, either. Or a boyfriend. I’m a virgin, and a loner. Fuck my life.
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ask-ace-attorney-mpreg · 6 years ago
Text
|Name: Simon Blackquill
Is this your first time using our service? Yes
Do you have a photo or DNA of the preferred “father” of your child? Yes
Write it here: Fulbright’s ID card from the Police Department
Father ID: Robert “Bobby” Fulbright
Will the father be present? No
No. of children desired? 1
On a scale of one to ten how long would you prefer your contractions? 7
On a scale on one to ten how long would you prefer your labor? Write several scales if more than one child. 5
Would you like assistance during delivery? No
Would you like to customise your delivery? If so, circle what you want to experience.
Pain / pleasure / joy / peace / add your own
Would you like to keep the child after the birth? Yes
Please submit your form in our submission box, and we will get to you as soon as we can. ||
Monday, 15 January 2029
Simon had spent about a year outside of prison. Everything was supposed to be alright now, yet it wasn’t. After all this time he still felt guilty for the man, who had died because of him and he could no longer live with that guilt.
And he could no longer stay on his own. Everyone was moving together and marrying and all those things he had never been interested in. It meant that they had no longer time for him as they were occupied with themselves. They had the right to do so, but it meant for him that he needed to adapt as well and when he saw the article about the opening of ‘The Genesis Maternity Facility’ a few months ago, he felt like a god had heard his prayers.
Over prison, insomnia and his sister’s imprisonment he had forgotten about his old desire for a child. And this seemed to be the opportunity to fix it. A child of Fulbright, who would get everything their father couldn’t and maybe so he would repay the dept to the police officer. And finally, he didn’t have to be alone on this planet anymore.
He had taken off the next two months in the prosecution’s office and had told them that he would be gone for the next month on a trip through Asia. He wanted this kid to have his full attention and so he went inside the building with mixed feelings in his stomach and an old police ID card.
Meretriciously he had filled out the form and handed it with the card to the lady at the reception and was brought to a white room by a nurse. She explained what was happening now, but he only listened partially. The room was empty, only a table with a pill and a blue t-shirt laying on it. Loading was written on it and Simon understood what he had to do next.
He turned to the nurse who had finished speaking and nodded in her direction. She looked slightly worried and asked: “Did you hear me, sir? Do you want me to explain again?”
“Put on shirt, take the pill and you’ll be here at 100%. Thank you. I’m good to go.”
The woman quickly bowed her head and left hesitantly. As she was gone Simon looked at the shirt and touched its fabric. It would tell him how this would how far he was. Almost magic.
With a gulp he pulled up his sweater, put on the shirt and dry swallowed the pill. Immediately he was struck by a stroke of pain through his body while feeling his mind drifting into a state of total peace. Trembling he held his hands over his abdomen and saw the numbers changing.
9%, 16%, 22%
Slowly he felt his dome swelling and the bunch of cells softly starting to nest in his stomach.
36%, 49%, 63%
The child took on speed and he felt it slowly wiggling around. A heavy sting shook through him, almost he fell down on his knees, but stumbled back and leaned on a wall as he cradled his admirable little child in his belly.
74%, 89%, 96%
Almost it felt as it stopped, and Simon panted in dismay. Yet he lovingly looked down at the now so big bump and encouraged the little one: “It’s okay, little one. You’re not hurting daddy… hah... hah… Well maybe a little… But I love you and … you are welcome to enter this world and be with me, alright?”
And as if the little one had heard him, the loading jumped to 100% and a light went off. The pain eased off, as the peace in his mind held on for a bit longer as a nurse came in and helped him removing the loading shirt. He was still slightly out of breath as she put on some sort of gown and helped him remove his sweatpants and boxers. He was grateful for her help as he had difficulty to keep himself balanced and let her lay them to his sweater on the other side of the room.
She then led him to the so-called delivery wing, but Simon barely had eyes for that as he just stared down to his stomach and kindly patted over the big bump filled with his beautiful child. He only looked up as he found himself in an empty ward and got the next instructions of the nurse.
“Since you do not want assistance, we will come to you as soon as you are finished. But if anything goes wrong press the emergency button on your wristband”, she said and pointed on the button on the band in her hand.
Simon nodded and held out his hand for her to clip it around his wrist. Immediately she was gone and then his contractions set in. Simon inhaled sharply and had to give everything to not to break down on his knees. Cautiously he waddled over to the chair and let himself drop down on it. Some minutes went by before the next contraction came in and he massaged his stomach gently. A number was flashing on the armband, but Simon did not look down on it. There stood a 7 and he knew that well enough.
7 like 7 years of prison. He needed to suffer this long once more so he could look in Fulbright’s child’s eyes without regret. It would be worth it, he thought as the pain rushed through him again and his stomach hardened.
Hours went by and several times he thought about going into the tub filled with water in the back but decided to wait longer. The child shall be born in there, but he did not want to get into the water too soon.
7 hours went by, it must be night by now and he felt the little one slowly entering his birth canal. The water had never broken but apparently it rarely did that under normal circumstances and so the man walked over to the tub covered ins sweat and shaking like a leave.
He barely managed to pull his gown over his head before he maneuverer himself into the tub. As he laid in there, the water embracing his bump and small waves were running away from it as the little human moved down. The exhaustion and pain were inexplicable at that point but still he felt so proud of this big bump that he almost thought he would like to have it for a bit longer.
Just then he felt the little one move further down and let out a painful cry. It was time to push and he gripped the edges of the bathtub and let out a cry again as he pushed.
Again and again he pushed and cried for his little one to only move a bit further down but it was a long and tiring process. Five hours this should take, and he felt himself losing strength by every minute. As he felt the head crowning, he was almost sure he wouldn’t make it anymore and thought about pressing the button on his armband.
And just then Fool Bright’s old cheery maxim rang in his ears and his unnaturally bright smile flashed in front of his eyes. In justice we trust. And this kid would be justice for them all.
Again, he pressed and cried and finally his little one was out. Tremblingly he pulled them to his chest and softly cleared their face. He panted and panted and looked at them breathing and surprisingly blinking at the dimmed light around them.
He gulped. He had a daughter. With bright brown eyes and dark hair. A whine escaped his lips and he hugged his little miracle and sobbed with joy.
Fool Bright had given him a beautiful little Metis. Even in death the man still gave him more than most had given him in life.
TBC...
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ittakesrain · 5 years ago
Text
Track Your Shit
I sat on the couch in my psychiatrist’s office with my arms crossed and steam billowing out of my ears.
“Are you on cocaine?” he asked without a hint of sarcasm.
“No,” I shot back, completely bewildered but appropriately defensive.
“Then you’re bipolar.”
Yup. That was how I was diagnosed.  And to my memory, that was really the only major piece of information my psychiatrist gave me that day.  There was no supplemental information given to me, no sort of enlightenment or introduction into the all-consuming project that would be managing my difficult and sometimes debilitating condition, and I left the office with what felt like a really random label and a higher dose of Abilify.  I was nineteen years old, I was a chemistry major in college, I’d kicked the hell out of an eating disorder, and I was bipolar. The facts didn’t matter too much. Right?
Over the next several years, I really didn’t hear the word “bipolar” all too frequently, in or out of my psychiatrist’s office, despite the increasingly, uh, intense fluctuations in my moods and energy as well as steadily growing anxiety and irritability. Weird, am I right? For a diagnosis that impacts pretty much all aspects of a person’s life, in one way or another, to not be mentioned nearly enough times? There are more fitting words, but sure, we’ll go with ‘weird.’
By the time I graduated college, I knew my diagnosis was playing a larger role in my life that I originally assumed it would.  I started keeping track of when I took my meds (and with that tried not to miss any doses). I recorded my moods more frequently.  I did some cursory research into my disorder. And I finally started noticing patterns in my cycle and knew to watch out for specific warning signs.  And mind you, doing all of that was a pretty big accomplishment for someone who was given virtually no guidance. Not to mention a medication regime that was significantly lacking.
The first thing I realized was that my episodes often began with feeling “emotionally itchy,” or “like I want to rip my face off” and “jump out of my skin and out of who I am as a person.” Thanks to the knowledge I have now, I can use different language to describe what actually goes on as I inch ever closer to a major episode. I become incredibly irritable and experience what’s called “dysphoric mania.”  I have the racing thoughts and flight of ideas that come with manic episodes, meaning my brain is running at a million miles a minute and I can’t keep myself focused on one idea long enough to think it through, but it’s not what anyone would call a happy feeling (not that mania is to be confused with mere happiness). In my dysphoric state, I have too much energy, so much so that it physically hurts me as it swells from within me and threatens to burst open at any second.  I often cut myself in such a state because I need the assumed and metaphorical emotional release as well as the physical release of endorphins in response to injury.
Then I began to see that if I missed my meds for any period of time longer than a day or two, I felt the effects about two weeks later. If I forgot (or “forgot”) to take my Abilify for let’s say a full week, I’d be in the middle of a relentless and torturous depression in about fourteen days. Sidenote, I shouldn’t have missed ANY days of meds, but lo and behold, I wasn’t exactly warned all too well against it. But to see a pattern, to determine the cause of a specific (and dramatic) dip in my moods, was hugely influential in my life. Not to mention, it brought me to google how the medication I was prescribed actually works. And, spoiler, every single human being who is prescribed any medication at all should be aware of what the fucking medication does and how it works and all of that. Seriously. So important. Turns out Abilify is “long acting” and takes about two weeks to leave my system.
Furthermore, Abilify is a type of drug called an “atypical antipsychotic.” Those types of drugs are frequently used as mood stabilizers. They’re the second generation of drugs that you’ve probably seen being used on dramatic medical shows or movies about psychiatric hospitals that knock people who are acting “insane” out. They’re used as tranquilizers. Haldol is an example of one that works fast and Thorazine is an example of one that works somewhat slower. Those are called typical antipsychotics. Atypicals like Abilify have fewer side effects. They work to influence serotonin (the neurotransmitter sometimes called the “happy molecule”) as opposed to blocking signals from dopamine (the “pleasure and reward” neurotransmitter).
Right. So as you see I’ve become fairly well-versed in the goings-on of impending episodes and the key pieces of information surrounding them. Again, this is phenomenally helpful. But my point is that I should have been given this information from the get-go. I should’ve been prepared and taught, should’ve been armed with education given to me by a human being who knew what the fuck was happening to me and how bad it would potentially get if I didn’t have the fucking said information! I got there myself, and I’m damn proud of myself for doing so. And it still brings me peace of mind and a sense of control to research bipolar disorder, and learn new things about treatments and meds and biochemistry, and to work through my recorded moods and symptoms to find existing patterns or warnings. But for fuck’s sake, why wasn’t I told about the importance of recording the fluctuations or about psychoeducation as a tremendously powerful tool?
Alright alright, not going to continue dwelling on the past and how I was royally screwed (at least not in this particular blog post). Because as I look to the future, I know things will at the very least make more sense. I’ll at least be able to understand this bullshit and from there hopefully combat it better.
Which brings me to a few months ago as I began to embark on a new and more um, intense journey of self-discovery and understanding –which, in turn, is allowing me to feel significantly less dread about my eventual (and inevitable?) next episodes. It started when I wound up in the emergency room for the first time in October 2018 when a depressive episode took a terrible turn for the worse. I was 27 years old and at the end of my rope. Exhausted from years of worsening symptoms and my cries for help going unheard, my begging and pleading remaining unnoticed, I collapsed into chaotic despair.
The good that came from that particular visit to rock bottom was that I subsequently found a therapist (no, I hadn’t been in therapy previously and yes, that was really dumb) who is literally the coolest person ever, in addition to being really fucking good at what she does. And a few months after that, my amazing therapist helped me find a better psychiatrist, and from there we all began the arduous task of getting my act together and trying to stabilize the shitshow of my life.
As it turns out, since I was on a medication that didn’t do much for me for such a long time, my bipolar disorder was able to “mature.” To further develop and overall just get worse. Literally look it up. It’s a known thing that bipolar worsens if left untreated, and I absolutely feel that mine at the very least wasn’t being treated properly. Lucky me.
But since beginning to see my therapist in November and my new medication provider in February, I’ve learned like, so so so much. I know to stop and breathe when I start to get worked up, because I know I have gone for long periods of time without inhaling and exhaling like a functioning human. I know that I fidget around and repeat purposeless motions (“display signs of psychomotor agitation”) because it comforts me when I’m anxious. I know I have issues with control, with the desire to feel safe, with things that aren’t fair.
Also. Insomnia is a huge red flag for me and for the majority of bipolars. It’s both a symptom of approaching mania and a trigger for it. Meaning, when you start staying up all night long, you’ve gotta find a way to get some sleep before it gets worse and leads to an episode. It also means that you can’t voluntarily pull all-nighters (if you can help it) because that might land you in the middle of a manic break as well. And as if that wouldn’t suck enough, a despairing depression would most certainly follow the agitated (hypo)mania.
Alcohol is another one. Now, I’m not huge on drinking. I never partook in any of that before I was of legal age anyway (which is perhaps a testament to my nerdy younger self haha), and once I started drinking, I had trouble getting past the gross taste. I still do. But when I drink as an adult (which I haven’t done in a few months, mind you), I drink to get fucked up. So basically, I drink in a way that’s literally terrible for my bipolar. It’s a cycle, too.  I’ll have a bad day and come home and take five shots of fireball, and I get shitfaced so I have a terrible day the next day. It’s similar to insomnia in that it perpetuates itself and that I’ve gotta be responsible about it.
[On that note, by the way, I should say that maintaining stability involves quite a few key things (such as sleep hygiene, med compliance, the nutrition you fuel your body with, the way you move your body, being mindful and having the ability to focus on breathing, following pre-set routines, your support system, your coping skills and crisis-management tools, and your healthcare professionals…to name a few). It’s imperative to keep up with each thing to prevent all hell from breaking loose.]
I’ve also come to see that, for whatever reason, my major episodes usually have a definitive end but not a clearcut start. As in, I can identify the specific day my depression ends, but the irritability and frenetic energy and aggressive outbursts start out kind of slowly and increase steadily until my moods surrender into despondent melancholy. At this point, I believe the phenomena has to do with my tendency to ruminate and nearly drown in repetitive thoughts. I really struggle with redirecting my brain away from negatives. It could also be because of my coexisting ADHD, but either way, I can’t knock myself out of a bad mood as easily as most people can. So even something small going wrong has the potential to send me spiraling. I can’t think myself out of it. But I can easily make it worse –by ruminating and letting the negatives repeat like a broken record in my head. The decline, therefore, moves like a ball rolling down a ramp. On the opposite end of a “crazy spell” (as I called them way back in the day before I learned all this enlightening information) we have the ball being yanked back up as if it was attached to a string or something. As in, something good can happen that completely “snaps me out” of a major depression. It’s wild to think about. Like, fuck, why can’t more good things happen? Maybe then I’d spend less time wanting to die. I have, however, come to learn how to put myself in the line of things that have the potential to knock me off the crazy train. File that under “bitchin’ coping skills.”
Thanks to psychoeducation, I’ve also come to understand some of my personality traits. I’ve often called myself “volatile.” I fly off the handle fairly quickly, I accelerate from zero to 100 faster than the Kinga Ka roller coaster at Six Flags. My therapist calls it being reactive, and I prefer that phrasing now. My reactivity is part of my personality, but I understand it more clearly by looking at it through the lens of what I know about bipolar disorder. Similarly, in addition to reacting more, I react bigger. I guess some people might call it being dramatic, but again, I prefer to think of it in terms of how my therapist explained it: I’m wired intensely. I feel things in a bigger way. She once said something along the lines of “you can light up a city with your emotions,” and I don’t think she used the word emotions, but that was the gist. My intensity if a part of who I am. And honestly, as much as it can be super annoying and anxiety-producing, it’s not all bad and I choose to label it as a good thing.
Oh, and I pretty much knew this already, but I like to write/type because in my bipolar brain, the thoughts move more quickly than my mouth can move. It causes me to stutter, or stumble over my words, or lose my train of thought because I didn’t say something the right way and I can’t make my mouth move in a way to correct myself because I have fifteen thousand other thoughts flying through my mind and I can’t focus on any of it now. I exhibit pressured speech. Oh yeah, that’s one of my faves.
Thanks to psychoeducation, I’ve learned why I cling to my routines with a death-grip. Doing so is legitimately helpful to people with bipolar. Which is why going on vacation or starting a new job or a new chapter in life can throw bipolar people off in such grand ways. Circadian rhythms are screwy in us. We need to work hard to keep that shit in check. And the sleep-wake cycle and yes, routines, are part of that.
Okay then. With all of this knowledge being attained and a few more trips to rock bottom (and the emergency room) since October 2018…here I am. Still holding on, and doing better at that holding than I have in a while. A month and a half of normalcy without anything rocking the boat? I feel pretty damn good, thank you very much.
Oddly enough, stability can be just as scary for me as the complete and utter chaos of the rest of it. Like, now I have no excuses for not moving forward. Ugh, I have to move forward. But ya know what, I will. Because I’ve got the bipolar symptoms under control at the moment. There’s really nothing stopping me, so I’m sure as hell not gonna stop me.
Keeping records is absolutely fucking necessary. I’ve got no choice but to record my moods, anxiety, and irritability. I’ve gotta take my meds every fucking day and keep track of if I ever miss a day (which I shouldn’t). I need to write down other factors that play a role, such as my periods and when I have therapy and life stressors and stuff like that.
It’s taken, holy shit, so much work to acquire the awareness I currently have. And moving forward will require consistently working on what I know and actively seeking more information. But dude, I’ve come this far. I’m not gonna stop now.
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fuck-customers · 6 years ago
Text
Very long
I quit my job without notice back at the end of June. No, I didnt walk out of my shift. I came in, worked my shift fully, and then clocked out and gave them a notice of immediate resignation. It wasn't something I wanted to do, but I ended up backing myself into a corner and wasn't left with an option. Backstory - I had worked there for 2 years as a cashier, and was growing to more and more desperately loathe it. I am not a sociable person, I have several mental disorders that make dealing with people in general rather difficult, let alone having to do it as part of a job. I was able to do it rather well for a long time despite all of that. I had always rode my job like rising tides - times when I loved it, or at least tolerated it, and times where I almost quit and never looked back, but during those low times, made an effort to change how I was thinking, and rode the wave again. Only, towards the end, things just got so so bad, that despite my usual tricks and efforts to get back to handling my job, I couldn't. For me, I can handle shitty customers, or I can handle shitty coworkers (and management) but I cant handle both at the same time for a very long time. And with new management, i was sinking fast. We had gotten a new store manager from another store, that everyone basically hated. We had about half of the other store transfer to ours to escape him, and when he came he brought his entire possey with him. I didnt really fit in with it, nor did i really care to. So i was treated condescendingly, like I was new, like I was stupid, and didn't matter, by him, the store manager. I have a boatload of stories, even so far as to be unable/afraid to use the bathroom during desperate needs, because of him, and almost losing my job because of a flu and Facebook, but it'll make this drag out further than it already will, so maybe I'll talk about it in another post. And then my coworkers, for whatever reason, started being extremely rude and unhelpful. People in different departments would all but tell us cashiers to fuck right on off when we needed something, even if it was a simple price check or to bring up a fucking pineapple. (It wasn't a big store so it's not like I was asking them to go from one corner of Walmart to another.) Even worse was that they started treating me like I didnt know how to do my job. I would call back to produce to tell them that a sign was displaying the wrong price, and if they could fix it, and I was met with rudeness and insistence that I wasn't using the right code. That company is very produce heavy. I rang up every single type of tomato we sold every day. Almost every single order had one type or another. Roma and on the vine were the most popular. Im telling you the price is displayed wrong in your department, and you're just going to tell me to give them the price the customer asks for (not what I asked nor do Ineed your permission for that) and then yell at me that I'm using the wrong code like I dont type in 4664 almost every order every shift for 2 years? Fuck yourself Anyways, as I said, I started hating my job a lot. I knew I was reaching the point of no return, so I tried to switch departments. First, I did it the way you're supposed to - applying for it, and then telling management you were interested. I had another manager over my shoulder helping me with the application, as I had never done one as an employee before. When I went to go talk to the manager who was over one of the departments I applied to, she told the manager that helped me that I wasn't a good worker because I "wandered". I will admit to my faults, but if theres one thing I have never done, it's fucking wander. I confronted her about it and told her i didnt think that was fair, and she basically acknowledged me, but ultimately blew me off. How do I know? Because when I asked her about it again, she told me that she had checked with HR and that my application had mysteriously vanished. Yes, an online app, mysteriously wasn't there. She told me to check myself, so I did. The status of it said "submitted - not chosen". I let it go because it was clear she didnt like my work ethic and needed to lie about it. So giving up on the proper methods, I tried a different tactic and went to the manager who helped me with the application, who was over one of the other departments I wanted to work in - Grocery. I have a years experience stocking at fartmart, and they're a lot tougher and harder about stocking than this little store I was at. I jumped at every chance to get off register and be there. I asked the higher up manager about openings in the department every. Fucking. Day. EVERY. COCKSUCKING. DAY. I asked him about openings in grocery. Always met with nothing, they weren't hiring yet. As an extra measure I told the immediate manager over that department and that department only, that I was ready to help. Well, another thing is that I had told basically everyone that I would like to be a supervisor over the front end, a head cashier. I was really gunning for it hard. Even if it was still cashiering, it would be different, and at least I would have greater money handling and supervisor experience to help me at another job eventually, right? Well, I ultimately ended up backing off, because one of the requirements for being a HC was a 100% open availability, and due to having spawned my own child, I didn't have that anymore. ... ...Only to find out that two of my coworkers had been promoted to part time head cashiering. I was greatly upset. I was told that that wasn't a thing at all, and then suddenly it is, for everyone but me. And... literally the only person who would take me seriously about getting off the front end was the dairy manager. I was very forceful in telling him that I would seriously love to work for him in dairy. He told me he already had someone working in his department, but that he didnt know if it was going to work out, so he would talk to her and get back to me. Well... back to the grocery thing.... One day I walk into work and I hop on register. Partway through my shift, i look up, and i see the direct grocery manager training a new employee. I'm immediately and entirely baffled and filled with hurt rage. Then while I'm trying to process what I'm seeing, I'm told that theres a new cashier that's coming in to be trained as a HC. Yeah. In disbelief, I go on my break and find the dairy manager and ask him if he had talked to his subordinate. He had, and he regretfully told me that she was going to try to stick it out and make things work. He couldn't give me a job someone else had (which I genuinely dont hold against him - he's the only pure soul in this story, the only hero that tried for me). So as I go to go to the breakroom, I see the grocery manager walking with yet another higher up manager that I didnt talk to much. Grocery manager said hello, and I immediately confronted her, "so I see you hired someone new. What's up with that?" She then gave me some stupid half ass story about how she didnt think I was serious and thought I only wanted extra shifts in her department, not to switch depts permanently. WAIT, IT GETS BETTER. The higher up manager walking with the grocery manager pipes up right after she had given me that lame excuse with, "oh, nope, [my name] HATES being a cashier". All of that happened in one day, in the span of less than half an hour. After watching all of my prospects for off of the front end hell vaporize before my very eyes, I went to the bathroom and cried my eyes out for like 15 minutes. Just really, really sobbing. And after that, after all of that, I just couldn't take it anymore. I tried so hard to hang on, but I couldn't. My attitude with customers got bad, no matter how hard I tried to be mindful. I started slipping up and forgetting things and making stupid mistakes, and started getting in trouble with management due to customer complaints. I felt awful, because I truly wasn't trying to be mean, I was really trying to hold onto things, but I could no longer manage to hide the fact that I thought the customer was an idiot for asking me if I was open as I actively served customers before them. I couldn't conceal my seething hatred as people bombarded my register and got in my face before I had a chance to even log in. I developed what I believe to be stress induced IBS, where I ended up having to spend time in the bathroom EVERY DAY, and nothing helped it. It was especially bad in the mornings, and since apparently cleaning all of the front end during closing meant I was a wanderer, I was pulled off mids and closings and was forced into doing nothing BUT morning/opening shifts. Thought it was coffee causing my tummy upset, so I switched to energy drinks. Still had the issue. Thought it was caffeine, so i stopped drinking it altogether and just dealt with being tired. Didnt stop the issue. Started taking medicine. Still didnt stop the issue. I developed a late problem because sometimes I would be on my way out the door, only to have my stomach cramp and have to go back inside to the bathroom. Not being able to have caffeine became an issue because I got so anxious and stressed and depressed about my job, that in addition to stomach issues, I developed insomnia that I'm still battling, 2 months after the fact. It got to the point where I would be in the shower getting ready for work and I would be daydreaming about falling down the stairs and breaking my leg or arm so I wouldn't have to go in. It got to the point where I would be on my way to work hoping someone would t-bone me so I wouldn't have to work my shift. I had gotten suspended on my birthday in November 2017 while I had the flu, literally right after having to argue for my job and being told I was already taken off the schedule. I was on my second suspension in June 2018. I had 1 more point before I would be fired, and I ended up being late by exactly one minute on June 23rd because of my stomach issues. That day, I clocked in, found the store manager on the floor, and waited to talk to him. He stopped his conversation with another employee to ask me what I wanted, and I told him I had an attendance issue I needed to talk to him about. He didn't say it in the exact words, but he essentially told me to fuck off back to my register and ignored and dismissed me entirely. So I quit that day after my shift. It was either that, or wait to get fired. Looking back there was a lot i should have done differently - i probably should have tried to talk to my managers more an be more open about my physical issues that had started, at the least, despite their open disdain for me. But more than that, I should have just applied for another department in a different store and transferred out. I would probably still be with the company, and marginally happier. It was probably a good month before I could even drive past the place after quitting without having a panic attack. Quitting like that was not something I ever foresaw myself doing. Fantasizing about? Of course. But seriously? Never. And I felt, and still do, feel bad about it, even if most everyone there can go suck eggs. So why submit this all this time later? Why not right after it happened? Well, I thought my last paycheck and vacation and etc had been direct deposited into my account for my last paycheck all those months ago. But on Friday Sept. 7, while I was two states away in a Walmart, I got a call from them. It was surreal, given that I had had similar dreams that were, you know, dreams - but I answered, and it turns out that I have a last paycheck waiting for me there. I guess as revenge they waited 2 months to tell me I had money waiting. I had mostly gotten over the whole thing, and was even feeling a bit of rose tinted nostalgia... but the thought of actually having to go in and get my paycheck and face all those people and relive everything in stark detail is fucking me up. And I know I'm not going to have a good time when I actually do go get it. I feel miserable and anxious all over again. I want my money... but I dont want to have to see them or be in that place ever again. :/ (Apparently we cant tag through the app anymore? What?) Anyways... thanks for reading.
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kyber-crystal · 4 years ago
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I'm curious on what you could do with 15 and 8, babes! Love goes all to you
8. “Something tells me that’s not the only thing on your mind right now.” and 15. “I hope you didn’t think I was a bad kisser or anything...I did that after thinking a thousand times.”
It’s Okay to Not Be Okay - Steve Rogers x Reader
Words: ~2k Warnings: slight angst, fluff Summary: He’s always there for you when you need him. Even when you claim you don’t, he knows better than that. A/N: i threw in a harry potter reference and now i’m sobbing yAy
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As it turned out, balancing a double life as head trauma surgeon for SHIELD while handling the duties of a superhero were much tougher than you anticipated. 
Of course, you knew exactly what you would be getting yourself into when you chose to go down the medical route. You knew what you would be getting yourself into as soon as you accepted the call to join the Avengers Initiative. but what you didn’t see coming was the immense effects it all would have on your physical and mental health.  
If you were lucky, you got a few hours of on-and-off sleep in between missions before you were called to the OR to perform emergency surgeries on injured agents, or were deployed for another few missions back-to-back. So you relished in relaxing on the weekends. It was a rare occasion in which you actually got to kick back and do whatever you wanted without the pressure of saving so many people in a limited amount of time on your shoulders. 
Steve noticed something was wrong from the moment you stepped out of the elevator and lazily slid your coat off your shoulders, hastily tossing it onto the sofa and setting down your duffel bag before trudging up to your room. He knew you had a long day, though, and wanted to help you unwind after your long shift. Chances were that you and him, or Natasha, would be sent off the next day and you wouldn’t get an opportunity to rest like this for the next week or so.
He silently prepared a steaming hot cup of your favorite tea, knowing you were most likely exhausted. Sixteen-hour shifts weren’t kind at all.
You tried to hide all the pills - pills that were supposed to treat your anxiety, the nightmares, the insomnia - but you weren’t subtle enough for Steve. You claimed you were fine, but he knew better. He knew you like the back of his hand - he could read into all those little signs you gave off, a skill nobody else on the team had except him and him alone.
Every inch of your body was aching immensely - the aftermath of rushing around and standing all night without a wink of sleep. Fatigue was tugging at your eyes and if it weren’t for the tiny last bit of self-control you had left, you would’ve collapsed right there on the spot. 
“Hey,” he said softly as you came back down, this time exiting the elevator in a pair of sweatpants and his black T-shirt. He smiled at the sight. “How was your day?”
“It was fine,” you sighed, sitting down at the sofa and curling your knees up to your chest. He came over and wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, gazing at you with genuine concern. “Fourteen-hour transplant operation and another two patching up other injured STRIKE team members.”
“From Rouen?”
“Yeah,” you mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter over yourself. “Look, I’m fine...if that’s what you wanna ask. It’s just been a long night.”
His brow furrowed as he placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles across it. "Something tells me that’s not the only thing on your mind right now.”
“I told you, Steve, I’m fine,” you snapped, blinking rapidly to fight back tears that threatened to spill. You softened your tone as you noticed the look on his face. “Really.”
“No, you’re not,” he murmured, placing a finger beneath your chin and tilting your head up to look at him. “Come on. You really think I wouldn’t be attuned to your emotions by now? Just tell me what’s going on.”
You let out a shuddering sigh, briefly squeezing your eyes shut. You shook your head. “No. Steve, I told you-”
“Don’t lie to me. I know something’s wrong. Now tell me or I’ll have Bruce force the truth out of you.” His voice was commanding yet gentle at the same time. “Please, Y/N, tell me. I’m worried about you.”
You let out a sigh of defeat, shoulders sagging. You nodded and swallowed hard, “Fine. Today..I was in the ICU. There was a patient; an orphaned little girl who’d been brought in after a hostage raid on a HYDRA base up north- Scotland, I think? Katie was her name, I think. She was admitted about a week ago. But she’d been held captive for...almost an entire year. She was severely malnourished. She was losing hair, losing weight - she looked like a skeleton. It was only recently that I had diagnosed her with leukemia, but by the time the diagnosis was made there wasn’t much time left. But no amount of sickness could get rid of her contagious energy and adorable little smile. She reminded me so much of my younger self, it hurt.”
“She was dying. Steve, she was dying and I didn’t know,” you sobbsd, “I can’t believe I didn’t- if I had found out sooner, I could’ve helped. Now it’s too late. I could see the light fading from her eyes. Katies’ grip on my hand was growing weaker by the second and I just - I didn’t want to believe what was happening. 
“She died with me by her side...a mere three minutes later. She died holding my hand. She died without a family...she died, and I couldn’t save her-”
“But she had you,” Steve whispered. “You were there for her, and I’m sure she’ll always be thankful for that.”
“I could’ve saved her!” you yelled, voice cracking. “But I couldn’t! It’s my fault she’s dead-”
“It’s not your fault, Y/N. You didn’t know. And you did everything you could. That’s all that matters.”
You shook your head wildly, feeling more burning tears slip down your cheeks. “I wish I could’ve spent more time with him -”
You tried to open your mouth to speak again but instead, a choked sob escaped your lips. It was like a suffocating pressure was tightly lodged against your chest and prevented you from being able to breath properly. Anything you tried to say came out in incoherent sobs and gasps - you felt so trapped, like you were stuck in a tiny little box with no way to escape. It was draining.
Steve did the only thing he knew how to do and carefully wrapped his arms around you, quickly pulling you into his chest. You slumped against him and continued to sob - burying your face within the fabric of his cotton T-shirt to further muffle the sounds of your crying. When he tightened his arms around your trembling frame you didn’t bother to writhe in his grasp and fight back. There was no fight left. You didn’t want to keep fighting. You were done with it all.
“Hey hey hey. Breathe, darling, just breathe,” he cooed, smoothing your hair back, “you hear that? Listen to my heartbeat, breathe in and out, that’s good...”
You took one shuddering inhale and exhale after the other, until slowly but steadily, the hiccups faded away and your crying eventually came to a halt. You knew you looked like an absolute mess - with puffy, red eyes and tear tracks staining your blotchy red cheeks.
But if he was being honest, none of it made you look any less stunning than you were. Despite your glossy eyes and tearstained face, you looked breathtaking to him - you always did, and always would.
And he gets so wrapped up in gazing down at you that he loses sense of the world around him, and doesn’t realize that the two of you are slowly moving closer and closer to one another until there’s essentially no space left.
Then, he kisses you.
He knows he could’ve picked a better time to do this. He knows. It was wrong of him to choose now out of all occasions - you were emotional and out of the loop. But he couldn’t help himself - he didn’t know what else to do. After months of suppressing his feelings deep down, he was sick and tired of keeping them from you.
So he went with his gut instinct - which was to simply go for it. And he did.
When his lips initially met yours you didn’t know what to do. But then, you found yourself kissing him back, your arms going around his neck and your eyes fluttering shut. He went to cup your cheeks and gently held your face in his hands for just a few more seconds but when you pulled apart, you were left with an aching feeling - wishing it would’ve lasted longer.
Then almost as soon as it started, it was over. Whatever warmth you felt was now replaced with an eerily chilly sensation that uncomfortably enveloped your body. And he felt it too. And he hated it. But he was afraid to make a second move - what if you didn’t react the same way you did as the first time?
Steve looked down at you and wiped the last of your tears from your face with his thumb and reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers together. 
...
You now have Steve’s oversized hoodie on over his shirt you were also borrowing, a mug of tea in your hands as he sat across from you at the kitchen counter. 
You silently picked at the castella set in front of you on the plate as he delicately held one of your hands in his, rubbing patterns across your palm. It was soothing, almost distracting, in a way.
A full hour of silence had passed, and frankly, Steve felt a little relieved. He’d trade your tortured cries for radio silence any day - he hated seeing you in pain. It was like receiving a direct bullet to the stomach - and he knew those things hurt like hell. 
“I’m sorry,” you wiped at your nose with your free hand, “I look gross right now. I’m sorry you had to see all...that.”
“Hey...it’s okay,” Steve reassured you. “Trust me, I’ve seen worse. You remember that day a piece of scrap metal got buried all the way into Bucky’s calf?”
You shuddered and laughed sadly at the thought. You remembered having to treat him and Wanda holding him down as he struggled not to cry out in agony. “Yeah. That was a mess.”
“And you saved him. You’ve saved so many people, Y/N. Don’t feel bad for being unable to stop something out of your control. Think about how many people are out there, alive, because of what you did,” he reminded you. “You saved Bucky, you saved Peter. You even saved me once.”
“I saved your ass multiple times, you mean,” you snorted. He cracked a grin. “Three times, to be exact.”
“You definitely did, sweetheart. And I’m sure Katie knows that. That you’re a hero.”
You felt your heart twist in your chest at the mention of her name. “I really hope so.”
“She knows. Trust me, she knows you are.”
“Thank you...” you muttered, “...you know, you didn’t have to stay awake for me. You could’ve just gone to bed.”
“Without knowing you were alright? That’s not happening, darling,” he chuckled lightly, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your forehead. “I’m gonna be here and I’m gonna wait for you, whatever it takes. I’ll always wait for you.”
“Always?”
He squeezed your hand. “Always.”
Your smile widened ever so slightly - and you felt stirring in your chest at his words. 
Steve then raised an eyebrow at you. “I know this is off-topic and all, but...I hope you didn’t think I was bad kisser or anything. I did that after thinking a thousand times. Though my timing could’ve been better-”
“No, no,” you laughed lightly, “you’re all good. You’re not a bad kisser at all.”
“I hope you wouldn’t mind if I tried again, then?” He let go of your hand, and slid his hand up to the back of your head to pull you closer. 
“Not at all.”
Your lips met, and for the briefest moment in time, you could pretend you were okay - for a moment, everything seemed like it would be okay again.
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rainforestgeek · 6 years ago
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If you lose your strength to stand (I'm gonna reach for your hand) pt. 8 “Shelter”
Here’s chapter 8 of my long-ass Plance/Katt fic. Enjoy!
Read it on AO3
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 9
Keith spotted Matt a couple dozen meters down the hall and felt his heartbeat immediately pick up speed. He called out his name without thinking.
Matt looked up, then practically ran towards him. “Keith! I was looking for you. Are you doing okay after – ”
He couldn’t have this conversation out here. He grasped Matt’s elbow and pulled him into his old room. He shut the door but didn’t bother with the lights. The darkness felt comforting.
Keith’s eyes adjusted quickly. Antok had told him that was a galra thing – he’d always been able to see better in the dark than other humans.
Long minutes of silence, while Matt waited patiently, passed. Keith searched for words. “This is the third time I’ve lost him.”
“You’re really close, right?”
“He’s the only family I have. My dad died years ago.” Then there was his mom. Matt shifted his feet, which Keith learned meant he was debating whether he should say something. Keith sighed. “I guess my mom too, now.”
Matt stepped closer. “She can be your family now, too. If you’re ready to talk to her.”
Every one of Keith’s muscles seized up at the thought. He hoped he wasn’t shaking.
“Are you? Ready?”
Keith’s head thumped against the wall. He said hoarsely, “I don’t know.”
“Would it help if I hugged you right now?”
In lieu of answering Keith launched himself into Matt’s arms. For several moments they just held each other. Keith felt safer here, standing in his dark bedroom, wrapped up in Matt’s arms, than he had in months.
Matt’s warm skin felt so wonderful on his cheek that Keith impulsively grabbed his face and crashed their mouths together.
The rebel in his arms rolled with it, didn’t miss a beat, and kissed him back. Hot, forceful, their bodies pressed together, Keith thanked God he’d apparently read the signs right. Their armor clashed and scraped so they got to work removing each piece of armor and then clothing, stubbornly refusing to break the kiss whenever possible.
Keith impatiently dragged Matt to his bed.
Lance hated insomnia with a burning passion. He hated being dead tired but wide awake because of all the thoughts spinning around his head. He hated that he couldn’t control those thoughts, could make them shut up long enough to get to sleep.
So he paced the castle hallways, trying to let music drown out his thoughts. All that did was make his brain even louder. He put the headphones around his neck and listened to the little building noises that even magic alien castles seemed to make.
Yesterday (earlier today?) Allura and the other Coalition leaders agreed that no one outside that room could know about what happened to Shiro.
Lance was shocked but relieved that the man who’d been cold and harsh wasn’t Shiro, on the one hand. He knew something wasn’t right. On the other hand, there were so many problems now. Was Shiro alive? Could they ever find him? Who would fly the Black Lion? Was Keith ready to lead Voltron again? Being the Black Paladin had nearly drained Keith dry. Lance had been hurt but not shocked when he ran away to do some Assassin’s Creed soul-searching. Keith became a good leader, honest – but it cost him big time, hurtling towards a burnout, and he’d leaned heavily on Lance to stay upright. So not only was he worried about Voltron and Keith, but he suddenly missed Shiro all over again like a baseball to the stomach.
The best part? This was all dumped on Lance while he was already having a crisis. Could the war just not throw another curveball at him until he fixed his personal problems, please?
Of all things, the source of his internal world-spinning was Pidge. And the sudden, confusing crash of feelings he had surrounding her.
It’s not like anything changed in the last…what the heck, only the last two days? It felt like a week. All he knew was that he couldn’t breathe seeing Pidge beat up and pale and unconscious, and this morning the weight of the entire universe had fallen off his chest when she’d stumbled out of the healing pod and into his arms. He knew his heart freaked out when she’d hugged him back, and he knew that it freaked out even worse when she’d pushed him away.
In the storm of worrying and anxiety about Shiro and Keith and the whole damn universe, Pidge kept entering his thoughts: the warmth that filled his chest whenever she laughed, her face lighting up when she dissected a new piece of tech, and the bone deep fear of losing her. For the few minutes when he didn’t know if she were alive or dead, Lance had felt everything around him crumble because a universe without Pidge…was unthinkable.
The universe followed certain rules, Lance knew. Objects fell towards bigger objects, light bounced off of mirrors, sisters were annoying, and Pidge stayed alive.
Lance had taken that for granted. He’d known but never noticed how beautiful, clever, and impressive Pidge was until she’d almost –
Lance knew that he was incredibly stupid to only just now be realizing all this. He also knew that yesterday was the first time he’d been able to talk to Allura again, but she still made his gut tie itself up in knots.
Was it too much to ask to only have one girl problem at a time? Especially when said girls were BOTH unattainable? Now was not the time to get another crush!
Rubbing his eyes with a groan, Lance passed his room to make another circuit, maybe get something to drink. Or visit the cow.
He vaguely registered the swish of a door opening, but his name in Matt’s voice startled him. Just for the record, Lance did NOT scream, or jump, or flail, or press a hand to his heart. He could deal with surprise like a man.
Okay, he flailed a little.
Matt regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you okay?”
No! “I’m fine. Just can’t sleep.” Lance scratched the back of his head and looked away, like if he made eye contact Matt would know exactly who he was thinking about and why. He realized exactly which door he’d just walked out of. “Were you in Keith’s room?”
“Maybe,” Matt said, sounding entirely too cocky. Lance looked back at him to see his cheeks were pink, but behind his coy and friendly smile his expression was completely shuttered. If there was anything Lance knew it was hiding behind a smile.
But what was with that smug…?
“Oh, oh! Oh gross, I’m never getting that image out of my head, thanks,” Lance grumbled. He made a point to rub at his eyes like he could erase it that way.
Matt said suddenly, “Are those my sister’s headphones?”
“Uh, yeah? She’s the only one who brought anything from Earth, so.” Lance shrugged.
“Pidge lets you borrow her stuff?”
“Maybe.”
Instant regret.
If his siblings were here they’d be smacking him upside the head and demanding to know if he had a death wish.
Matt’s expression morphed from disbelief to something completely unreadable. Lance scrambled back to his room as fast as his slippers allowed with a hasty “goodnight” over his shoulder.
Pidge recognized her brother’s footsteps. Even two years in space didn’t change his gait. She didn’t look away from the data on Shiro – the clone’s nervous system littering the screen in front of her.
“You should be sleeping.”
Huh? Pidge checked the time. The night cycle had started vargas ago. “I would’ve been awake thinking about this anyway. At least now I’m sleep-deprived and productive.”
She felt Matt look over her shoulder at large data pad in her lap. “How is he?”
“Not Shiro.”
Matt slumped down onto the floor next to her. “I guess this means I really haven’t seen him since the gladiator ring.”
Pidge didn’t know what to say. She’d rarely been in a position to comfort her brother before, not when he was the better part of a decade older. He wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his knees while he stared at the clone in cryogenic stasis. His hair was rumpled and he wore ragged sleep clothes with his boots.
“He saved my life.” Matt saved her from having to speak. “I guess I owe him for that. Before, when he was really here, was he okay?”
Pidge shut off the pad. “Not exactly? He’d been an enslaved cage fighter for a year and lost his arm and his hair was turning gray…” Matt gave her a look. Half exasperated, half amused. Pidge tapped her fingers. “He was good. Strong. He was like a… surrogate big brother. I think we all would’ve lost our minds without Shiro.”
Matt laughed to himself softly. “He was great for morale on the Kerberos mission.”
Pidge waited for him to keep talking but was met only with several minutes of silence. She looked at him to see shiny tear tracks on his face. Alarmed, Pidge climbed into her big brother’s lap and hugged him. He cried quietly into her shoulder, his back shaking, letting out ragged little gasps. He clutched her like a lifeline and she let herself cry, too.
The bed was cold. The door hissed open. Keith rolled over and Matt climbed back under the covers with him. The coiled hardness in Keith’s chest loosened when, in the dim light, he saw Matt’s eyes were bloodshot. The latter dropped a kiss on his temple. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Keith touched Matt’s jawline gently and tried to say something. Before he could find the words or his voice, Matt pressed forward so Keith’s face was buried in his chest and he had strong arms around his waist. Their legs tangled together.
The warmth and pressure lulled Keith back to sleep.
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endwalkr · 5 years ago
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this is an ask based thingy but im really in the mood to infodump so im just gonna answer them all under the cut !
Favorite video game?
starting off with the absolute hardest question huh? i can’t possibly name ONE favorite game of mine because i adore my favorites for many different reasons. my overall favorite video game is ffxv or botw. ffxv because it has brought me so much joy for such a long time, and because i have such a connection with the characters. botw because i was actually in the fandom when it first got announced in 2016 so i got to be there when the hype was at an all time high– and finally being able to play the game after waiting for so long was an unforgettable experience. i have more favorite games but ill talk more about them in the ‘’special place in ur heart’’ question.
First console you owned?
my first console wasn’t a console. my friend and i used to play on her nintendo dsi all the time and at one point tiny little me reeeally wanted one of my own so i saved up and got one in [redacted] when i was 7. my first actual console was a wii though, we got that around the same time.
A game that holds a special place in your heart?
ffxv and botw mean the absolute world to me, but super mario galaxy and skyward sword are very important to me too. skyward sword is the game that got me into zelda which got me into anime which got me into final fantasy etc etc etc.  super mario galaxy was the first non-mini game collection and more adventure story-ish game i played. i was so proud when i beat it for the first time and mario was my first ever ‘’fandom’’ :’) 
Favorite video game character?
bro. i cant pick just one so i’ll choose one per game : prompto, ryuji and link. they were all my comfort characters at some point and i projected like crazy onto them. this doesnt mean that i wouldnt absolutely die for noct or zelda. 
Least favorite video game character?
i dont think theres anyone i distinctly dislike? i always talk about hating ardyn but that’s because he’s just a salty bitch. as a character i think he’s a great villain and i rly love him. i honestly always end up liking everyone somehow, maybe there is someone i just forgot about but i cant remember at all. 
Favorite genre?
adventure games, or action rpgs. 
Video game character you’ve had a crush on?
every character ever, but i distinctly remember the moment i fell in love with prompto sjghfkshd i was watching a playthrough of xv in december 2016 because i didnt have a ps4, and the guy got to the scene in galdin quay where the bros learn insomnia fell. i had watched about 6 hours of the game by that time and wasn’t particularly interested in the characters but not uninterested enough to drop it. i hadnt even gotten a good look at the characters faces yet, so when the camera zoomed in on prompto when he said ‘’might not be save for us here!’’ i noticed he had freckles. oh god. oh fuck. oh my god hes fucking cute. oh my god better watch 30 hours of this game now
First video game you remember playing?
wayyy before i got my own gaming systems, my then-best friend had a gamecube in her attic. i was around 5 or 6 at the time. whenever i was over at her house and we didnt know what to do, she’d sometimes propose to play ‘’mario kart’’. important is that we are dutch, and i was a literal child. i thought mario KART meant it was a fucking card game, so i always declined whenever she asked. on one fateful day, i finally gave in and was pleasantly surprised it was in fact not a card game, but a viddy game. so we played mario kart double dash. (…i had never played a video game in my life besides browser flash games and was Very Very bad)
Age you started gaming?
so i played my first video game that i didnt own when i was about 5 or 6. then i got my first supply of games at age 7/8, but i dont really consider that time to be when i started ‘’gaming’’. i’d say that was when i started mario galaxy, so i’ve been playing video games for real (ie. story adventure games with boss battles) for about 6 years now.
Hardest video game you’ve played?
this is gonna sound stupid, but the witcher 3. there’s like 7 difficulties and i played on the EASIEST and still had a hard time, i just couldnt get used to the combat. i had the same problem with assassin’s creed syndicate, but after about 10 hours i actually knew what i was doing, and ive played the witcher longer than that and still am clueless. this is kind of an unpopular opinion but i dont particularly like that game
Video game you’ve spent the most time on?
i guess i am what you’d call a casual gamer; i really like video games but during a normal school week i only game for like 2-6 hours. most of the time i dont play for like 2 weeks if im busy. gaming has kind of taken over my life not because i play so much but because i get so emotionally invested lol i’m currently on summer break and even now im not playing a lot because of exhaustion and executive dysfunction. this derailed slightly but the game i’ve played the most despite my casual gamer status is …. … …. ffxv. surprise, right? the runner up is botw, but xv wins by a landslide. 630+ hours. botw is 350. my main save in ffxv is almost 200 hours i think. damn. i really managed to keep myself entertained with that game… (………i was thinking recently, since the loading screens in xv are so long, how much of this total amount was spent watching screens. i imagine it’s several hours, especially if you fast travel a lot.)
Most embarrassing gaming moment?
many moments in my gaming experience are embarrassing, but a more recent one: i was in xv’s postgame, beating some dungeons on my new save file. i had just finished daurell caverns and hadn’t saved in about 2 hours. (uh oh) i was driving around in the regalia type d and got to the big cliff near lestallum, and remembered someone made a gif of jumping in there so i wanted to try it too. i imagined the game would just put me back on the road, like it does when you crash into something. except it didnt. i got a game over. where was my last save? 2 hours back all the way in hammerhead. yippee.
Scariest video game you’ve played?
i never play horror games, cuz for me games are supposed to be relaxing experiences. no hate towards horror games of course, they just stress me out. the only time ive played horror is when friday the 13th was for free on ps+, and my friends really wanted to play it. (theyre kinda addicted to it now. huh) they had already gotten over the initial fear of having jason chase you, but i was still terrified. i can play the game without getting scared now tho. the horror sound effects just rly freaked me out at first jhsdkghsd
Most memorable gaming moment?
playing breath of the wild for the first time, or beating it for the first time. both experiences were filled to the brim with excitement and nostalgia. seeing botw as a blank slate, a world for you to explore, having no idea where you’re going… that was pretty incredible. now i know every nook and cranny of the map, so i wish i could play it for the first time again. i was so incredibly immersed. beating it was insane. i cried for 30 minutes and the end wasnt even sad, i was just so amazed at the fact that i was really here, playing breath of the wild, it was really real. the fucking main theme in the background (which i cannot for the life of me listen to without crying) didnt help with my emotions sgkdjh
Video game character you wish you could meet in real life?
…………..its prompto again. maybe 2017 me …. was .. kind of a kinnie
PC, Xbox, Playstation, or Nintendo?
i dont care about console wars at all, but i think hardware-wise, pc is the best, because if you have a good pc you can basically do anything. i however do not, so i just play on consoles. ive never particularly liked xbox, so i only play ps4 and nintendo. not the switch though. its kinda petty, but my best friend and i really dont like the switch djghks
Gaming company you’re most loyal to?
none. i used to call myself a nintendo nerd (oh my god…. i m. gonna die) in like 2015 but since the switch came out and since i got a ps4 they kinda lost me. i still like their game series of course, but as a company i don’t care for them. the only reason i see square enix as one of ‘’my’’ gaming companies is because ffxv took up like 70% of my gaming experience, but besides final fantasy i don’t really love them too much either.
If you could only play one video game for the rest of your life, which would you choose?
atm i’m really into ffxiv because theres just so much to do, but that’s just a new, possibly temporary interest. if i had to choose, i’d say botw. maybe i’d say ffxv, but i feel like running around doing nothing in that game isnt very fun, because the world is sorta empty after completing every quest and getting to level 120. in botw, just fucking around on your horse is still really relaxing and nice. 
Do you use strategy guides?
yup. in certain games i try to avoid them but i usually end up stuck or in need of advice. i couldn’t have gotten so many p5 trophies if not for the internet lol
How often do you use cheats?
never, simply because the games i play often do not have cheats. unless im playing the sims and are in need of a motherlode, i dont use them.
Competitive or single player?
single player. im bad at video games and like to do stuff at my own pace. online multiplayer can be fun every now and then in games like mario kart 8 or splatoon, and i also like teamwork stuff like ffxiv or comrades. but ultimately, i prefer playing on my own.
Video game character you want to/have cosplayed?
have never cosplayed, dont have plans to either, but it would be fun to cosplay link. omg. i just remembered i have that fucking chocomoogle shirt… sorry link im gonna slap on some sasuke hair, black jeans and ugly sneakers 
Ever go to a video game convention?
i have not, i have however gone to three (3) video game concerts which is basically the same thing. 
Hardest boss fight you’ve been in?
the hardest bosses for me are usually the ones with a gimmick. you have to use a certain item or tactic to beat them or something. other hard fights for me are when you fight someone with a similar skill set. (in ffxv, this happens twice, once with the iggy-noct sparring match and once against ardyn. somehow, the final boss was easier than getting the prince to eat vegetables.) i don’t know an actual example of THE hardest boss fight ive been in though. at the time, the first bowser battle in mario galaxy was the hardest thing in the universe and i got stuck for like a month. currently, i’m having trouble with the riku-ansem fight in kh1. 
Video game you wish you could burn from your memory?
the zelda cdi games? no, i dont really know. i dont hate a game so much that i’d want to forget about it altogether, but i dont exactly love ocarina of time that much. it hasnt aged well and playing it on the gamecube for the first time in 2015 wasnt a good idea. im sure it was revolutionary at the time, but i cant handle the outdated controls gsdgksjs 
Favorite gaming series?
see, i love ffxv itself more than the entirety of the zelda series, but i dont love ff as a SERIES more than the zelda games. so if were talking series, zelda for sure. i fucking love those games and they mean a lot to me. 
Do you skip tutorials, or find them useful?
i often skip them because i cant pay attention, but then find that i need them anyway. so i usually do skim through them. 
Best online gaming experience?
one really good one happened a few days ago in ffxiv, some guy and i exchanged emotes for like 30 minutes and it ended with us becoming friends on psn :’) ppl dont usually emote back at me in that game so this was really wholesome and nice gjshksdj 
Worst online gaming experience?
i dont really have a worst? theyre more annoying. think try harders in gta online killing you 15 times in a row because they want to show you how good they are or something. magically, online gaming hasnt been too hard on me (mainly because i dont game online that much)
Why do you game?
it brings me joy. it’s a fun way of relaxing, while being stimulated at the same time. games have meant a great deal to me the past 6 years and i wouldnt want to lose them for the world.
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