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mimzy-writing-online · 3 years ago

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You probably know this by now, I don't know if you keep up with Whumptober, but one of the prompts this year includes "blindness". I'm not blind but based on your posts about writing blind characters, and based on how I would feel if one of my disabilities were used as a whump prompt, I'm not super comfortable with it. I was wondering what your thoughts are on blindness being a Whumptober prompt.

(unironically and with feeling) thanks, I hate it.

Yes, I’m familiar with Whumptober, but I’ve never participated myself and I haven’t seen this year’s prompts.

Edit: I later did see the prompts and check out the blog. I think it's a good set of prompts and I look forward to all the promising content, especially since some of my favorite tropes are there. To be clear before you read this, I have no problem with Whumptober2021 or whump in general. This is not the first time blindness has been included for a list of whump prompts, and it won't be the last.

This post directed at the concept of "blindness" as a whump prompt and why I think it's a bad idea. The intended audience is individual writers thinking about future projects.

The timing of this is almost too perfect because I read a fanfic earlier this week that would meet that prompt exactly. Tags included whump, blindness, and angst with a happy ending. Now whump, hurt/comfort, and angst with a happy ending are tags I enjoy reading, but blindness as whump has a specific message to it.

To explain that message, I want to discuss what whump is. Many readers are already familiar with the genre, but I think taking the specific definitions and picking apart what it means and what expectations we carry when reading whump fanfiction

Urban Dictionary defines it as: taking a character and putting them through physical and/or mental torment and is typically followed by the same character being treated for their traumas. To indicate the characters place in the situation they’d typically be called a whumpee (the character being hurt/comforted), the whumper (the character that causes harm and trauma), and the caretaker (the character designated the helping/healing/comforting the whumpee).

Fanlore has a page for whump that explains it in depth, including where it started in fanfiction, examples of whump, and even a list of “popular targets” in different fandoms. (Warning: you might find yourself called out on the popular targets list)

“The term whump (or whumping) generally refers to a form of Hurt/Comfort that is heavy on the hurt and is often found in gen stories. The exact definition varies and has evolved over time. Essentially, whump involves taking a canon character, and placing them in physically painful or psychologically-damaging scenarios. Often this character is a fan favorite…”

To add to that, I think an important detail is the distinction Fanlore makes between hurt/comfort and whump:

“While some communities and fandoms may use whump as a synonym for hurt/comfort, there is still a recognition that whump refers to darker and more extreme scenarios. And there are still whump fics been written that have very little, or no comfort at the end of the story.”

The big appeal of hurt/comfort is getting to both explore the darker sides of pain and then experience the catharsis of being taken care of, of being supported by your loved ones as you recover from the trauma. The character is the proxy for experiencing those highs and lows while you yourself are safe at home.

I personally don’t read much/any whump without some h/c involved, but I’m happy there are stories out there for people who do enjoy it. I’m not here to judge what you like reading or what you do to your characters.

What I want is to express how blindness, my disability, used as a whump prompt personally makes me feel and what message it sends to me, to others, and how that message affects my daily life.

Whump undeniably involves watching a character suffer through something painful and traumatic.

My use of the word “suffer” is what I want you to focus on.

Vision loss can be painful and traumatic. I personally developed an anxiety disorder in response to vision loss. Others experience depression. For some it might result in relapsing into old, maladaptive coping mechanisms like drug use, self harm, or eating disorders.

A big part of my anxiety was how people reacted to my vision loss. It was a cause of their stress. They were worried because they genuinely believed I would never live a happy life without normal vision, and that my life would only be struggle and pain.

I recently saw an old friend who hadn’t heard about my vision loss. The conversation was awkward, but the worst part was how they reacted as though I had experienced an insurmountable tragedy. And even when I assured them I’m happy with my life, they clearly didn’t believe me. They acted like I was just lying or in denial.

I love that people want to empathize with my situation and ask themselves what they would do in my situation, but I hate when the conclusion they come to is something along the lines of “I could never do that, I’d be too miserable thinking about everything I lost, I’d never be able to do anything I enjoyed ever again.” But I did go blind. And I’m not miserable, I’m actually happy with the direction my life is going, and I still enjoy my hobbies, even if I engage with them differently.

I’m not suffering. My life didn’t end with vision loss. It’s not ruined, broken, or worthless.

I read a fanfic that was tagged with whump, blindness, and angst with a happy ending. A general synopsis of the plot: the whumpee had gone blind due to a curse. It was true love’s kiss that broke the curse. Even from the summary I knew it was going to end with whumpee being cured somehow and that I’d leave that fanfic vaguely dissatisfied no matter how good the rest of the fanfic was.

I can say this for the fanfic: the whumpee had already accepted that they would likely be blind for the rest of their life, but everyone around them was treating it as a tragedy that needed to be fixed, working tirelessly for a cure despite the whumpee’s protests that they didn’t have to.

It actually hit home to my personal experience.

I still left it dissatisfied with the ending. I might love curse fics in that fandom, and I love the “true love’s kiss” trope, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from the fact that: an actual person out in the world thought the best happy ending, maybe the only happy ending, would be if the character got their sight back.

(note: I clicked kudos and exited out of the story's page because no fanfic writer deserves unsolicited critique or hate, especially for content I consumed for free and at my own volition.)

Why read a story I knew would disappoint me?

Because blindness representation is so damn rare that I feel like I’m wandering in a desert, dying from thirst and desperate for that oasis. But sometimes that oasis is a mirage and the author is unintentionally telling you that your life is actually awful and you’ll never be fully happy like this. And that is a shit mentality to walk through life with.

I don’t appreciate blindness being a whump plot. I hate it. Hundreds (thousands?) of fanfictions featuring blind characters are about to enter the internet and the overall message is going to be “You poor thing! You must be in so much pain, you must be miserable! Who’s going to save you? Who’s going to comfort you? Wouldn’t it be terrible if there was no one in your life to take care of you? You poor helpless thing!”

And I feel objectified. I feel trivialized. The mirage in the desert is going to become a starch, empty room filled with dozens of water bottles, almost all of them poisoned. My representation is going to hurt me personally, and it’s going to reinforce that idea strangers have about how awful my life must be.

(I returned to school this past month, and every day I’m hesitant to tell someone I’m visually impaired because I don’t want to be treated differently. If I’ve managed to pass as sighted this whole time and then suddenly reveal “oh yeah, I’m visually impaired” I feel this instant silence, this pause of awkwardness as people suddenly question how they’re supposed to treat me. They treated me like a person, and now I’m something strange and unfamiliar.)

I’ve worked so hard to improve representation for blind people, to give internet strangers the exposure to a blind person they need to normalize blindness because I hope that if they’re ever so lucky as to meet a blind person, they’ll treat that person with respect. That hope that another person in the blind community will find a friend they feel comfortable and accepted with. I hope that I’ll meet people who accept my blindness as just another aspect of me (like being bisexual or gender fluid or a writer or a cat lover).

Please don’t turn me and my community into a caricature. Don’t erase everything I’ve worked for with this blog.

To be clear, this is not just me saying "I hate the cure trope" again. This is me saying "the purpose of whump is to painfully hurt your favorite character, and I hate that your idea of pain and suffering is my daily (wonderful) life."

#blindness #whumptober #fanfiction #whump #whumptober 2021 #blind character #disability #ableism #anon

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spockandawe · 3 years ago

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Hmm. What if. An mdzs au (definitely the book, not the show) where timelines diverge when a small, angry street kid with a missing finger and a desire to watch the world burn makes his way over to the burial mounds, because fuck it, he’s going to learn from the yiling laozu or die trying.

I have put no consideration into this whatsoever, and I know coherent timelines are the hardest part of involving Xue Yang in anything, but I think that if Xue Yang is like, a preteen, the other parts of the timeline may still fit into place? Honestly, I don’t really care if they don’t, I’m just also too lazy to check this very long book for the specific empathy flashback with the details of Xue Yang’s jinlintai cameo. If he has to be a few years younger than canon allows, it’s all good, baybee, cql fucked the timeline so I wouldn’t have to!

But anyways, consider a young Xue Yang, who’s not really old enough to be making his way in the world as a rogue pseudo-semi-cultivator, but is old enough to survive the attempt and learn more cultivation as he goes. And he doesn’t have family or money to back him up (not that those would have made an impact on Wei Wuxian), but I think he’s aware that he has extremely grand ambitions for someone in his position, and is very cheerfully willing to take risks to achieve them, even knowing that his odds of success are low and his odds of dying are high.

I’m thinking that he reaches Yiling, however he gets there. He sees the knockoff Yiling Laozu apprentices (and is Full of scorn), he sees the wards Wei Wuxian has raised around the Burial Mounds, and he’s not all that trained and is mostly self-taught, but has just enough raw talent that he manages to bust in through the wards himself.

I don’t want to try sorting out the exact details of how he convinces Wei Wuxian to let him stay, because this idea popped into my head like, legitimately thirty seconds before I started writing the post. But I don’t think it would hurt the Wens to have another pair of helping hands, I think Wei Wuxian is weak against children in general (especially children who are trying to learn a thing), and I think he’s also weak against a street kid struggling on his own in the world (and Xue Yang is smart enough to lean into the look-pitiful-to-gain-sympathy-points angle)

Additional point one: Wen Qing can look at his hand and his health in general, and I think Xue Yang could benefit a LOT from having a big sister in his life

Additional point two: Xue Yang would think that Wen Ning is the coolest thing, and it would benefit me emotionally if he sees Wen Ning as his super cool older brother and not as a fascinating science project he wants to copy on Song Lan later ;u;

Exact events would vary based on when Xue Yang made his arrival (before or after Wen Ning wakes up? before or after Lan Wangji visits Yiling? etc), and I would have to consider that carefully because I do want canon to diverge, and Xue Yang dying with the Wens would be so fucking tragic (kind of in a fascinating way? we the readers know that it prevents future atrocities, but here, he’s a different person than the one who committed those atrocities, and it’s like giving him a family only to have it yanked away (so, canon), but this is a tangent because I have to emphasize I have not plotted out anything)

I don’t know how I would want canon to diverge is part of the trouble. But like... one of my first details on the book that really, really got me good is the way that Wei Wuxian is superficially cheerful but is also poised on the edge of having a really rough time early in the book. After he casually tells Jin Ling ‘lmao, what, you didn’t have parents to teach you manners?’ he goes off on his own to have Regrets. What really starts pulling him out of his funk is when the kids need protection and education. And he thrives! Even when he’s roleplaying Mo Xuanyu, he’s in his element as an experienced cultivator helping guide the juniors to a solution so that they learn for themselves, but also ready to be a safety net so they don’t die in the process!

A-Yuan plays a little bit of this role for him in the Burial Mounds, but like... he’s a toddler, and is both too young to be taught at the level and depth that Wei Wuxian adores, and is yes an adorable sweet kid, but also exhausting and demanding in the way that all small children are. You can’t just put away a toddler and lay face-down on the floor for a week, even if you want to. Yes there are other people around to help, but everyone is working really, really hard just to survive in the Burial Mounds.

So. Give Wei Wuxian a preteen! Give him a kid who is saying ‘take me as your apprentice, gege, i’m gonna keep studying demonic cultivation whether you help me or not uwu’ and let Wei Wuxian convince himself that okay, stupid adults are free to do stupid shit and he isn’t responsible for them, but maybe he ought to keep an eye on this kid to make sure he doesn’t accidentally die trying to learn Wei Wuxian’s methods. Xue Yang is smart, quick, and demanding, but also capable of independence. It’s ideal. Give Wei Wuxian a kid to teach, give me them passionately arguing about theory, give me Xue Yang reading all of Wei Wuxian’s manuscripts, and forcing Wei Wuxian to engage a little more with the world around him instead of sinking down into himself. Give me Xue Yang still young enough that he can be convinced to trust the idea of a family. Give me Lan Wangji accompanying Wei Wuxian back to the burial mounds and Xue Yang trying to be all ‘hey, you’d better step off if you know what’s good for you’ and being ‘!!! >:O’ when he finds out Wei Wuxian let this stranger hold A-Yuan and it being the cutest thing ever. It would be so good for my heart, but my god, am i unequipped to write it.

#mdzs #the untamed #xue yang #wei wuxian #xue yang's age is whatever makes my life most convenient at any given time #long post/#fic ideas #i tag it fic ideas like i would ever be capable of writing this lmao #tiny semi-feral demonic cultivator alarms lan wangji enough to sleep over #noooo i'm not going to write a fic outline in the tags okay i'm hitting post now

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glowingbadger · 3 years ago

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May I request a Dedue with a quiet (and observant) s/o who has little to no confidence with themselves? Whatever you're in the mood to write is fine with me! ~🌺

Dedue! What a sweetie <3 And definitely the only Blue Lion I haven't written about here yet, so let's change that~

Dedue (FE3H) x GN Reader Headcanons

SFW (not sfw below the cut)

- Dedue's love language is both a blessing and a curse for our lovely shy Reader. On the one hand, it's a relief that he's not going to smother you with half-sincere praise or extravagant gifts; but on the other, as his feelings for you deepen, he instead just wants to be around you more often, keep an eye on you and quietly ensure your safety and comfort. It can be easy to read this as him "just being friendly," so there will be a loooong phase of mutual pining- him just floundering to come up with a way to be more forthcoming with you, and you assuming at every turn that there's no way someone as put-together, serious, and not to mention handsome has fallen for you.

- One gesture that may finally make it through to you is that he makes a habit of cutting one bloom of your favorite flower from the greenhouse and gifting it to you, always remembering to bring you a fresh one when the last begins to wilt. Finally. once he'd decided that he can't risk allowing his true feelings to go unsaid, he brings you to the gardens and presents you with a full bouquet of those same flowers- "I am not skilled with words, but I have realized I would come to regret it if you never heard the truth of my feelings. That truth is that each time I've gifted you this flower, it was to say that I have fallen in love with you."

- He's insistent of course that he doesn't expect you to return his affections, and that he believes it would only cause you undue stress and persecution to be with someone of his background- and when you tell him that you do in fact return his feelings, that you'd hoped to be with him for some time, it takes a long while and a lot of reassurance for him to believe that you're truly willing to accept certain risks to be together. When all is said and done, and you're both a quietly flustered mess, grappling with excitement and joy and relief and a little anxiety, it all feels so overwhelming and too good to be true.

- After this, your relationship is a wonderfully sweet and supportive one. He's a quiet and sometimes insecure type himself, so he very much empathizes with your feelings, and does all that he can to reassure you of the depth and strength of his affections. Spending time with him is endlessly soothing and reassuring, whether you're helping him with chores in the greenhouse, or maybe he's teaching you a few things in the kitchen, or perhaps the two of you are simply lying in bed together with a book. Now and then you catch him watching you with a hint of a smile that shows more in his eyes than on his lips, and he'll frequently run a hand along your back or kiss your hair without a word, just to assure you that he's there and he adores you.

NSFW 18+ v

- Dedue is such a wonderfully sweet and gentle lover. He's not terribly experienced (before you, he'd assumed he would only ever marry if it were of political benefit to King Dimitri), but he generally knows what he's doing, and he's so attentive and focused that he'll easily pick up on all the wonderful little nuances of your pleasure. And you just know that he's generous in bed- a man so accustomed to happily serving others is absolutely going to bury himself between your thighs until you've cum all over his face, and make sure you're dazed with blissful pleasure before he even thinks about entering you.

- Regardless of your body type, it's likely you're still quite a bit smaller than he is overall, and he secretly loves that. It's hard to convince him that you want to focus on his satisfaction, as he's giving to a fault- but the moment he first sees you down between his knees, struggling to manage the size of his cock in your pretty little mouth, it wakes something in him that he'd never known before. He adores knowing that he's so much bigger than you, that he can hold and protect you, and he cherishes and admires everything soft about you.

- While he can't bring himself to engage in dirty talk or much vocalizing at all in bed, the way he gazes at you like you're the last beautiful thing on this earth makes his admiration entirely clear. He never wants to give you any reason to doubt his attraction to you, but rather than say it, he instead commits himself entirely to your comfort and satisfaction.

- His pace is generally slow but deep- something he feels somewhat obligated to focus on, given you'll need time to adjust to the impressive size of his cock. While not as much of an outward mother-hen like some of our guys, he's quietly vigilant about your reactions, and will immediately steady himself if it seems as though he's hurting you (no matter how absolutely adorable you look, faced flushed and with your body full of his thick member). Dedue is also definitely the type to tell you when he's close to cumming so you have the opportunity to tell him where you want it.

- It's not uncommon for things to get a little heated in the kitchen between you two. It's such a comforting but intimate activity that puts you both at ease- here, it's just you and him, working towards a low-stakes goal together and trading light conversation. But eventually, one or both of you simply can't resist how sweet and endearing the other is at times like this. Perhaps Dedue notices a drop of the sauce you just taste-tested clinging to your lip and leans close to kiss it away. Or perhaps you're daring enough to lick a stray bit of cream from the tip of his finger (which of course sets his heart pounding). Either way, if you're open to it, he'll gladly lift you against a wall or even onto an available counter and slowly push his length into you. Admittedly, it's hard to think of a better use of the time waiting for dough to rise than getting fucked nice and deep and steady by your strong, adoring lover.

#dedue molinaro #dedue x reader #fire emblem x reader #fe3h #fire emblem #fire emblem smut #fire emblem three houses #x reader #fire emblem imagines #not sfw headcanons #spicy headcanons #dedue headcanons

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i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years ago

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Black - Chapter 10

Here's a chapter that was exceedingly fun to write. I hope you enjoy it :D

@legolasbadass I have officially tagged you in something, now, go back to writing 😂

Fandom: The Hobbit

Characters : Thorin x OC, the rest, special mention for Dwalin being a cutie

Words: 5,5 k

Rating: Mature

Warnings: blood, reference to bodily harm, reference to God, ALSO: I am a drama queen *shrug*

“I think you are being unreasonable.” Faith shook her head at him. “Who? Uncle?” Kíli sauntered up to them, bowing crisply to her and adding: “I came to check on you, but I see our own dragon is guarding you jealously.”

“Get dressed, woman, if that one is here, the others are not far behind.” Thorin grumbled and blocked the view of his much too curious nephew while Faith was huddled in the corner of her room, slipping into her chemise and an old rough spun dress she had found in the pile of clothes that were left to her.

Faith had to admit that Thorin might have been right when other dwarrows presented themselves as well in front of her door, “to check on her” as if she was as sickly kitten. “Dori sends me with tea.” Ori mumbled, holding a literal pot of tea in his gloved hands.

“That is ever so kind.” Faith smiled, pouring the rest of her wine back into the carafe and extending the mug to the sweet dwarrow hovering just outside her door. Apparently, there was indeed something unseemly about crossing the threshold of an unmarried woman as an unmarried man. She wondered if that would have been the same if the townspeople of her home had lived. As it was, she would never know, but there was something quite touching in the pile-up of dwarrows outside her room.

“Oh, you’re holding court like a real queen. What is uncle unreasonable about?” Kíli silenced the others by almost screaming.

“Mistress Faith was on her way to bed when you barged in like a fool.” Thorin muttered, obviously in a cantankerous mood.

“She was not, she was berating you!” Kíli replied petulantly. “I don’t think your uncle, the king, should be camped outside of my door.” Faith intervened with an explanation.

“Why don’t you just bolt the door?” The lad asked, scratching his head. When she explained that she couldn’t open the door on her own and that she didn’t like feeling locked in, he gave his uncle a short nod and shrugged: “In that case, uncle is not being unreasonable at all. Let me know if you want company, I can sit with you.”

Faith was speechless. “You are a guest, and we’ll keep you safe.” Kíli said with an easy smile.

“I am safe.” Faith protested. “You are now because you have uncle outside your door. And us.” Kíli winked at her with that youthful pride and confidence that made her heart swell. Oh, bless that kid, she thought, may the stars align for him and bring him endless happiness.

“There you are!” Dwalin came barrelling down the corridor. “Me?” She was taken aback and tiny bit startled.

“No, not you, Mistress. That oaf, the king.” Dwalin nodded to her with what might have been a smile, Faith was not entirely sure and conversed in low, murmured words with Thorin. Faith just sat and listened to the sound of it, weirdly calmed and comforted by the rough elegance of their very own, secret language.

“Mistress Faith? Ah, there comes Fíli.” Faith scrambled to her feet and curtsied for the heir to the throne who presented her with a small cake. “We apologise humbly for having led you astray and for risking your good name. And for annoying you about uncle, we didn’t tell mother everything, but she was not happy either way.” The prince laughed. Faith was impressed by how resolutely and soberly he admitted fault and tried to redress his potential missteps; she understood that their social life had been an unsteady and uncertain thing and that it had been a priority to make them valuable fighters rather than charming courtiers.

Nonetheless, she admired them for their light-hearted honesty as much as for their supposed prowess.

“You’ve given us sweets and now, we give you cake. That makes us friends, doesn’t it? Ah, I see Dori has sent his little brother with that disheartening brew of his.” Fíli declared, commenting casually on the scene he had stumbled upon. Amongst humans, this would have been a childish thing to say, Faith thought, but she realised that he extended an invitation to her, and she was thankful for it. As she was a stranger in their realm, the declaration of a bond between them would protect her, shield her, most probably keep her alive against all odds. It was easy to see them as children as they were the nephews of a man she called a friend, but their lives stretched far into the past and hopefully would extend into a distant future, and already, they knew more than she would ever learn.

With another curtsy, she acknowledged the gracious offer of his friendship and the privileges it brought. “Thank you, dear prince I would be honoured to accept both the cake and your good graces.” He gave her an answering bow that sealed the deal.

If they knew what scandalous actions she had been engaged in only moments ago, Faith thought, they would probably not be that courteous to her. The idea of losing their affection stung, which surprised her, but the idea of losing them, period, turned out to be utterly unbearable to her. Her mind shrank back from the mere thought as from an open, festering wound.

She had been alone most of her life, but the mere contemplation of never seeing the creatures in front of her again filled her with dread and a nameless pain that choked the light out of her heart. For their own people and their culture, they were young still and she couldn’t bear the thought of having such promising torches snuffed out before their time. Would that she could live another hundred years to see their mischief soften to quiet humour, to see them take wives and father children, to be their friend through the different stages of a dwarven life.

The limitations of her own body and life constricted her soul, crushing it to dust, and she wanted to rail against the injustice of being given a glimpse of perfection only to have it snatched away too soon by the ravage of time. No, she thought, she would be thankful to be granted that precious peek; she would be grateful to have known what others only dreamt of and she would treasure those memories and all she had seen until her eyes saw no more.

“Thank you ever so much.” Faith mumbled again, feeling the effects of the half-glass of wine she had drunk and wondering if the dwarrows could eat all the time. She had had more than her fill at the dinner, but she dutifully bit into her cake which was sweet and surprisingly moist.

“Do you like it?” Kíli asked eagerly. “It is like everything else of dwarven make I have experienced.” Faith grinned.

“Bulky, heavy and smelling kind of weird?” Thorin prompted, much to Faith’s chagrin; she had not noticed that he had finished his conversation with his friend. Maybe, she had been wrong and dwarven mischief never really abated, maybe, they just learned to hide their wicked humour under longer beards in time. “Beautiful, compact, and delicious.” She gave him a brazen look full of dancing sparks; she liked bandying words with Thorin almost as much as she liked being kissed by him.

“Delicious, ey?” Dwalin laughed, clapping his king on the shoulder, and promising to come back later to relieve Thorin in his guard-duties. Oh, this was absurd, Faith rolled her eyes, she didn’t need two prime fighters in front of her door.

She had trekked through wind and weather; she had tackled a man with a knife and had chased away another one; she could take care of herself. It seemed though as if Thorin had been mostly correct: if they had lingered in her room, someone would have come looking for them and she might have lost a name that was worth more in this settlement than it ever had before.

She was half a savage, she realised, unused to the social conventions and rules of a society. As a maiden, she should have waited for a husband to give up this most sacrosanct of female gifts, but she was past the marrying age, and she was not overly fond of the idea of dying a virgin.

It was highly improbable that she would ever be anything else than a concubine to anyone and much more believable that she’d end up taken by force…hence the armed king outside her door. He had saved her once from rape and violence, and Faith did not doubt that he would do it again without hesitating.

Until he left.

Looking at the young princes, Faith realised that she felt safe here. She had stopped looking over her shoulder and hence, had let down her guard too much; all these lovely people would go on a perilous journey, and she would be left to her own devices. Maybe, she would have to heed the king’s advice after all and learn to be demure and discreet again.

That would be a whole lot easier once his startling beauty was removed and she could breathe again without getting a whiff of that intoxicating smell. How far would he have to be removed for her to no longer feel tethered to his steps?

She would miss him. His presence had become solace and home to her, a place to rest, a warmth to sustain her, and she would feel more vulnerable with him gone than ever before. Oh, another painful thought she didn’t want to pursue in this moment.

“We should let you get to bed. Just scream if anything is the matter and enjoy the cake.” The youngsters ambled away in high spirits, mocking Ori and his teapot and squabbling about the last cake. She would miss them too; like everything she had experienced in this wondrous place, they were a curious blend of beauty – light, colour, and laughter – and strength – honour, courage, and faith. Yes, she could say that she was fond of them and that she would be looking forward to seeing them again; there was just no way to dislike their open-hearted…fierceness. They were striving towards a brighter future with such zeal and indefatigable energy that Faith was pulled along despite her own reservations.

“Can I offer you a piece, my king?” Faith sat down again on her side of the doorframe, offering the baked good to Thorin.

“Ah, yes, I won’t say “no” to that.” He nodded, breaking off a piece and shoving it into his mouth, crumbs raining down on his tunic which she brushed away casually, amused to find that the king had a sweet tooth. His hand closed around her wrist.

“I am sorry, Faith, this…it was a mess. I…” He sighed. “I want to do this right…”

Oh, how could she have forgotten? While she was obsessing about her own death as if she was a crone already, she had forgotten that he had seen decades more than her; the time for his retribution had come and, of course, he didn’t want more loose ends and false starts to burden him.

“I will make it right; I will…” His eyes had softened to a mesmerizing dark blue in the low light, intense and captivating.

Now that the fire in her veins had dulled into a sensuous warmth, a steady flow of earnest affection and deep longing, she could put aside the wounds her vanity had sustained and mumble: “Oh, you king of second chances, I am sure you will.”

“Have faith in me, sweet one, I will make good on my word.” – “I shall not be another burden on your shoulders, Thorin-king.” She protested softly, putting her hand lightly on top of his.

“You are not, neither are they.” He waved in the general direction in which his nephews had disappeared. “I will succeed where others have failed, because of all of you. I will bring you home: my sister, my nephews, my friends…you. I swear.”

The intensity of his gaze and of his determination sent shivers down Faith’s spine.

She was a woman without a history and, probably, without a future, but she could recognise the weight of his ancestors’ failures, of his people’s suffering, and of his own ambition bear down on him inexorably.

“Rest, sweet king, you have done me no wrong.” She reassured him. “Have I not?” His eyes narrowed, suspecting a subterfuge or a trick. “You are a stubborn but very honourable fool, and I am glad that you convinced me to come here.” She grinned.

“So, you like it here? You’ll like Erebor then. It’s full of gold.” He smiled. “You and your gold!” She laughed.

“It’s full of beautiful things.” He tried again. “It shall be, yeah.” She chuckled, bumping her shoulder gently into his.

“You…I wanted to say that I feel honoured that you’d…consider me for…” He nodded at the empty room behind her, which made her giggle again; he really was too upstanding to be real.

“You are the single most beautiful living thing I’ve ever beheld in my life. You’re kind, generous, and brave. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable; I see now that there are rules to be followed and I did not mean any disrespect.”

Thorin seemed to ponder her words for a while before nodding: “Yes, I guess that is true…I know that you are physically incapable of wilfully disrespecting anyone or anything almost, so no problem.”

“What are the rules, Thorin-king?” She had caught a glimmer in his eye that disquieted her considerably.

He looked purposefully away for a moment and then mumbled into his beard: “I’d court you and then…”

“What would you quarter me for? In that case, I do see why you think intercourse would be dangerous.” Faith hissed, aghast.

“Court you, not quarter you. Who do you think I am?” Thorin exclaimed, lowering his voice immediately.

“I am sorry that I do not have your sister’s supersonic hearing.” Faith grumbled, but she had to laugh when she saw his dumbfounded face. “Oh, Dís, she was born like that. It’s because she loves information that much. I call it information…”

He made a face.

“She sounds like a valuable councillor then, wouldn’t you say?” Faith teased him. “Kíli gets it from her, that wicked sense of humour and that…” His voice softened, “She has a fierce heart, my sister does, stay close to Dís, she’ll keep you safe.”

Faith believed him, but she wondered how he could be so sure.

“My sister loves me as I love her, you are my friend, you are her sons’ friend…She won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I don’t want to be a burden on the princess either.” Faith protested, flustered by the finality in his voice.

Thorin took her hand and murmured: “Can you do two things for me, please? One, go to bed, otherwise I will have to kiss you again and we have seen that it generally ends in…frustration; and two, promise that you’ll stay with Dís.”

Throwing a quick glance down the corridors, Faith stuck out her head of the doorframe and pressed a single, warm, lingering kiss on his stubborn mouth and whispered: “I swear to stick to the princess…and lay down my life if necessary for her protection.”

Mahal have mercy, Thorin thought, the two women he cared for most would try to die in protection of one another at the slightest provocation; they were both fiercely loyal and brave in their own way. Devoted and self-forgotten, Faith had no regard for her own fragile life that seemed to be entirely made up of service while Dís had ever been a pugnacious dwarrowdam who would not avoid a fight if she thought she could win. Dís always thought she could win. She was his sister, after all.

“Good night, king of kings.” She whispered, flipping one of his braids playfully over his shoulder and scrambling to get to her feet. Thorin watched her go, taking off her dress again as she went, and cursed himself for being such a fool.

As she slipped between the sheets though, Faith stiffened and cried out: “Wait a minute…what do you mean by court?”

It had taken some time for his words to sink in, but again, all her fatigue evaded her within a second.

“Well, courting gifts, braids, walking around with your hand in mine…more intrusive questions by my nephews, more teasing by my sister…” He enumerated and ticked off the fingers of his hand.

Marriage, Faith thought, that was what it all led up to. Courting led to weddings, in general, and she would not marry Thorin Oakenshield, king of the Longbeards, not if the almighty creator himself did not come down and grant her a life long enough to honour the bond she would enter into, and a blood worthy of his. Falling back hard into her pillow, she resisted the urge of burying her head in it and asphyxiating herself out of pure impatience and annoyance with the situation.

Then again, the idea of having his nephews and his sister, and ultimately of course him, around until her forever came, held such a sweet seduction that it tore her heart apart. The intensity of her longing made it very clear to her that she was reaching for forbidden fruit indeed. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling that started to swim and swirl in front of her eyes.

“Sleep, sweet one, tomorrow is another day. There will be time for you to decide if that is something you’d want.”

Oh, naturally, he would be a perfectly honourable man about that as well, Faith thought with something akin to disdain almost; while she fretted and fussed, he would offer his courtship and she would have the right to deny it.

Would he understand her reasons when she finally did reject his promise of tender and respectful advances? Or would he feel as miserably unsatisfied as she did now?

Again, she tried to remind herself of the fact that he did not care for her in that way. She had promised him her body and he was looking to find some justification for taking it; a man such as him would not simply despoil a woman because he felt like it, no, he would create the pretence of a mock courtship to explain why he had taken what he could never give back.

Time would tell. Time, her constant enemy, the shadow gnawing mercilessly on her hours in the sun, would decide if she ever got an answer to those questions.

“You can tell me sooner of course.” Thorin mumbled and she sat up in bed, her blanket a tangled mess around her legs.

“It is a discussion for another day, surely.” She replied calmly, falling back to hide her face and its expression from him.

“Are you very cross with me, Faith?” He asked then.

“Not in the least, Thorin.” She decided against a title, knowing that it would make him believe that she was indeed angry when, really, she was confused and considerably hurt by everything that had happened tonight and by the fears that swirled in her head and heart without surcease. “Good, I couldn’t bear to disappoint you as well.”

“What are you talking about?” Again, she shot up to stare at him in dumbfounded amazement. “I will do right by all of you.” He vowed anew and Faith wondered if he always took his own trespasses so seriously; of course, he would.

“Good night, Master Dwarf. I care for you, and you are beautiful.” She repeated the most important things of the evening, swallowing her rejection of his courtship and falling into a fitful sleep, constantly disturbed by her body that was as taut as a twisted piece of wire. Every time her thighs touched, a spark of pure agony shot through her limbs, a feeling she knew would subside but that made her intensely miserable, nonetheless.

“How’s the little lady?” Dwalin clunked down the corridor and was forced to sneak the last stretch so as not to awaken Faith.

Thorin loved his friend, but he would not tell him how he had spent the last hours listening to Faith mumble and moan in her sleep; more than once, she had whimpered his name and he had been sorely tempted to take off his clothes again and slip between the covers with her.

Somewhere between her body and the mattress lay heaven, he knew, and her soft groaning had worn out his soul and chafed his skin raw with desire.

“She’s not a little lady.” Thorin grumbled. No, Faith was fearless when it came to actual danger; despite her innate subservience and her sweet temper, she was a fierce woman he was honoured and happy to call his friend.

“You’re thinking about courting her, aren’t you?” – “If she’ll have me.” Thorin didn’t even try denying it.

Dwalin had his doubts about that; Faith seemed fond enough of their mutual friend, of their common king, but could she find that kind of love inside herself for someone who was not of her own race? Friendships were indiscriminate; they were based on mutual respect and understanding, but marriage followed a set of rules much stricter and more severe.

It was also probable that she’d die before him, but he was not exactly a young dwarf and they had years ahead of them that could be spent in happy union; if he lived, if she agreed. Did she know that? Would she want that?

“She’s very…kind.” Dwalin said carefully, for she had been nothing but nice to him despite the fact that even dwarrowdams had told him before that he looked like a raincloud pickled in vinegar and left to dry on a stony cliff. “She is.” Thorin agreed.

“What is with the door?” Dwalin then asked and nodded at the huddled form in the bed he could make out in the penumbra. “She can’t open it on her own.” Thorin explained and then, the epiphany hit him: he would not wait for his return or her joining him; he would start his tentative courting with the very basic gift of an appropriate door.

“I…I have something to do. Please do not turn around under any circumstance and tell Mistress Faith that I’ll find her as soon as I’m done.” Thorin spluttered hastily and, boots in hand, almost ran down the corridor in search of a carpenter.

He would have a door made that she could easily open and close herself, but he would make sure that it was sturdy, fashioning and applying the bolts himself. Would that this blasted wizard was around to help imbue the very slab of wood with spells for her protection. Yes, he would convince her of his deep affection for her in the only way he knew: hard work and presents.

Faith woke up to the broad back of Master Dwalin completely obscuring the doorframe.

“The king is…doing something and he’ll find you as soon as he has finished…doing whatever he is doing.” The dwarrow grunted as a reply to her cheery greeting.

Slipping back into her simple shift, Faith approached the stolid figure and tapped him on the shoulder. “Would you be so good as to let me out?” He shifted aside and let her pass, but as she took a step, he followed her.

“I’d rather keep an eye on you.” He muttered, a low, rumbling sound that she very much enjoyed. “You are a dear man, Master Dwalin.” She chirped and nodded slowly.

“Hmmm, me? Hmmm, thank you, Mistress Faith.”

If she had been a braver woman when it came to social conventions, Faith might have asked to hug him, but as it was, she didn’t dare presume. “You’re a funny little creature as well.” He chuckled after a moment which made her turn around in surprise.

“Where are we going?” He cocked his head. “First to get you some breakfast and then to the river, if that is agreeable to you.” She replied gently. As he was intent on shadowing her, she had to think of his well-being as much as he seemed to worry about hers; so, off to the kitchens they went in search of a fortifying meal for the big warrior.

While Dwalin was still munching noisily on his breakfast, Faith was already kneeling beside the river, digging her hands deep into the soil, and filtering out the clay in meticulous steps until she had a sizeable ball. Her guardian watched her work tirelessly, fascinated by her steady, soft movements. Thorin was right, he thought, she was a creature of mud.

Even though the king himself was, in this moment, hammering steel with ringing force, there was a parallel to be drawn between the rhythmic, almost dance-like movements both of them were performing to create something new. For one another, if Dwalin wasn’t very much mistaken.

“I’d ask the kitchens if you can use one of their ovens rather than the open fire of the furnace.” He commented when Faith started moulding and twisting her ball of clay into shapes. “It will be quicker and gentler on your creations.”

Faith nodded when a glint in the water caught her eye. A beautiful, iridescent pebble, smooth and shiny was sitting right next to a single coin. She knew not if it had been caught in the folds of her dress or if someone else had lost it in the river, but she took it to be a good omen for her sacrifice to find things so beautiful to add to her offering.

“Off to the kitchens we go again then, Master Dwalin.” She smiled, heaping her work into his broad palms and chuckling to herself as she watched him hold them carefully in his hands while he walked gingerly ahead of her. He was a dear fellow…and another soul to miss bitterly.

“Come quick, uncle.” Thorin looked up from the bolt he had been fitting on the wooden door meant for Faith’s room in surprise. “You have to see that.” Fíli, his nephew, his heir, was waving him along urgently and so he followed without taking the time to cross-examine the lad on the motivation for his peculiar behaviour.

As soon as they arrived at the side of his dear sister, Thorin could understand where the excitement came from. Faith was kneeling in front of a tree hugging the mountainside, laying out the earthen dishes she had made with her own hands this morning.

“Uncle.” Kíli yelped, just arriving, upon seeing Faith pull out a knife and slashing open her arm once again, letting her blood drip into one of the shallow vessels slowly. “Let her be.” Thorin muttered, closing his hand around his nephew’s wrist to restrain him.

“I come to you, oh great creator, guide of my steps, in prayer.” Faith started, touching her forehead to the ground.

“But, I come not for myself. I come to pray for the safe passage and blessed return of Thorin Oakenshield and his company.” Again, she bowed down, then lifting her bloodied hands to the sky and pleading:

“You who have many faces, allow me to address those I have known all my life without ever speaking their name. I have been told that the one Thorin calls Mahal and we may call “crafting face of the creator” has hewn the dwarrows from stone. Oh, father of all, remember those you gave life to and show them mercy once again. Oh, stone remember who you once cradled and mellow your bosom for them. May their steps tread safely on you and may you open your womb once again to give them refuge.”

Faith touched one of her dishes in which a single coin and an iridescent river pebble lay.

“Let not the fashioner of evil unmake your gift of strength and beauty to this world. For this, I pray.”

She turned to the second dish, containing seeds and herbs she had picked, offerings covered in mud and earth still.

“Oh, great creator, I cry to the part of you that is warm and motherly, to the face Thorin calls Yavanna under his breath. They are not made of stone; they are born, and they grow. May the protection of the mother fall upon them, the defence of all things that grow and thrive. Let the world I have cherished welcome them freely, oh great creator, oh manyfold God. May the rivers run smooth, and the trees grant them shade. Oh, earth you who have been my mother, hide their steps from foes and bear fruit to sustain them. I beg for this as a friend of all things living, may they be recognised by bird and beast, by heart and soul alive, for what they are: living, breathing, feeling creatures of this earth. Do not let them walk alone. For this, I pray.”

Finally, she lifted her own blood and poured it onto the soil in front of her.

“I am but a measly creature, a single life, but I understand that whatever blessing I might have known has had a purpose. I am a vessel and here, I surrender the mercy I have been granted to this greatest of kings. Take this blood into your bosom and see the flaws within it! May my life and the life of my kin be a cenotaph to guilt that spans over generations!”

She touched her forehead to the ground again before going on:

“Oh, great creator, carry the wisdom I have paid in blood and tears forth; may there be a gracious and brave child for every stubborn, unhospitable father, may the sons and daughters save their elders by their generous deeds. For this, I pray.”

Faith stood up again, bowing to her offerings thrice before lifting the knife to her throat.

This time, even Thorin jerked, but she merely cut off a strand of her hair to let it fall in the blood-stained dish.

“As for myself, I vow service, as I have before. I shall work tirelessly; I shall dig my hands bloody in search of fertile earth and I shall make plants thrive in your honour. From the day their feet fall into the first step of this most perilous of journeys until the day I shall gaze upon your blessed people again, oh great creator, I shall walk and pray in devout industry, only ever lifting my eyes to the sky to check if I am called forth. I yield whatever grace was placed upon and within me to Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, and whoever goes with him; I offer whatever strength I have to please you, oh great creator, in all your glory.”

Faith was about to turn away when she fell onto her knees again, her head pressed against the blood-drenched soil, sobbing in a low voice: “Oh, I plead with you, oh glorious, almighty, many-faced one, protect the one I call friend, the one who promised more than his body to me, bring him home safely even if I never get to see him again. Do not cut short the life of princes so valiant and honourable either. Take home the weary bones of old warriors and give fertile soil to the young ones to thrive. You are the maker of all things, of things that never change and of things that never stand still; honour their steadfast courage, eternal as the mountain, and their beating hearts, ever-changing as the seasons.”

Remembering the excellent hearing of the dwarrows, Faith lowered her voice to a whisper as she finished: “For I love them, dearly, desperately, endlessly. May the love of a mere mortal be guide, shield, and sword to them. I ask for nothing for myself, not an ounce of comfort, not a single blessing, heed my love for it is my only need in this life! I beg of you, I’d give everything for you to hear me…for this I pray.”

She bowed one last time, pulled down her sleeve and turned around to see Thorin staring at her with unfathomable eyes.

And then, the pain engulfed her, and she collapsed at the same time as Thorin broke into an impressive sprint for a boulder.

#fanfiction #thorin oakenshield #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #prayer #the aftermath of almost sex #nice chapter to write #overly dramatic

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pinky-the-elephant-room · 4 years ago

Text

Incandescent

ϟ AN: I struggled with this one cause I tried to finish it while I was sick, so be kind guys I would appreciate it. The brief mention of Bakugou is connect to: this fic. But you can skip it if you would like.

ϟ Warnings: Explicit smut with aged up Kaminari, mentions of spankings, and rough sex. Please read at your own discretion. Denki x Fem reader

ϟ Summary: He shouldn’t want his innocent and proper ex girlfriend. But sometimes it’s nice to revisit the past for some much needed debauchery.

ϟϟϟϟϟϟϟϟ

It’s been give or take four to five years. He hadn’t thought of her in that way in years. When they broke up, it was amicable. They understood the course of their relationship had hit a dead end. They wanted to date other people and see what life had to offer. The two of them had agreed on this. So why was it that he was unable to look away from Y/N tonight?

She looked gorgeous; Y/N had been a scrappy girl in U.A. Now she was a woman in every sense of the word. She had filled out her costume so well now it was hard not to notice. Kaminari saw the various appreciative looks she was gaining from the various onlookers.

Maybe it was the conversation he had with Sero a few weeks ago.

The two of them and Kirishima met up at a bar to relax. Even Bakugou joined them for an hour before he stomped to the home he shared with his girlfriend. Who knew the first to be in a stable relationship and remain in one for years would be the wild Bakugou? That same feral kid who would continuously threaten and scream “Die!” whenever it fit his fancy.

Anyway, Sero and Kaminari took it upon themselves to do a drinking game, and before Sero knew it, he was drunk. He never could hold his alcohol well.

It was in this state that Sero confessed something that shocked Kaminari to his core.

“L-listen. Doon’t bee madd-d. Me and Y/N had a thingsh for a month,” Sero hiccupped. “I’m shorry. I -hope you’re not mad.”

Even while intoxicated, Kaminari had the sense not to flip out. What was there to be mad about anyway? Y/N and he hadn’t dated in years and weren’t as close as they used to be. Kaminari still was cordial to her and whatever boyfriend she might have introduced to their 1-A group.

Sure, it was weird that Sero and Y/N were a thing. But it was more because it happened out of nowhere. They were polar opposites, people he thought didn’t even know each other’s first names.

“Here, drink some water. You’re wasted.”

Kaminari tried to calm an overly emotional Sero who was trying to smother him with affection. It was usually the other way around. At least, he wasn’t a needy drunk like the taped hero.

“But maaaan I gotta say. Y/N was hot! S-shhe was the best ssseex I had in years. It was too bad it ended,” Sero lamented before giggling at the word “sex”. Then he proceeded to chant it and burst into drunken laughter.

Kaminari spent the rest of the night getting sober before helping Kirishima take Sero back to his apartment. The two buddies then sorted it all out by acknowledging that the night never happened, and it wasn’t something to ever be spoken about again.

But he couldn’t help himself as he checked out Y/N indiscriminately. The sex Kaminari remembered was sweet and vanilla. Nothing to write home about. He had better sex with more experienced partners. But it was great for his first time. Which now, he couldn’t reconcile with the sex that Sero described. “The best sex I ever had” with Y/N of all people? Sweet and sugar Y/N? Now that was something Kaminiari had to check out for himself.

So, making up his mind, he strolled over casually to where Y/N was conversing with a fellow hero.

“Hey Y/N! Long time no see. You look amazing.”

Y/N excused herself and turned around to face him with a smile.

“Denki, I just saw you a few weeks ago at Jiro’s birthday party.”

He sheepishly chuckled. “Oh, right. But I mean it, you look great.”

A soft blush appeared on Y/N’s face before she tried to face away from him. Now that was interesting. Maybe it won’t be so hard to get in her good graces once again.

“A-arigato. Did you need something from me? You’re usually off with Grape Juice trying to score a date at NPHC.”

He casually swung an arm around her shoulder. “Now, why would I do that when there’s already the beautiful Y/N in front of me?”

She shrugged off his arm and pushed him away. “Seriously? You know I don’t like these types of jokes.”

“Heh, you liar. If I remember correctly, you used to love my jokes.”

Kaminari stepped closer to Y/N and curled his arm around her waist tightly.

“You used to love it when I whispered into your ear like this,” he muttered hotly against her skin.

She let out a girlish squeal before pushing him away from her person.

He just grinned when he saw the red hues spread over the apples of her cheeks and ears. Just as he was about to grab her again, Y/N scuttled away from him like he had just caught fire.

Well, it looks like she was still the same Y/N even if she was grown up in other ways. That was more reassuring than he thought possible. Which he felt a little confused by; why did he care if Y/N was still the same girl he dated back in U.A.?

The rest of the evening Kaminari took great pleasure in messing with Y/N whenever possible. When their eyes happened to meet, he sent a heart-stopping wink her way. He brought her champagne only to brush his hand against her ass accidentally. When other men tried to approach her, he managed to intercept them.

“She’s my date for tonight. Sorry guys,” Kaminari joked while he tugged Y/N away from everybody else.

Y/N tried to remove her hand from his hold, but he only tightened his grip. Kaminari maneuvered through the hallways before he pulled her inside an open door. They were isolated in a private bathroom above the National Pro Hero Convention.

“What is going on with you? Why are you flirting with me?”

He took his time locking and securing the door. A bit nervous about turning and answering Y/N’s questions. He didn’t know if she would reject him tonight. Flirting was harmless, but sex complicated relationships. So, he would tread lightly. Yet, there was a confidence in knowing that she already engaged in something with Sero without making it serious. Maybe tonight it wouldn’t end in rejection.

As he walked towards Y/N teeming with self-assuredness, an easy his younger self would have been regarded with jealousy. It was the type of boldness only acquired after years of experience. Funny how he would use that same experience to entice the first girl he ever dated.

Y/N gazed at him as if his eyes could give her the answers she wanted. A litany of emotions flashed across her face. Was she always this expressive?

“Denki- “he cut her off with a kiss.

Kaminari swallowed her whimpers and tangled his tongue along with hers. She tasted vaguely like the champagne he had handed her earlier. He clutched her hips tightly before clasping her bottom. He didn’t remember her ass being so thick. Whatever Y/N was doing, it was working out for her. Perhaps a bit too well. He hadn’t necessarily planned to fuck her ass, but the night was long, and he had full intentions of taking advantage of it.

He separated from her mouth only to go back one and twice more. As if he was afraid to remove himself from her enticing taste.

“Y/N, I need you like. Right. Fucking. Now,” Kaminari gasped out while placing wet kisses along her slender neck.

The gasps evolved into a groan when he felt her tentatively touch his clothed cock. Her touch only served to stir his groin, and he placed his hand over hers to rub more firmly.

There was only so much he could take. He never did have any patience and was tired of being unable to get Y/N underneath him like he wanted. Kaminari cornered Y/N against the wall and pressed his body adjacent to her soft curves.

“Tell me what you want, baby. Yes or no.”

Y/N hesitated as her ample chest quivered, and her eyes glowed with untamed desire.

“If you really want me, then yes,” she whispered before pulling him down to kiss her.

“You know what to do.” As soon as those words left his mouth, he guided her legs around his waist to which she tightly wrapped. Y/N didn’t need any more encouragement as she closed her eyes and concentrated. In a puff of black smoke that quickly dispersed, the duo disappeared. When Kaminari looked up from licking the salt from her wet skin, he realized that the two were in a darkened room looking over Tokyo city lights.

It would appear the familiar bedroom sparked something for Y/N because her body relaxed, and she redirected his distracted face back to her mouth. She let out a low moan and ran her blunt nails through his blond hair.

Kaminari’s breath hitched, and he could feel his body responding to her. Sero didn’t lie, nor did he exaggerate. She had changed and in the most unexpected way. It was always him who would initiative their kisses and dictate their pace. Y/N, in her inexperience, was too shy to voice her needs, so he did his best with what he had. He didn’t mind it at the time because it was fun learning what worked and didn’t work. Now the way her grip was tightening in his hair, he couldn’t help but surrender to her whims instead.

As her tongue was keeping his mouth occupied, he could absentmindedly feel her take off his signature black and white jacket. That fueled the blood rushing through his veins and managed to engorge the hardened flesh pressed against Y/N’s hips. He always did love it when women removed his clothes for him. He loved it even more when they got frisky in the process, like how she flicked his sensitive nub with her tongue when she managed to get his shirt off as well.

Somehow Y/N’s clothes joined his on the floor, and Kaminari ended up on her bed.

“Come on, Y/N. Show me what you got me,” he said with leisure, resting his hands behind his head.

He kept still and tried not to make a sound as their centers connected. It took a while for Y/N to get it together as his cock kept slipping through her wet center. His eyes were tightly closed as his member entered her, and her warm embrace surrounded him.

Kaminari opened his eyes again to see an exquisite sight of a naked Y/N on top of him. He honestly didn’t think that this was something that would ever happen between the two of them. But life was unique like that; you never know when you would feel the itch to fuck your single ex-girlfriend.

Just as he was about to open his mouth to make a smart comment, she started moving. He should have known better to challenge Y/N, though. She might have been shy, but she was notoriously competitive and a sore loser. So, he shouldn’t have been that surprised when Y/N started riding him like a champion.

Many people had commented that he was a certified dumbass. He always disputed the absurd claims because no matter what people thought of him, there was always someone dumber like Mina. But he never felt as foolish as in that moment when Kaminari realized he spelled out his doom when he mouthed off to Y/N. The intensity in her eyes didn’t dissipate despite the rigorous rocking of her body. She was moving like an exotic dancer with the control of her movement and her slams' precision. It was no doubt in his mind that she had practiced until she mastered this particular lesson. Now he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by his own choices.

He could feel the telltale signs as his skin heated up and the tingles at the base of his spine. And the more telling signal of his balls getting heavy and tight.

He gritted his teeth and sunk his fingers into her hips.

“Y/N, fuck!” he hissed to her face. Y/N responded with defiance in her eyes alongside vigorous slams of her hips.

He couldn’t lose to her, not right now. Not ever. Especially if he wanted back in her bed in the near future.

That thought temporarily distracted him. Kaminari didn’t realize he was already contemplating a round two. His attention quickly snapped back to Y/N when her inner walls clenched around his cock with a vengeance. He groaned and bit down on his lip to distract himself. It did nothing to deter his pleasure. He knew like the first he had touched himself as a randy young boy that the height of his gratification wasn’t too far behind. But too bad for Y/N that he was no longer an inexperienced teen and knew exactly how to turn this into his favor.

Kaminari flipped her onto her back, and he relished the shocked look upon her face. Just as he was about to reenter her wet center, she cried out.

“Wait, not like this. On my hands and knees,” Y/N urged Kaminari by pushing back against him. Too shocked to argue with her, he let Y/N shove him a couple of inches and watched as she turned around and exposing her ass to his face. Unable to help himself, he clutched her bottom tightly before landing a firm smack onto her skin. Her body jolted, and she swayed a bit but didn’t say anything more.

He let out a chuckle. “Anything you want, babe.”

Kaminari gripped her hips tightly before crushing her smaller body with his. He plowed into her with an exuberance he never knew he was capable of. Instead of concealing her screams as most would, Y/N let pleasure known almost shamelessly. She was so uninhibited at that moment he almost proud that he was the reason that she was screaming herself hoarse.

It was due to all the noise that he didn’t hear what she muttered next.

“Wha-“he panted as he tried to get ahold of himself. “What was that?”

“Pull my hair, Denki,” her sore voice commanded.

There wasn’t any heat nor any threat in her words, but he felt compelled to fulfill her every command. Almost as if the sheer exhaustion hypnotized him that her voice conveyed. Almost as if they had been fucking nonstop for hours rather than it being their first round. He grabbed a fist full of her soft hair and tugged, following the motions of their bodies.

Y/N voiced her approval, and the next words she wailed almost made him lose his mind and spill prematurely into her.

“Harder! I said harder!”

Kaminari fucked her so vigorously that he vaguely thought he would break Y/N’s bed, and she was going to kill him in the morning. As Y/N's orgasm finally pushed her over the edge, her body shook and trembled, all the while receiving his still steady thrusts. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he let himself go as the orgasm literally shook him to his core. He rarely lost control of his quirk anymore, but the temporary loss of his senses gave himself and Y/N underneath him a mild shock.

He let out a deep groan and felt his body twitch from his own quirk. Kaminari quickly moved Y/N on her back and checked over her quickly to make sure she wasn’t hurt. Her face pinkened, and her chest heaved almost enticingly, but overall looked unharmed.

The two of them stayed on her bed, breathing heavily and looking up at the ceiling of Y/N’s apartment.

“So, you got any plans next week?”

#kaminari x you #kaminari x reader #denki x female reader #denki x reader #denki x you #bnha kaminari #my hero academia kaminari #kaminari denki #kaminari headcanons #denki headcanons #denki x y/n #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha prompts #bnha x y/n #mha x y/n #mha x you #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction

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moondustaeil · 3 years ago

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𝐫𝐞:𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞.

↳ Ambrosia's not-so-happy life update.

trigger warning, this post includes: weight loss, food, calorie counting, disordered eating habits, suicide, insecurities, fears.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭, 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭?

As I contemplate whether I should make an earnest post look as aesthetic as possible, my eyes are tearing up to Lee Chansub's "Gone". Therefore, this chapter gets named after his lyrics.

Since when was it? It's a question that crosses my mind after deciding on the chapter name, even though I'm well aware of the number of days that have passed. Each day I write that significant number in my journal, but there must be more than the pen can write. Beyond my awareness: there must have been a certain amount of time spent on a prologue to pen down the event that ultimately led to this chapter.

Since where was it? There could be multiple meanings behind the question, but I can only formulate a limited answer despite the openness. As far as I'm in charge of this story, there is no why or where. Yes, I quite literally woke up one day and decided to go on a diet, simple as that. Before that day, dieting never crossed my mind: I never saw my body as too much or myself as too little compared to others. Can you understand now why I think a prologue was written for me and not by me?

Anyhow, let's have a look at how I think I experienced my life before the diet. Sometimes I think I don't even remember how I experienced the last moments of it, but that doesn't mean I don't know how it went. My life before the diet was pretty plain: I didn't engage in any social or physical activities and spent most of my time behind my laptop to write or lurk around on YouTube. Eating-habit-wise, I never ate much: three meals a day with occasional snacks, those snacks probably covering more calories than my meals did. Despite eating calorie-covering snacks, I would have given my all for fruit and vegetables, especially frozen fruit. Back then, I already had significant eating habits: I'd eat nuts when I was stressed, drink smoothies while studying for exams, eat sour sweets when I was bored. My body before the diet wasn't that noteworthy: I maintained the same weight for around three years and only ditched my tight jeans because covid had me feeling too lazy to wear them. A youth like this might sound boring to you, but I gladly lived my life like this and, I don't regret the way I spent it.

I can still recall up to two days before it began: I can tell the contents of those days like I was the supporting cast instead of the main character, simply because I can't remember the emotions. The two last days were spent behind my laptop, waiting for the exam results while eating spicy nuts (to keep the stress level low). When the exam results came, and I realised I passed them all, I must have felt relieved. But in my memory, I didn't and don't feel anything at all concerning my exams. And that's where it stops. I don't even know where it starts again.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲

It quite literally feels like I woke up with no memories of the first days of the diet: I can recall what I ate, but not what I did or felt.

On the first day, I drank a strawberry oat smoothie for breakfast. It was my first self-made smoothie which was convincingly delicious compared to the bought smoothies I used to have. That same day, I stopped eating snacks: unknowingly, I restricted them and wouldn't allow them for the months after.

That paragraph is all I remember from the first day, and if I were to write one about every day of that week, it would be less each day. Maybe those days just weren't memory-worthy enough as I don't want to search for a reason behind every single thing.

For approximately twenty-eight days after the first one, I have no recollections. The only way I can reflect on those days is by checking my calorie intake and physical activity. Though, it doesn't feel like I was the one who tracked it.

The first proper recollection I have is of a day I ate 180 calories for the first time: a number I can only wonder about now. Though it was my first time having such a low intake, it wasn't the last or lowest. The number 180 seemed to attract me as in the days that followed, 180 would be the maximum amount of calories I'd consume. Back then, I had no idea what TDEE or BMR (of any of the other terms) were, so I can't tell you what my deficit was. But I would burn around 1200 calories a day by exercising, and that should be enough to raise red flags.

From that point on, even though I was probably slowly killing myself, I felt alive. A growing obsession with food, weight loss and exercise was fueling my mind. While my body was left behind, trying to catch up with the pace. If I didn't lose more than 1 gram overnight, I'd starve myself the next day. If I felt too lazy to exercise, I'd punish myself for being lazy by doing more. My weight dropped a lot, up to the point where the scale sometimes seemed to skip numbers.

Then a parent swap came: I would be staying with my dad for two weeks. In advance, I had already figured out everything I thought I needed to know: how I would skip meals without him finding out, at what times I could exercise without him knowing, where I could throw away the food he thought I would eat. The day I packed my bag and left for his house, my plans turned into action.

The two weeks there went as smooth as I planned them to go. Even with bonuses: he worked up to three days a week and did not question it when I didn't eat. In those two weeks, I would replace kpop videos with programs I used to despise: supersize versus superskinny and mukbangs. The videos would satisfy my hunger in some way, even though they caused me to start nailbiting. I wouldn't eat: I would only watch as others fed themselves.

Since I lost the initial subject I wanted to discuss in this chapter (I'm so sorry), I shall be moving on to the next chapter.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑: 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨? 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐚𝐭?

It was at this point that people were starting to notice things that I hadn't. Sometimes those things were appearance-related and, other times it was personality-related or even habit-related.

It started with a compliment from my aunt, and I felt like I was glowing when she mentioned my visible jawline and thin face. Maybe I was slightly disappointed that she noticed the facial changes before my body but, at the same time, she noticed a difference!

After her, people started commenting on my body, and I worked more to achieve those comments. I saw them as comments rather than compliments: I didn't tire myself out starting from 5:20 am every day just to receive a meaningless compliment. I wanted people to take notice.

And, they did. People that directly surrounded me were starting to notice things that I failed to see. Mostly stuff that changed about my personality while my body was changing. My mother told me that I became the opposite of easy-going and friendly when others were around. My sister told me that my facial expressions had gone even further than my usual resting bitch face. My nephew said that all I would do was try to end up in arguments with others and that he didn't like being around me anymore. It hurt to have all of those things said, but at the same time, I was too in denial to care. The only thing I cared about was food, exercise and losing weight.

On rare occasions, I became aware of the person I became. Mostly when others would try to reach me by calling or coming over but I was too busy to talk to them, and if I did, I would talk about food-related things only. So, I shut everyone out.

I no longer talked to my friends daily, wouldn't reply to my parents sending me messages, didn't go on social media unless it was to look at food or triggering images.

The world consisted of me and was ruled by my obsession.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒: 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐥��𝐯𝐞

There is an unknown amount of time that settles itself between the previous chapter and this chapter. During this time, I once again feel like I'm just a supporting character: my habits develop and my obsession rules over everything I do.

Many of the things I did (which already wasn't a lot, to begin with), were based on stuff I said already. Though even more refined and obsessive.

When I closed my eyes, sleep would take me to dreams about food and weight loss. Approximately three times a night, I would open my eyes, assume it was morning and get ready for another day of exhaustion and starvation. Those nightly hours are still engraved in my mind and current habits: 12:00 am, 3:20 am, 5:28 am.

It is in this chapter that a slow awareness creeps up on me. The side effects are what wakens me when everything else consumes me: constant thoughts about food, the inability to sleep, not being able to think or focus, drifting from reality, always feeling cold, tingling headaches, not leaving the house for days unless it's for shopping (because I would look at food I couldn't eat).

"I need to stop," I told myself while I wrote in my journal how much better I would be if I lost some more weight because the scale is tempting me.

I didn't want to stop. I just wanted it to stop.

Though in reality, I had no control to stop myself or it. I had lost control long ago, and to this day, I still have no idea at which chapter I left it behind. Some days I thought of how to stop, but the exit sign was more like a full-stop as it led me to think of killing myself: it would make my family stop commenting on my condition and could give me a sense of freedom even though I would be dead.

It surely wasn't the first time I passed that exit sign in life, but it was the first time I felt determined to pass it by. All I wanted was to be able to sleep peacefully without thinking of food. *Snort*, such high standards.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓: 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

Unexpectedly, a good dream did cloud over my bedroom. Even though it was simple, it's one of the dreams that I hope to keep in my memory forever. And for laughs, I'll share it.

TO1-member Donggeon was standing near my garage but, my mother's car wasn't in the driveway because she wasn't home. I was standing outside with him while he talked with Wei's Donghan (who was invisible to me). They were having a casual conversation in Korean. Then, he wanted to lean against the car that wasn't in the driveway, causing him to fall on all fours. He laughed at his stupidity and, at the same time, his ears were getting red from embarrassment.

That pretty much sums up the first not-food-related dream I had during my entire journey. And I still remember waking up at 3:20 am, laughing: it was stupid and silly but left such a big impression on me. And that's when I told myself: "I need to recover".

It sounds silly but I still, to this day, think that this dream set me off into recovery mode. Even though I felt like I had no control, I tried to take control: calculated a number of calories that I surely had to eat each day, planned Thursday to be my active rest-day, found less intense workouts to do in the morning, tried to replace the mukbangs in my watch later list by relaxing videos or recovery videos, scheduled to journal every day. Though I told myself I would do those things, it wasn't easy to put my words into action.

Yet, I fucking did it.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔: 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧

Not going to lie: I spent all night wondering how I was going to write this and all morning putting it into proper words. Hence, the reason why I'm feeling exhausted: too exhausted to continue writing it even though the blooming period is so close. So instead of giving a lecture on recovery: I will try to give my opinion on recovering and how I'm doing these days.

Each day, I still question whether I'm truly in a recovery of something. I never went to see a professional or verbally admitted to my problems, so I never learned whether I'm recovering from something or just making progress after a downfall. I might be familiar with the use of DSM-4 and DSM-5 but, that doesn't mean I'm qualified to judge on whether I had/have a disorder or not. Yet, I opt to use the terms disordered eating and recovery until I'm sure of what it was that I went through.

Some days it feels like I was faking all of it, but then I realise, how was I faking it while I was going through it and experiencing it? Perhaps some of you reading even think I am faking all of the above, but that's your opinion. I don't need to defend myself for feeling things.

Now, I'll update you on where I'm standing today because I guess I wrote six chapters in order to get to this point. We all know I like to write more than necessary.

⋅ My disordered eating habits and calorie intake: I have made quite some progress (even if I say so myself). Each week, I challenge myself to increase my calorie intake by 100 until I reach my maintenance calories. It isn't as easy as it sounds because by the time I actually dared to increase by ten calories, the week is over, and I have to adjust my goal because I wasn't even able to reach close to where I planned to be. This week my goal is to eat 800 calories a day: a number that unexpectedly is paired with a lot of guilt and fear, so I haven't been able to eat that amount yet. The maximum I've eaten is 641 calories a day. Together with that, I also promised myself to eat one fear food or not-eaten food a week: that way, I hope to stop restricting myself and learn to enjoy them again. Some lasting habits I developed: I fear eating too early and will try to push back eating as late as I can because it gives me the feeling that I can enjoy it for longer but I do have strict hours, I cut everything into mini pieces because it gives me the feeling that I have more to nibble on and more to enjoy, I read every single nutrition label multiple times (in the store and at home) because I fear that it might include too many calories or fat, I don't eat anything that I didn't plan and nothing that I can't track calorie-wise, I eat the same thing for breakfast every day because I feel like it's the only food I can trust. The urge to skip meals or lie about them is getting smaller, but the thought always remains in the back of my mind.

⋅ My weight: I'm at a weight that is still considered healthy according to whoever feels qualified to judge. However, I fear gaining weight every single day, which stops me from eating my weekly allowance. Despite eating more than at the start of this: I still lose weight. The weight loss fuels the bad habits once more, but I try to tell myself that my weight is only to indicate whether I'm close to my maintenance calories or not.

⋅ My body: my body kept most of its side effects inside until I started to recover aside from the ones that I've stated before. Yesterday was the first day that I didn't feel cold despite wearing a shirt only, so that was a win for my body. However, I do have constant headaches, get blackouts often and, I easily feel my energy draining whenever I do a little bit too much (which I didn't always feel when I was actively doing it). That being said, my abilities have definitely decreased: you can read what kind of exercise I do in the next paragraph, but it has decreased a lot because I will feel weak sooner than before.

⋅ Exercise: I am between struggling and not struggling with it. The reason why I started to exercise was to burn more calories than I ate. But back then, I had no knowledge of BMR and whatnot. These days I do a lot less impactful exercise than I did before, but I still exercise each day: I do 96 minutes of stationary cycling a day, go on daily walks and have the obsession to take steps whenever I'm standing still. As you might be able to tell, I feel like I'm on the line of having control here.

⋅ My personality/social life/hobbies: even though I was in denial about my changing personality for a long while, I eventually realised that people were right when they said I changed. The realisation came during recovery, mostly because I noticed how I was in a better mood than when I was at my lowest point. My social life is building up slowly and doesn't always include me having to talk about my weight loss or food, though people always mention it so, I do always end up having to talk about it without wanting to. As for hobbies, I found my interest in kpop and writing again but, it's still at a somewhat moderate level. I still find myself lurking at food-related posts or triggering things, but I can control myself better and watch some positive videos instead. Aside from that, I journal every day: I write down what I ate, my physical activity, what I saw as memorable in my day, and more.

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞

That's pretty much all for the life update. I still left out a lot that I failed to remember while writing or felt too tired to write about, and I bet not a lot of you are interested in any of this anyway. I just felt like I owed everyone an explanation of where I've been and why I haven't been reblogging much or writing.

As I've stated a few times before, I don't know yet when I will get back into writing or posting content. And the past months made me realise that it might be good for myself if I take some time away from Tumblr: I won't be able to look for triggering content, won't be able to trigger anyone else on accident and can focus on working towards my goals.

I hate the word hiatus but I think this means that I will be going on semi-hiatus. On good days, I might still come here to talk to my mutuals or reblog some kpop content that I enjoy. But other times, I probably won't respond or interact much as I'm logged out.

For now, my semi-hiatus will continue until mid to end September. This might be shortened or extended depending on my progress and my personal needs.

Have a lovely day, moonflowers! 💌

#ambrosia's life #was this the tag i used to use for stuff like this?

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kuriquinn · 5 years ago

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Wait For Me

Blanket Fic Disclaimer

Original Prompt by: @toscafan

"Olá. Você poderia escrever uma fic onde após Sasuke voltar para a vila, Sakura vai em uma missão e é gravemente ferida. Então Sasuke percebe que seus sentimentos por ela cresceram quando ele a vê ferida no hospital. Talvez com um pouco de Naruto preocupado também. Eu imagino isso entre o período que Sasuke volta para Konoha e antes de eles partirem juntos em suas viagens. Suas histórias são maravilhosas :) eu sinto muito não escrever em inglês :( “

[Roughly: Hello, Could you write a fic where after Sasuke returns to the village, Sakura goes on a mission and is seriously injured. Then Sasuke realises that his feelings for her have grown when he sees her injured in the hospital. Maybe with a bit of Naruto worried too. I imagine it between the time Sasuke returns to Konoha and before they leave together on their travels.]

Author’s Note: As promised during Evil Author Day, I am trying to finish some of my WIPs. I actually managed to finish this one (Prompt # 4), which is a total miracle given how I’ve been feeling lately. And the fact I think this one is like...two years old. So yeah, major backlog of stuff that needs writing. Enjoy!

Beta Reader: None but me and my editing software :)

________________________________________________________________

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

It shouldn’t have happened.

The words repeat themselves on a loop in Sasuke’s head, like a record player tossed asunder, skipping unerringly back over the same line in a song. In every momentary pause where the words begin to repeat, there is a breath, an extended moment of tension where his chest feels tighter and tighter.

She hasn’t been on active duty rosters since the war. Her field is medicine, not defense or combat or infiltration, and as strong and talented as Haruno Sakura is, she’s still human and prone to mistakes. Shinobi work isn’t like riding a bike. You have to continue to exercise your particular skillset daily, or mistakes can be made, leading to mishaps, leading to—

It shouldn’t have happened.

サスサク

When the call came in for a relief-force of medicnin, it wasn’t unusual. War or no, there are still major medical emergencies and disasters. In this case, reports reached Konoha of an earthquake 350 miles away. Though the village had barely experienced a tremor, the quake had apparently devastated the shepherding community living at the base of the mountain.

As a rule, Sakura should have stayed behind to coordinate everything from the village; with Tsunade on another of her gambling jaunts, she was the most senior healer.

But the devastated town was without its own medical corps, and the number of injured was overwhelming. Every able pair of hands was needed and naturally, Sakura volunteered herself for the mission.

“I can do the work of a dozen medics and they might need someone to lift debris,” she informed the Sixth Hokage when he seemed likely to protest. “I also trained the latest group of emergency medics going out there; they’re still relatively untested in the field. Better they take their orders from me than some random jounin that you assign.”

Kakashi knew better than to argue with his former student, but he was reluctant. For some reason, he was uneasy. There was little reason for it that he could discern, but after all his years as a shinobi, he had learned to heed his instincts.

“Please, Lord Sixth, there are many large families there, with children.”

Against that—with no concrete reason to give—he could not say no.

“Do you need anyone else beyond the emergency medics?”

“Any civilians with basic first aid training,” Sakura replied, pleased at the response. “Whichever doctors and staff can be spared. The general surgeons, perhaps, but no one with specialized training or technique that we would supper from losing.”

Kakashi nodded and made a gesture she recognized to mean an official granting of the request.

“Ideally, you’d send Naruto as well. He could use the Nine-Tails chakra to mass-heal the simplest injuries. It would make triage a lot faster.”

“That’s not in my power. I’m already on thin ice with the Elders for my executive order to pardon Sasuke. I doubt they’ll want him leaving the village any time soon.”

Sakura scowled.

Under normal circumstances she would argue—she had long ago made clear her dislike and distrust for the village Elders—but every minute spent arguing was wasting crucial time.

“Can you try to convince them?” she asked as she turned to leave the office. “We should be sending out best for this.”

“We already are,” Kakashi said with ease, and there was a smile in his eyes. The one Sakura returned was only a little strained, mind already on her future patients.

サスサク

Sasuke was on a short, probationary mission at the time, in the complete opposite direction from the disaster zone. He didn’t even hear about the earthquake until two days later.

While handing his mission report to Kakashi, he may have been somewhat surprised to learn Sakura would not be around to greet him the way she usually did—and Kakashi’s eyes had a far too knowing gleam in them when he mentioned it—but it never occurred to Sasuke that she would be in any kind of danger.

At least, nothing she wasn’t capable of handling for herself.

For those two days, Sasuke carried out his usual routine, slowly acclimating to being back in service to the village. It still wasn’t his preference to be around so many people, and there was a constant sense of discomfort that lingered at the back of his mind. The sensation of eyes on him from all over, ANBU and civilian alike, heavy with judgement and fear. The only time that feeling abated, even for just a little, was when he was around Sakura, Naruto or Kakashi.

Still, he wasn’t willing or able to seek any of them out. They all have busy lives, and he earned that judgement and fear from the village. It would be an easy feat to leave and never return, but he didn’t deserve easy. Remaining here was part of his punishment, and so he would learn to live with it.

At home, when the constant surveillance became too much, he went to an empty training ground and put himself through various sword forms or engage in other exercises. In two years, he’s grown used to living and fighting with only one arm, but it’s the constant practice that keeps him lethal.

On the morning of the third day he is going through one of his complex sword kata in the training ground where Kakashi made them genin. He tells himself it’s coincidence and not sentimentality that brought him here this morning, even as the three posts stand vigil over his training like towers of memory.

Today he is working only on form and movement, not using any techniques requiring chakra, just trying to sharpen his movements into their usual lethal grace.

As he uncoils from a low final arc of his sword, returning to a resting position, there is a sudden cracking noise; his gaze snaps toward it, and he watches as—apropos of nothing—the wooden post to his far right splits right down the middle.

Sasuke immediately goes still, focussing his awareness around himself and the area, scanning for danger. There is no one in this place foolish enough to try something—even if he wasn’t lethal on his own, the ANBU escorts hidden in the shadows would have been alerted.

The wind continues meander, sending leaves rustling; the sound of birds and the distant crash of the river do not change. There is not threat that he can detect, nothing but a growing sense of foreboding.

And then the ground begins to shake.

As far as earthquakes go, it’s not the worst he’s experienced. He has no problem remaining on his feat as the ground roils and trembles. Even the trees surrounding him show no sign of shuddering.

It’s small and innocuous, nothing on the same level as the one Sakura was sent to help with.

His eyes drift, lingering on the cracked post.

Memory conjures an image of a gawky twelve year old with too-long-to-be-practical hair and luminous green eyes betraying strain and discomfort as she feeds their third teammate tied to the middle post.

It’s probably nothing.

But for some reason his focus on his exercises vanishes, replaced instead with a growing disquiet in the pit of his stomach.

It only grows with every moment as he returns to the village proper and, without knowing why, makes a beeline for Hokage Tower. All around him, people talk excitedly about the tremor, laughing it off and telling one another what they were doing when they noticed it. It’s just a facet of their day, something that—while uncommon—is not dangerous enough to merit panic.

So why does he suddenly feel uneasy?

サスサク

Sasuke arrives at the Tower at the same time as Naruto, a face which causes his inexplicable agitation to ratchet immediately higher, especially given his friend’s uncharacteristic frown and the absence of his usual joking greeting.

Without exchanging words, they enter Kakashi’s office and are immediately treated to the sight of their former instructor pacing by the window, a frown drawing his brows together. The coiled cord of the telephone stretches and relaxes with his back-and-forth movements. It’s so in contrast to his usual demeanor—lazily slouched in his chair—that Sasuke’s spine stiffens in response.

Kakashi eventually hangs up the phone and faces his students.

“There was a second earthquake,” he tells them gravely. “Right next to the refugee camp we set up. According to reports, about 180 million tons of mountainside have crumble down onto the camp. They don’t know if there are any survivors.”

Sasuke’s fist clenches and Naruto’s eyes blink into slits as he activates his senjutsu.

“I can’t sense Sakura’s chakra,” he says, a panicked note in his voice. “Usually I get a definite flicker from her, even at this distance…”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Sasuke tells him. “She masks her chakra when she’s on medical missions to avoid presenting a target.”

He’s not sure how he knows this, since he can’t recall if she mentioned any such practice in their conversations since he’s been back, yet he knows it to be true. Still, this knowledge brings no comfort with it, because the uncomfortable pit in his stomach remains.

“She would be healing everyone after a huge disaster like that,” Naruto protests. “I’d definitely sense that. But I can’t.”

Which, admittedly, worries Sasuke a little despite his unshakable faith in Sakura’s abilities.

Naruto turns to Kakashi, his shoulders squared as if in preparation for a fight. “I’m going to check on her. Even if she’s fine, they’ll need help digging survivors out. I can definitely help with that.”

“Fine,” Kakashi says. The fact he doesn’t argue or mention the concerns of the Elders is telling. “If you leave now, you should get there within—”

Sasuke doesn’t stay to listen.

He’s already climbing the stairs to the roof where there is more open space.

He is by no means an expert at using his Rinnegan yet—every day heralds a new ability or application—but he has more or less figured out how to travel between far distant locations instantly.

“Oi! Sasuke! Wait up!” Naruto shouts from behind as Sasuke focusses himself on creating a pathway. He glanced the coordinates he needs on the papers covering Kakashi’s desk, knows where he’s supposed to go—

The space in front of him crackles, displacing the air, and then rips open, forming a portal of swirling violet energy. On the other side, he can discern a giant wall of rubble.

He wastes no time slipping through, trusting Naruto to follow directly behind him.

サスサク

The sight before them is a grim one.

Sasuke hasn’t seen destruction on this scale since the war.

Mountains loom around them, the closest one looking misshapen due to the giant shelf that has vanished as if scraped off with a giant chisel. Its remnants spill out in front of it, creating a smaller mountain of churned earth and rock, uprooted trees and other debris.

People gather around, civilian and shinobi alike, covered in dust and digging frantically at the rubble. Likely the lucky few who were far enough away when the second quake hit to avoid the harm.

There are almost no Konohanin, medicnin or otherwise, that he can see, suggesting a grim truth to him: they are all underneath the remains of the mountain. Dead, most likely, or trapped and dying as the seconds pass.

But where is Sakura?

She could survive being buried under such weight, and should have dug her way out by now. Stone and rock are like cottage cheese to her strong fists.

“Naruto!”

The two newcomers glance up as a Konohanin scrambles toward them. As he gets closer, Sasuke recognizes him as the kid Sakura has taken on as an assistant. Ando something or other.

“We need help!” the kid gasps when he arrives in front of them, dust-covered and exhausted. “We can’t shift the earth using doton because it could hurt the people underneath.”

The jinchuriki is already forming the signs to summon up shadow clones. If this has to b cleared by hand, he’s the best man for the job. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo.”

“We’ll get through this without a problem!”

“Believe it!”

The clones are already spreading out across the landscape, like a sea of orange washing over the scene.

Sasuke stares down at the boy. “Where is Sakura?”

Ando goes pale beneath the fine layer of dust, eyes pained. “When the earthquake stared, she was trying to get everyone in the medical tents to safety. When she realized she couldn’t, she tried to create barriers to stop the worst of the damage using doton. But it was coming on too fast, and so she tried to slow down the avalanche—"

“Of course she did,” Sasuke murmurs to himself, teeth gritted.

“—but it wasn’t enough! The last I saw, she was destroying the rocks coming at her, but then she was buried.”

“And where were you in all this?”

There’s an accusation in his words that has made stronger men tremble, but Ando merely shudders and clenches his fists. No shrinking violets working with Sakura, that’s for sure.

“I was on water duty. The rivers here were all polluted by the first quake, and so I had to travel far. I saw it all from that cliff up there and hurried down here as fast as I could to help, but…”

He gestures ineffectively, clearly not knowing where to start.

“Sasuke!” Naruto yells all of a sudden, and Sasuke’s head whips toward where he is helping a woman with shredded clothing to climb from the rubble. She is remarkably stable on her feet, considering the situation, and Sasuke understands a moment later when he sees the white creature attached to her shoulder.

“Lady Katsuyu!” Ando cries and hurries over, followed closely by SAsuke.

“Where’ Sakura?” Naruto demands as the younger boy helps the quake victim to sit down. “Is she okay?”

“She’s at the very bottom,” Katsuyu says fretfully. “There’s an airpocket and she’ll still have air for a little while, but she’s gravely injured. Her entire lower body is crushed.” Sasuke’s heart constricts painfully. “I tried to help, but she insisted I attach myself to all the refugees, to keep them alive until help arrives. I fear she won’t be able to keep it up very long. Even my healing can’t save the people buried so long without oxygen.”

“Little fool,” Sasuke growls, the viciousness of the words surprising him more than the situation. Of course she’s more worried about the survival of her patients and the others instead of herself.

“We’re getting her out,” Naruto declares, summoning more clones. “We’ll get her and everyone else out!”

And Sasuke finds himself hoping this is another miracle that his friend’s mere presence and stubbornness will help pull off.

サスサク

The task is arduous and time consuming.

Sasuke is bizarrely conscious of the speed at which the time passes—too fast. They continue dragging survivors out from beneath the rubble—all unharmed, but looking more and more shambled as the rescue efforts reach deeper into the rubble. Every so often, there is a red glow, and the unearth another person being Naruto has managed to sense and enfold in his healing chakra cloak.

Sasuke uses his snake summons for the first time in years, sending them from his sleeve to slither around and crush rocks blocking their path. He digs one-handed while Naruto and the clones make quick work of their chosen debris fields.

They have yet to find Sakura, or a person that as died of their injuries; all of them so far have had a miniature clone of Lady Katsuyu attached somewhere on their bodies.

Yet he can’t sense Sakura.

“Her chakra signature is everywhere,” he frets. “She’s channelling it through Katsuyu to keep everyone alone. I can’t get a proper read on her.”

“And you won’t,” Lady Katsuyu says in a tremulous tone. “The byakugou has disengaged—her strength has finally run out.” She shudders. “We’re too far away. There’s no way we’ll make it to her in time. And I can only linger here a few minutes longer without her sustaining me.”

“We’ll make it!” Naruto growls, tone and eyes harsh like that of a cornered fox. There’s a panic there, belying his words, because he clearly has no idea how they’re going to do that.

It’s that panic more than anything so far that makes Sasuke’s guts roil and a sickening nausea of fear well up within him. Because Naruto never gives up, he always has hope and he always has some kind of harebrained plan to fix a bad situation.

And if he doesn’t have one in this case, it means Sakura’s fate is sealed.

Which—

No.

“You have a clone with Sakura now?” he asks Katsuyu.

“O-of course,” the snail replies, almost surprised at being addressed so directly.

“You can share your chakra between one another. Can you share the chakra of someone else the same way?”

Naruto’s eyes widen as he catches on. “Yes! If I share my chakra with you and your clone, I’ll able to sense where your clone is and we can find Sakura faster.”

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Lady Satsuyu replies mournfully. “And besides, I can’t share your chakra, Naruto-kun. The chakra of biju is too volatile, and unless a blood contract has been made, like yours with the toads, it would become too volatile.”

“You wouldn’t need a contract with me,” Sasuke says. “My chakra is entirely my own.”

The slug’s head bobs to one side in consideration, and then she makes a noise of assent. “We can try.”

Sasuke holds out his hand, allowing Lady Katsuyu to inch closer, pressing herself up against his palm. There’s a beat of tense silence as they both concentrate, Sasuke infusing a burst of chakra in the tiny creature’s body.

She shudders from the force of it, her energy signature changing to a mixture of her own and his.

“It’s done,” she says, and he can feel a tiny twinge in his senses calling from far beneath the crumbled mountain.

Sasuke nods and begins to back away from the rubble. “Get beneath her.”

“I don’t understand,” Ando is saying. “How will that be any different from before? Lady Katsuyu was already able to direct us to Sakura.”

“He’s not just looking for Sakura’s location,” Naruto says with a grim smile. “He needs to know exactly where she is.”

“But why—?”

Sasuke tunes out the useless questions as he positions himself somewhere with a decent amount of clearance all around him. Bracing himself—he’s never tried this particular gambit before—he activates the Sharingan and reaches deep within his chakra reserves.

Instantly, violent purple energy manifests, bones and muscle and armor, as Susanoo encompasses him all around. The burning, ripping pain of it has almost become distant by now, and he focusses past it, still holding onto that shred of his chakra beckoning him from wherever Sakura is.

He turns his head, concentrating on the space in front of Susanoo’s empty right hand and activates the Rinnegan.

A portal twists into being from thin air, and Sasuke hardly waits before raising Susanoo’s hand and pressing the limb through the portal. He can distantly feel the weight of her against the flat of the hand as it materializes directly beneath her body, and then pulls her backward, shutting the portal immediately after extracting her to ensure none of the rubble baring down on her might follow.

As gentle as he can, Sasuke lays Sakura down upon the ground, Susanoo vanishing as her body touches the earth.

サスサク

Everyone is already kneeling around her when Sasuke touches back down, the chakra giant vanishing once more. Lady Katsuyu vanishes, no longer having Sakura’s strength to draw on, and Naruto is snapping something at Ando, probably to get help.

All of it washes over Sasuke in a meaningless, soundless wave as his eyes fall upon Sakura. His lungs tighten as he takes in her broken body.

Her legs are bruised and battered, crushed inward in some places and bones poking out of other places; it’s the same for her hips and several ribs. Her eyes are open and staring, a trail of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth and nose.

The sight is terrifying.

For a short yet eternal moment he is back in the streets of the Uchiha district, surrounded by the bodies of his family. Just as he was then, he is frozen now—inutile and incapable of doing anything.

“Naruto…” he begins, not knowing exactly what he’s trying to ask.

“This is bad,” Naruto says, voice strained. His eyes are slits once more, his sage mode active as a red film covers Sakura’s body. “I can heal the big stuff, but so much has been pulverized…” He swallows as if in physical pain; Sasuke knows the feeling. “She needs someone that can do surgery at the microlevel. If I heal her right now, like this, I could do a lot more harm then good.”

It’s a measure of how far Naruto’s come that he recognizes this, that he knows not to simply ram through his power and hope it helps.

Sasuke doesn’t know what will help now.

Scenarios and plans speed through a mind more suited for battle tactics than life-saving measures, as he tries to think of any way that he can help her and wishing for the first time in a long time that Karin were here.

Wishing he had ever taken the time to learn more about the healing arts than how to kill.

All the while, the sight of Sakura’s shattered limbs taunting him as her blood seeps into the sand.

Sasuke blinks.

Sand.

The memory hits him out of nowhere, the way many of his recollections from before do. Waking in a hospital, distantly hearing people talking about a fight—sand versus strength.

“Tsunade,” Sasuke says, remembering how the Fifth Hokage dealt with something similar. Right around the time she healed his mind from Itachi’s merciless assault on it, she saved Rock Lee from a life of paralysis.

Naruto is frowning, once again on the same wavelength as him. “No one knows where she is.”

“I’ll find her. Get Sakura back to Konoha—”

“No…”

Both of them jump at the pained, feeble voice and glance down.

Sakura’s eyes are closed now, clenched as tight as her jaw when she speaks through gritted teeth. “There are still…people…” She tries to raise a hand, gesture toward the rubble. “Naruto…stay and…help…”

“Sakura, no!” he snaps. “You’re in a mess right now, I need to keep you going until—”

“…Too much…damage…wasting your…chakra…”

“Sakura,” Sasuke says tersely, and her eyes shoot open toward him. Awareness flickers behind green irises, along with some surprise, as if she didn’t realize or expect him to be there.

“Sasu…ke…”

He shivers.

There has never been a time in his life when he and Sakura haven’t been aware of the presence of the other. The fact she didn’t notice him is telling in the severity of her injury…as is her not expecting him to be by her side.

After all, when has he ever been?

What has he ever done for her?

“We have to get her out of here,” Naruto says. “Do you have enough strength for another portal?”

Sasuke nods, though he isn’t sure; he’s used his abilities twice now in quick succession. But for Sakura, he’ll try.

The space beside them rips open, once more opening onto the familiar rooftops of Konoha as seen from Hokage Tower. All they need to do is step through, and so Naruto goes to pick Sakura up, only for her to scream in sudden sharp agony.

Sasuke’s heart stutters, his concentration wavering slightly, allowing the portal to shrink and contract worryingly.

“She’s too hurt,” Naruto says, panicked. “We need to keep her on her back or…I might sever something important.”

There are no stretchers here, no immobilizing aids to move her. If he had any idea where Tsunade Senju was, he’d seek her out and return her here instantly, but he doesn’t have that time and neither does Sakura.

“I’ll bring her,” Sasuke says.

“But—”

“You stay here. Help the survivors.”

There’s something on his face that keeps Naruto from arguing further, but Sasuke is no longer paying attention. Once again, he centers himself, trying to divide his power between the portal and call up Susanoo in just the right manner.

It takes searing concentration to manifest Susanoo’s hand in the space between Sakura’s body and the ground, letting the chakra fill in beneath her and keep her steady and supine.

Sakura’s eyes are wide, trained on him in something like desperation, before they roll back and she lapses into unconsciousness.

Sasuke’s lungs constrict, but he forces himself to work through it, to slide Susanoo’s hand straight through the portal until Sakura is no longer lying among the debris of the dead but in the safety of their village.

Sweat breaks out across his forehead and the back of his neck, and he tastes blood in his mouth, but he manages to retract the chakra within him. He’s about to step through when—

“Wait!”

He grits his teeth, eyes darting back to the kid—Ando—who has returned.

“Let me come too,” he says. “I can keep her stable, or—or go get someone from the hospital, or—”

“Go!” Sasuke snarls, half from effort and half from irritation the boy is taking up valuable seconds.

A terrified expression breaks over Ando’s face for a moment, before he throws himself headlong through the portal.

“Find Tsunade,” Sasuke tells Naruto as he follows. He doesn’t have to hear the response to know he will.

サスサク

He has no right to be here.

The intensive care wing of Konoha’s hospital is a flurry of movement as doctors and nurses and medic-nin rush in and out of the surgery where they are working on Sakura. He lingers outside the doors, his own self-recrimination keeping him out here more than the ‘Staff Only’ sign on the door.

He doesn’t deserve to be here, to hear news of her condition. He left—he’s always leaving—and she’s always waiting. She’s always here and he realizes with a sudden disbelief that somehow, somewhere along the line something in him has taken that for granted.

Ever since the War, ever since watching her blossom into her abilities and to demonstrate power that makes her neigh indestructible, he’s been thinking of her as if she is. As if she’s a constant that will never change, that will always exist.

Like she’s immortal.

Except she’s not, she can die like anyone else.

It’s something taken for granted in their line of work, but medic-nin die the same as anyone else in the service. And Sakura would be the first to insist she is no more important than anyone else, that her life is the same value as any of their comrades. He knows if given the choice she’d sacrifice that same life without any regret—hell, he watched her try to do just that today.

That knowledge—and the reality of what is happening behind that door in front of him, the image of the light in her eyes dying—steals his breath.

Will that be his last memory of her? A broken body pulled from a wreckage?

Very real terror grips him then, something he hasn’t felt in years. A close, clawing sensation and his lungs constricting as something jagged forms in his throat. Nightmares of blood in the streets, blood in his hands and the rush of a waterfall in the background, the chirping of lightning in his ears—

“Sasuke.”

His head jerks up, the world around him returning, senses no longer going haywire to stave off the incoming panic.

Kakashi is standing beside him—when did he get here?—eyes somber. There’s a beat before he reaches out, hesitant, and lays a hand on his shoulder.

It’s as if a current is going through him, memories from long ago, that same hand on his shoulder. It’s the first time Kakashi has reached out to him since he left Konoha as a child.

“I’ve had news from Naruto,” his former instructor continues. “He’s found Tsunade.”

And somehow with those three words, every bit of tension in Sasuke’s body evaporates. He realizes he hasn’t been breathing and tries his best not to gulp for air, forces himself to inhale slowly through his nose, to not lose his composure.

Kakashi, of course, is not fooled. “Sakura will be alright. She’s strong.”

Sasuke wants to reply that he knows, he’s always known, but his tongue is still frozen. Instead, he returns his gaze upon the door, trying to sense what is happening beyond it.

He feels Kakashi remove his hand, but the man’s intense stare remains on him.

“I should go,” he eventually manages to say. Yet his legs refuse to move.

“You should stay. You’re exactly where you need to be.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re exactly where she needs you to be.”

Sasuke’s protest dies before it was truly born, and he goes back to trying to breath. Inhale and hold; exhale and repeat. It doesn’t matter what he needs or wants, after all.

Why?

Sakura is Sakura. Yes, they have always had a connection, a bond, but it’s the same connection he’s had with the rest of his former squad. You can’t go on missions or into battle with one another without developing a synchronicity. Even if the connections are different.

With Kakashi it’s the kindred spirit of someone who has lost everything almost the same as he has, with Naruto it’s a bond that can never be replicated for the most complicated of cosmic reasons.

And yet…with Sakura, there’s something different there.

He always thought it was nostalgia, the last lingering remnants of a weak child desperate for whatever scrap of affection was offered to him after losing his parents. Every moment he’s ever spent with her, he pretended like it didn’t affect him at all; and yet, there was always that eagerness he had to tamp down, wanting to see the smile on her face because he knew he didn’t deserve it.

A smile he missed in the years training with Orochimaru, then wandering the world in penance. He knows she’s had feelings for him since they were children, and has has spent most of his last years hoping against hope that she’ll let him go and move on.

That she’ll find someone else, someone worthy of her, someone who will keep her safe and guard her heart against pain. Because that’s all he can give her is pain; tht, and a soul that will never completely heal.

Except it wont matter, will it, if she dies?

She’ll be gone, and he’ll be empty again. No matter where he goes, he’s always known that somewhere, Sakura is out there, keeping him in her heart. He knows that even if she does find another, there will always be a part of her that thinks of him, just like he will always have a part of him that thinks of her.

But if she dies…if she doesn’t make it through this…

Suddenly he can see it.

Years stretch out in front of him, bleak and empty and gray. Visits to a gravestone of a life that could have been. Regrets and pain and an endless void of existing instead of living.

More of everything he endured as a child, only this time, without the tiny ray of sunlight that Sakura willingly gave him.

And suddenly, he realizes he doesn’t want that.

A world without Sakura in it, is not one that he wants to be a part of.

He wants her—needs her—to be happy. And if her happiness is him…if he could ensure that happiness somehow…

Well, he’ll do whatever it takes.

Sasuke takes a shuddering breath at the realization.

It feels sudden, like a switch has been flipped with realization, and yet at the same time he knows it has always been this way.

He’s in love with Sakura.

The world returns then in sharp focus, ignorant to the realizations he’s just made. Kakashi is still eyeing him with concern. Perhaps wondering if he’s going to have to talk him out of leaving the hospital, even though Sasuke knows that he’s not going anywhere until he can watch her open her eyes again.

Until she smiles at him again.

Maybe not even then.

“I’ll wait for her then,” he says, shaken but still somehow managing to control the timbre of his voice. He leans against the wall, eyes once more resting on the door in expectation.

I’ll wait for her forever.

終わり

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momentsuspended-intime · 3 years ago

Text

Finding light in the darkness.

*Trigger warning* This post mentions suicide, overdosing, crisis team, alcohol, drug abuse, and other scenarios people may find triggering or offensive. Please proceed with caution.

Don’t be afraid of change, it is leading you to a new beginning. The pain you feel today will be the strength you feel tomorrow. Every day is a new beginning. Take a deep breath and start again.

Sitting in my living room, empty boxes of codeine surrounding me, this is it I thought, all the pain was going to end. Finally.

I texted my ex, I messaged my friends, all saying goodbye and how sorry I was for causing so much turmoil. I felt broken and defeated, I just wanted it all to stop. My head was racing, I just wanted all these thoughts to stop going round and round my head, was a little peace too much to ask for? Suddenly my Mum entered the room her face was pale. “What have you done?!” she cried, tears streaming down her face. All I could do was look at her and apologise, I had a momentary lapse where I hadn’t considered my next steps. One of my friends had messaged my Mum in a panic; my ex was on the phone, I could hear him crying but I just felt numb.

My Dad then raced into the room “Why would you do this, Victoria?” “Not my baby, please no” Those words will haunt me for the rest of my life. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen my Dad cry, but this was different. In that moment I thought “had I made a mistake?” but I still felt numb. Maybe it was the 60 codeine tablets I took or the adrenaline pumping through my body but all I felt was nothing. It had been like that for weeks now. This empty feeling inside me, like a black hole, sucking out every little piece of love and emotions I had. I didn’t realise it at the time but I was suffering with Borderline Personality Disorder, but I’ll get to that later.

Suddenly I was in the back of an ambulance, ECG hooked up to my body, and I’d spend hours in the hospital, being seen by different Doctors and Mental Health Nurses. My parents were pushing to having me committed. The hospital didn’t do anything; they sent me home and in less than 24 hours I’d be back in the hospital after a second failed attempt at taking my own life. 120 codeine tablets in total over 24 hours. Thank god I’m alive writing this now. I’m not a religious person but I must have someone looking down on me, keeping me safe.

You might be wondering how I got to this point, you see I’ve always known something wasn’t quite right, I could never put my finger on it but I never felt ‘normal’. Whatever normal is anyway. My head had always been a chaotic place for as long as I can remember, I always felt things so intensely, but that was normal right? I never knew any better. I would say goodbye to my ex after a lovely weekend together (he was in the RAF so I only got to see him on weekends) and I would have been crying hysterically, like he was being deployed for 6 months but in reality I’d be seeing him again in 5 days time. Minutes later in my car with music blaring I’d be singing and dancing along to the radio, like the previous few moments never happened. Something that would annoy the average person would make me fly into a fit of rage; my family described it as like walking on eggshells when they were around me. Too scared to say certain things out of fear of how I would react.

Anyway I’m digressing here, but the point is I always knew something wasn’t right with me. So what happened to make me feel so low? I had a week from hell. I’d been fired from my job by e-mail, basically told not to come in the following Monday. I was heartbroken, I was a photographer for a Cigar and Whiskey company, and I’d studied Photography at University. I could do that job in my sleep but that e-mail hit me like a tone of bricks. Later that week I would find out that my Nan had stage 5 terminal kidney disease and a couple days later my boyfriend of 3 and a half years would break my heart. It was traumatic, we’d spent 4 lovely days together and on the Sunday he woke up, looked at me and ended it. Just like that. I still remember the stabbing sensation in my stomach when I instantly knew something was wrong. An hour later I was driving 4 hours back from Buckinghamshire, crying my eyes out, reality had not yet set in and I couldn’t believe this was really happening. I still remember hearing Lizzo on the radio “If he don’t love you anymore, just walk yo’ fine ass out the door”. How ironic.

The day after my stint in the hospital I find myself sat in a room at the Crisis Centre on Northgate Street, waiting to be seen by a Psychiatrist and Mental Health Nurse to discuss what needs to be done. I’m angry, exhausted, confused and want anything but help. One of the Mental Health Nurses looks at me and says, “If you’re going to kill yourself, you’re going to do it anyway”. That was it, I went super saiyan, how dare he say that to me! These people are supposed to be here to help me, I know I didn’t want help at that point but how could someone in authority whose profession it is to support and care for those in a crisis say something so repulsive? That would be one of many unsavoury experiences I’d have with the Mental Health services.

After finally speaking to the manager (I promise I’m not a Karen), we all agreed that at home treatment would be best for my situation and me. Over the next few weeks I would be seen by the Crisis team every day. Every damn day I would have to explain in intricate detail what had happened and how we got to this point. You see with the Crisis team you don’t see the same person every day, they’re all on shifts, so each visit I would meet someone new and be expected to open up to a complete stranger about how I was feeling. When in a crisis a person needs consistency, the chance to build a rapport with someone and to feel like they’re being listened to. Not judged for being in the position I found myself in.

After many visits with a Psychiatrist and members of the Crisis team they came to a conclusion, I didn’t realise just how life changing this revelation would be. I had Borderline Personality Disorder. Suddenly everything fell into place; intense and unstable emotions? Check. Feeling empty and angry? Check. Impulsivity? Check. In total there’s 9 different symptoms for BPD (I’ll cover this in a future post), and I had all 9.

If you’re wondering what Borderline Personality Disorder is exactly then let me give you a brief outline, of course this is one of the most misunderstood and often stigmatised mental health issue a person can have. In simple terms BPD is a condition that affects how you think, feel and interact with other people. People with BPD experience a pervasive pattern of instability, both in the way they view themselves and with interpersonal relationships.

BPD isn’t a fad, it isn’t quirky, it can be soul destroying and it almost cost me my life. Experiencing a break up, losing a job and finding out a loved one is ill was just too much. Just one of those things can cause someone with BPD to lose control, they say things come in threes and for me it was true. To a ‘normal’ person a break up is hard, unless you’re lucky enough to part ways as friends, for me it felt like someone had died. That might sound dramatic but it was true, I didn’t realise but my ex was my FP (favourite person). People with BPD often have a FP, someone they rely on and put on a pedestal, and this person can do no wrong. My problem is my FP broke my heart.

Now don’t get me wrong I know it takes two to tango, I wasn’t a saint but in my defence I didn’t realise I was ill. I was moody, never wanted to spend time with his family, argued over every little thing and I wanted him all to myself. I didn’t realise it at the time but I was obsessed.

I spent the next two weeks at a friend’s house, drinking and getting high. My head was a mess, thoughts racing; I just wanted a moment of calm. I thought I was making myself feel better, trying to forget all the chaos going on in my life but I was just making everything worse. I wasn’t facing these problems head on, I was masking them and I didn’t realise it but things were about to erupt.

During this time I was a train wreck, I was drinking at every moment I could. Taking the dog out so I could nip to the shops and down a bottle or two of Lambrini in the park (how classy, right?). My problem was during this time drinking would make me disassociate; I’d become violent and angry. At one point I found myself in the back of a police van, but I’m not ready to talk about that yet.

I had reached rock bottom, my family stood by me, and god knows why- I gave them every opportunity to disown me and kick me out of the house but they never did and for that I am eternally grateful. I knew something had to change, I HAD to change. I couldn’t keep going on living like this, surly there’s more to life than this?

I decided I would quit drinking and get my life back on track. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but anything worth having in life isn’t. I decided to try and raise money for NSFT (Norfolk and Suffolk Foundation Trust), at this point I had been discharged by the Crisis team and I was now in the hands of NSFT. This is when I met Allison, my Mental Health Nurse and things finally started to change for the better.

I started cycling 30 miles every day, I reached over 500 miles but due to health reasons I had stop. It’s my aim to re-start my little goal and hopefully add to the £250 I’ve raised so far. I started engaging with NSFT; I had weekly meetings with my MH Nurse, Allison and went to Recovery College, learning ways to cope with my diagnosis and my recovery.

During this time I started feeling better, I was given a cocktail of medications such as antipsychotics and anti-depressants and slowly the real me was starting to come out.

2 years on I feel like a completely different person. I’ve rebuilt my relationship with my family; I’m one year sober and living in a beautiful new house. Treatment, medication and personal growth have changed me. Just yesterday my Sister was saying she could finally see the real me, the one that had always been there but just needed some nurturing (and treatment) to help shine through.

I’ve made many mistakes in life, I’m sure you’ll hear more about these in future posts but I decided I wanted to give back and use my experiences to help other people. You see I’ve always felt lost, like I never knew who I was as a person or what I wanted to do in life but I’ve finally found my calling. Last November I enrolled on a course and now I’m studying to become a Mental Health Nurse myself.

During my recovery I found that talking to someone who has lived experience of mental health issues utterly valuable. They understand you in a way no one else does, you have this shared connection. So I decided I wanted to take my lived experience, mistakes I’ve made, everything I’ve learnt over the past two years and try to help someone else that’s going through a Crisis.

I started volunteering at a Mental Health Charity called Together, working with the service users to offer them some support and it gave me a real taste of how it would be to work as a Mental Health Nurse and help someone who really needed it. Unfortunately lockdown hit and I had to stop volunteering.

I’m still working on my online course and hopefully by the end of the year I’ll be a Peer Support Worker and from there I’ll be able to join a course to specialise in Mental Health Nursing. For the first time in my life I have a plan.

What happened to that angry girl, who was moody all the time and argued over every little thing? I can say proudly that she no longer exists. Now I’m confident, happy and feel motivated to get as much out of life as possible. I’ve even started dating again! I’ll occasionally feel my mood flip quite quickly but I’m better at managing it now. Like any other illness you learn to live with it, this time though I’m not letting my diagnosis define me.

My relationship with my family has never been better, of course it’s not easy to forgive and there’s some things you can’t forget but my family have never held the things I’ve done against me. The past two years have been really tough but I’ve learnt a lot about myself as a person and the type of person I want to be. It hasn’t been easy writing this blog post, I wanted to give an honest and raw account of what it’s like to experience the darkest point of your life and what it’s like to rebuild from the ground up.

If you’re experiencing a hard time just know my inbox is always open, you’re not in this alone and I promise you things will get better.

Until next time.

Victoria Jane x

#BPD #borderline personality traits #borderline personality #mental health #bpdwarrior #tw suicice #trigger warning #it gets better #one step at a time #personal post #mental health blog

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ixnova · 5 years ago

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Frustration - Pathfinder X Reader

I keep complaining about there being little to no Pathfinder content so I might as well be a big girl and fucking write it myself. This is adapted to an X reader from an ficlet with Pathfinder and my own OC, so sorry if it seems strange in some places! I tried to make it gender neutral! Warnings - Treated like semi-non-con but is actually consensual. 18+, nsfw/nsft

Notes: Really this is my first X reader so go easy on me!! I’m also asexual myself IRL so I’ve never had sex so sorry if some things don’t seem properly portrayed! Pathfinder is HCed to have a cock attachment, and he makes bank from the Apex Games and owns a penthouse. Reader plays in the Apex Games. Pathfinder is submissive, Reader is Dom. Uses dumb cliche that Path’s non-legend name is Marvin.

Frustration

Pathfinder eagerly turned his attention towards the door of the penthouse as soon as he heard it start to open. He'd known (Y/N) would be home a bit later than normal due to Apex choosing them for the normal randomly selected post game interviews. They had a match today that went over generally okay, or at least he felt it did anyway, even though (Y/N)'s squad was one of the first to be eliminated. Pathfinder headed over to greet them at the door as soon as they stepped inside.

(Y/N) however, wasn't in the best of moods. Today had been stressful, and awful. Then the interview they had to go over just made it worse. They asked a bunch of stupid questions, and apparently there was a few speculation and rumours in the media about themselves that they didn't particularly like. They couldn't exactly do anything about it though; which is why they were so annoyed by it! They'd toss their bag and uniform for the games on to the side table that stood near the doorway, and proceeded to kick off their shoes. They then completely pushed past Pathfinder, without so much as even acknowledging his presence. They instead continued to go straight down the hallway and in to the bathroom.

Pathfinder stood in the same spot for a moment, processing what just transpired. He was expecting to at least speak to them before anything else happened, but this wasn't the case. He couldn't help but display a sad face on to his screen briefly, as he accepted the fact they had completely ignored him. Normally they didn't act like that, so he assumed it was just a one time occurrence and tried not to think much more about it, returning to the living room of the penthouse where he was previously.

A few minutes later he heard the sounds of water running, and then finally they would call out to him; “Marv, c'mere please-” Pathfinder jumped to his feet again almost instantly at the sound of hearing their call. He was just as eager to engage with them as he was before. “Yes, friend?” He called out to them as he entered the bathroom.

It was clear that they had decided to take a shower, as he stood now in the doorway and observed the scene. “Hand me the shampoo?” They asked him, still not entirely focused on him at the moment. “I forgot it before I got in.” “Oh, sure.” He gingerly stepped over their discarded clothing, reaching for the bottle that was left on the vanity across the way from the shower. He never really understood the need for different kinds of soaps when humans bathed, but right now wasn't a good time to question it, he figured. When he turned to hand it to them, they kind of snatched it, aggressively squeezing the bottle, probably taking more than they actually needed from it. They then snapped it shut again and put it on the shelf next to them, continuing to wash themselves. Pathfinder sort of stood awkwardly in the entry way to the shower for a few moments while they did this. “...What.” They glanced back over at him, making a statement instead of a question. “...Are you okay?” He asked them, his screen displaying a question mark now in response. “...I'm fine.” (Y/N) turned to look away from him, allowing the water to rinse over themselves and clean off the suds. “...Are you sure?” He'd ask them again, “You seem a bit... Aggressive.” “I'm. Fine.” They snapped back at him, “I'm just... Stressed.” “...Okay.” He looked away now too, taking a moment. “As long as you're sure. You know I don't like seeing you upset.” They scowled. “Well sometimes us humans have a bad time. Sometimes things are stupid and don't always work out how we want them to! So we like to just be left alone sometimes to brew in our own misery!” Their tone was a bit callous now as they went to crank the heat up on the water a bit more. “I didn't mean it like that, I just-” Pathfinder started to get a bit offended by the response, but then took a moment to himself, not bothering to finish his original sentence. “Okay.” “Wraith can be so stubborn sometimes!” They kept talking to him even though he didn't originally pursue them to. “And then I was also on a team with Revenant, and he's just an-an-ugggggh!” “...Was it really that bad?” Pathfinder asked, acknowledging the fact their squad wasn't the best possible match they could of ended up with today. “Well, its easy for you to think otherwise, mister champion.” They hissed back at him, clearly showing how they felt about the outcome of the match today. “Must feel real good, winning with a competent squad???” “I- (Y/N)!?” He looked back at them, head tilted slightly in surprise. It was obviously clear now that they were just in an overall bad mood, given the fact they've never held winning or losing against him like that before. “Oh, just shut up!” They suddenly stepped out of the shower, lunging forwards to latch onto him and they strongly pulled him back. This caused Pathfinder to stumble as he wasn't expecting it, and it was more forceful than any other time they've taken him by surprise. They pulled him all the way into the shower, and he could sense the heat from the water as it graced over him briefly before they had him pinned against the far wall. They used their hold on him to hoist themselves up enough to meet his head, and they didn't hesitate in pushing their lips against the cool metal plating. “(Y/N)-” It almost happened too fast for him to process correctly. He was thankful he was somewhat water proof, though he questioned the difference between rain and a direct warm shower beating down on top of him. (Y/N) didn't seem to give much thought to his well-being at the moment though. They continued to push into him, almost growling a bit into their advancements. Pathfinder braced against them, enough to pry them away slightly, just so he could make sense of everything. He would be lying if he were to say he didn't enjoy what was happening right now, at least a little bit, and it was never like he could go against the emotions that took hold of his screen, but something was off here. They clearly weren't okay like they claimed to be. “Why?” He asked them, voice a bit low. “I've had a bad day.” They responded, gasping for some air. The heat was causing an interesting type of steam to build up around them. “I just want to forget it all.” Pathfinder didn't respond, instead he was focusing on trying to see through the slight fog that was building up on his optics. He titled his head slightly. It was an interesting sensation to say the least, everything was moist now from the shower, and it just seemed to be getting worse the longer they stayed in here. He was kind of fascinated by it though, perhaps a morbid curiosity to test his on physical limits and see how long he could hold up in a situation like this. He was so preoccupied that he didn't notice them reaching for his privacy panel until he heard the distinctive click, and felt it shortly after. Pathfinder shifted quickly and suddenly, taking their wrist and stopping their actions. He stared back down at them with his red gaze. And they looked back up at him, eyes questioning... Or maybe they were asking... Begging, perhaps? They didn't fight against his grip though, they weren't willing to take this any further if he didn't actually want them to. Pathfinder stared back at them for another moment or so, before turning his head away and loosening his grip. There was a synthetic sigh. He could never say no to them, it was just something about them that made it piratically impossible to do so. He'd never experienced it with anyone else. It had always perplexed Pathfinder how human affection worked this way. He couldn't explain what he was feeling now either, despite being a victim of it himself, but he started to realize that in this moment, perhaps all the cheesy ways couples would end up together in media, perhaps wasn't so far fetched after all. “Ah-” He gasped. (Y/N) smirked widely at the reaction, continuing their motions as they reached to wrap around his silicon member. Convincing him to make it a permanent attachment was the beast thing they'd done, it made moments like this so much more rewarding without having to stop and plug something in. They also admitted this setting was new and unusual for them too, but it was exciting all the same. At first they too were worried and realized after they had pulled him in perhaps robots and water were not a good combination, but he seemed to be holding up just fine for the time being... So they continued. They dropped to their knees, watching as he'd slip a bit with the moisture on the wall, struggling to grip onto it as he watched them kneel down. He seemed to flinch slightly as they brought their mouth closer to him. They eventually opened it, taking him. The sensation was different than normal. Everything was wet and slick, it almost made it feel a bit more real. The silicon was hot and a bit more rubbery from the heat of the shower attacking it. It was warm and inviting. They wrapped their tongue around it. Pathfinder's legs buckled under him slightly as he had to make a conscious effort keep them straightened out. He slipped a bit more down the wall as he tried to keep balanced in the current situation. He couldn't help but gasp out again, a bit louder this time. His screen turned pink and he found himself bringing a wet hand up against the bottom of his head, covering a mouth that he didn't actually own. He wasn't used to (Y/N) coming on so strong to him. He was actually questioning why he was even agreeing to this. There was no reason as to why they had to do right here, and right now. But it was happening. (Y/N) chuckled slightly as they wrapped an arm around one of his legs, stabilizing themselves a bit as they leaned against him for support. They continued their sucking motions, applying pressure at certain points just to watch the robot squirm. The sensation it sent through him seemed to be enjoyable, and so it was then that they stropped, deciding that they too wanted more out of this. Pathfinder took a moment, twitching slightly as he attempted to wipe his optic, though perhaps he just made it worse. Not being able to see properly right now was adding a whole other layer to this, which was why he was surprised when they purposely tugged his legs out from underneath him, pulling him down to the floor of the shower, which was still running. There was a small splash from the impact, originating from the small pool of water that was gathering at their feet. Pathfinder managed to switch his screen to a question mark again, reaching out to support (Y/N) as they started to re-position themselves over him. They simply smiled back at him, before breaking eye contact and lowering themselves on to him. “Ahh...” They let out a moan and the feeling sent a shock wave between the two of them. Pathfinder found himself gripping onto them suddenly, supporting them as they continued to clench around him. “Mm-” He couldn't help but let out a small moan too. Once they adjusted themselves to his size, that's when things started to get interesting. They quickly picked up the pace and fell into a beat almost naturally. They were on their own count though as Pathfinder struggled a bit to keep in tune with them. Normally he wouldn't of been so... Useless when it came to this, but (Y/N) was in full control tonight. They did what they wanted with him, and they continued to come on aggressively. They'd shift in ways that benefited themselves more so than him, and they were vocal about it too. Their loud moans would drown out what little gasps or cries he produced. The steam that built up was almost too thick to breathe in now as (Y/N) continued to enjoy themselves. They took a strong hold on to Pathfinder's shoulders and would move their hips strongly and aggressively against his. Pathfinder was sure there was going to be some self inflicted bruising afterwards, but he couldn't think straight enough to worry about that right now. In fact, if they continued on this way, he wasn't exactly sure how much longer he could withstand it without overheating or crashing on them. His systems were very angry with him at the moment. “C'mon-!” They'd huff and lean up, pushing him back into the wall again as they took a hold of his head, nails scraping and leaving scratches in his paint. They'd bring their lips down against him again, moaning as they did so. Their other hand would snake up from his waist, working into some open crevasses and slipping under the protective rubber casing that sheltered some wires and switches. As soon as their moist hand made contact with a naked metal coil a small shock occurred, which caused Pathfinder to again twitch involuntarily as he glitched slightly, doubling over a bit and clinging on to them. “(Y-Y/N)!” It was very rare that they'd be the one to make him call for their name. (Y/N) noticed this, and was enjoying every minute of it. They'd move again and come down faster, and then wrap a finger around a loose wire. He'd respond in a manner, at least trying to meet their aggressive behaviour tonight. He couldn't quite bring himself to match them though, and also he didn't want to hurt them, so instead he'd end up whimpering and shook slightly as they continued to use him and explore his inner workings. The water probably wasn't a good thing, but the sensation the small current he carried created when coming in to contact with it was amazing. (Y/N) couldn't help but chuckle slightly, which lead in to yet another moan as they finally hit the right spot with him. They kept moving in that same way, latching on tighter to him as finally he was able to fall into their pace. Unfortunately that's all Pathfinder could handle. His systems convulsed as he twitched around them. He cried out again, burying his head in to their neck and metal hands digging into their back. He whimpered and shivered a bit as his voice box glitched and he poured into them. (Y/N) was surprised by it a bit, and considered slowing down slightly. They weren't quite finished, but they didn't want to caused Pathfinder to short out on them. Thankfully the slower pace was all they needed as they ended up squeezing to apply enough pressure to allow themselves to climax too. This resulted in Pathfinder letting out a softer whine, followed by a sharp sigh. If they didn't know better they'd mistake him for almost sobbing. Once it was over the pair sat with each other. (Y/N) was still on top in his arms and a forheads were pressed together. The water continued to rain down onto them, though it was slowly starting to run cold. (Y/N) eventually shifted and struggled to stand up, turning the water off. They looked back at Pathfinder who sort of stared back up at them, leaning against the wall. It was one of the few times they hadn't seen him rebound back almost instantly with full energy again. “Here.” They offered him a hand, which he took and it was a massive strain and struggle to pull him to his feet, but they managed to do it. “Feel better?” He asked them, his voice almost sounding a little hoarse, but they assumed his voice box was probably just waterlogged. “Yes, actually.” They hesitated, looking back at him and noticing his state. He was wet, optic clouded a bit still from the steam. His screen was also now fogging up a bit, and slightly obscured by the water droplets that manifested on it. There were a few new scrapes and scratches all over his chassis, though it wasn't like he wasn't already overdue for a fresh coat anyway.... “I'm sorry.” They finally spoke back to him. “Hm?” He seemed confused by their apology. “You're not used to that... We're normally more... Gentle.” They replied. “I was being selfish, I just really needed that tonight... So thank you, but I'm sorry.” “It's okay.” He gave her his classic smile. “I understand completely.” “I didn't mean to hurt you either.” (Y/N) stated. “Don't feel obligated you have to do everything just because I'm-” “You're fine.” He stepped closer and cupped their head in his hands. “I gave you my consent... It was interesting. Different... Exciting.” His tone dropped to a more suggestive one on that last word. They laughed at him, pulling away and taking him with them outside of the shower. “C'mon, let's get you dried off. All that moisture cannot be healthy for you.” “You're kinda hot when you're angry, actually.” Pathfinder joked as he followed them. “Marvin!” They playfully groaned, tossing a towel at his head due to the statement. Thankfully they weren't angry at the world anymore, and they could go back to nomral. “I love you.” He shot them a heart on his screen before turning to wipe off the water. (Y/N) smiled back at him. “I love you too.”

#mine #fanfiction #apex legends #apex lemons #apex legends pathfinder #apex legends x reader #x reader #pathfinder #apex lemons pathfinder #pathfinder x reader #apex #apex fanfiction #nsft

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endureandplay · 4 years ago

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The Last of Us 2 - What’s up with the user score? (Spoiler-free)

Approximately 3 days after the launch of the game, the game scored only 3.3 on Metacritic, whereas The Last of us 1 and Left Behind scored 9.1 and 8.0. People argue that the score isn’t that low because of the LGBTQ+ representation in the game. Many compare it to other games like Life is Strange, Detroit: Become Human and even the Left Behind DLC itself which all represent LGBTQ+ and still have a pretty good user score. First of all, we think that these other games are a LOT more subtle and often “the worst you get” is a kiss scene. The Last of Us 2 takes this to a different level: Romance is very explicit and present all the time.

Second, and most importantly: The user score is actually going UP. And that makes sense. Within the first 3 days there were about 15,000 user ratings submitted on Metacritic. The Last of Us 1 - after seven years - currently only has ~10,000 reviews. The Left Behind DLC only has ~1,100 as of now. The huge gap between these numbers makes a lot of sense considering people’s reaction to the leaks a few months ago. Without ever having played it, many rejected the direction of the story and cancelled their pre-order. Neil Druckman received so many hateful messages that you really gotta question what’s wrong with some people to threaten another person like this, and even more so, because of a game. Let’s also not forget about the hundreds or thousands of people who complained right from the start that the sequel confirmed Ellie being gay (which they probably had dismissed as “experimenting” up to then). Or those who were enraged that the game wouldn’t have multi-player like the first one, and cancelled their pre-order because of that, way before the leaks. The game had lost many supporters at that point already.

Of course there are those who simply don’t like the story. The “golf” scene and many things about the new main character in particular, at least that’s the critique we heard most often. But just because people don’t like the story doesn’t mean the game deserves a 1/10, does it? Most people would agree that the graphics are amazing, that the gameplay is fun and engaging and that Naughty Dog improved a lot of things in general. Taking this into account, the game CAN’T objectively be a 1/10. How many stories in video games suck or are pretty shallow, yet people still love the game? It’s only that the expectations are pretty high for The Last of Us, considering the success of the first game and the scale it set. So if the story disappoints for some, they dismiss the entire game as bullshit.

Honestly, maybe a small part in the disappointment also plays that the trailers are very misleading and having followed them, you’d expect something pretty different from what’s in the actual game.

Our guess is that many, many people - without having so much as touched the game - immediately went to hate on it by giving it the lowest possible score. Just to show everyone how pissed they are. And many people also wanted to convince others of not buying the game because “it’s trash”.

Now after those people had the chance to submit their negative review right away, the user score slowly becomes more objective. There are those who love, like or dislike it for good reasons. More and more people actually finish the game themselves (and while some are fast and have the time, the majority of people can’t fit a 30+ hour game into a single weekend, especially if they’re busy). So people have a chance to build their own opinion after having explored and experienced the game - and obviously, the game isn’t that bad. There are just as many people having a blast playing it.

While I’m writing this, there are almost 100,000 reviews on Metacritic. The score is at 4.8 today (6/29/20) and I’m basically checking every day - it keeps getting better.

Truth is that the game isn’t complete trash. In fact, we, personally, enjoy every bit of the game, we love what Naughty Dog did including the story. It’s probably best not to assume the direction the story will take and instead going into the game with a fresh mind, because what Naughty Dog did is definitely brave and could be seen as controversial. But we find that everything about the story and how it is told makes perfect sense. It’s a great sequel to the first one, and more importantly, we don’t think it’s random, like they had to come up with some story that feels forced in and out - it’s perfectly logical.

A little heads up for those who haven’t played it: Just be prepared for explicit violence in this game. It’s really detailed, brutal and gory. Here are links to articles that found out the same, and you can easily find more if you check:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/paultassi/2020/06/25/the-last-of-us-part-2s-metacritic-user-score-rises-32-now-that-people-have-actually-finished-it/#6b7cacce924d https://screenrant.com/last-us-2-metacritic-score-users-rising/

#thelastofus #the last of us #tlof #tlof2 #thelastofus2 #the last of us 2 #thelastouf2 #ellie #lgbt #lgbtq #playstation #metacritic #usercore #reviews #naughtydog #naughty dog #neildruckman #gaming

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xanyoules · 4 years ago

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"You Should Never Tell a Psychopath They Are a Psychopath. It Upsets Them": Villanelle, Joe Goldberg and Feeling Sorry for Psychopaths

What do you envision when you hear the word? I’d hazard a guess it’s your prototypical psychopath with a dead-eye stare and blood-stained knife in hand. Perhaps it’s your conspiracy theorist neighbour, or that — yes, that one — ex. We’ve seen Villanelle’s theatrical murders on ‘Killing Eve’ and we’ve rooted for Joe in ‘You’ despite his murder habit. We’ve read articles with clickbait titles on how to “spot” a psychopath and immediately diagnosed our sibling, colleague or ex-best friend. It’s a term we throw around carelessly, yet it also inspires fear. A real psychopath isn’t like us and they certainly aren’t worth any kind of sympathy. We’re good people and they’re crazy, violent, controlling, unemotional and self-obsessed. Right?

Sweet but a psycho

Popular culture has given us infamous psychopaths throughout the decades and a couple of our contemporary favourites must be Oskana Astankova — the Russian assassin “Villanelle” -from hit TV show ‘Killing Eve’ and Joe Goldberg from Netflix’s ‘You’. Despite their psychopathic tendencies, fans champion their victories.

Psychologist Robert Hare devised the ‘Psychopath Checklist’ back in 1980 and it is now routinely referred to as the PCL-R. Villanelle and Joe would score highly: both characters believe they are of great importance, routinely lie, act impulsively, struggle with control, take zero to little accountability for their actions, lack empathy, and have a history of criminality and behavioural problems.

Hare’s checklist is still doing the rounds in institutions worldwide, usually prisons, but it has come under plenty of criticism for what Willem Martens (2008) deems as being an unethical psychological practice. It’s difficult to diagnose the term “psychopath” but several diagnoses may suggest a fit, from Antisocial Behaviour Disorder to psychopathy and various other personality disorders.

Already, we see how complex a diagnosis it and encounter very different views from psychologists when it comes to the question of the psychopath. Yet, as we progress as a society, so does science. Science isn’t rigid, stuck in a time of Freud and every other straight, white, wealthy, old, neurotypical male philosopher and psychologist from the 20th century. It moves with society and it adapts as our knowledge deepens. Nowadays, some psychologists and mental health practitioners are rejecting the label “psychopath” completely due to the severely negative connotations and even calling psychopathy a mental health issue or disability.

Psychology says what?

Identity is an important factor when it comes to being human. Our identities are important to us, especially as we engage and present these identities online. Psychopaths are said to be so unlike the majority they are unable to make genuine connections with others but as with anyone deemed ‘different’, it is the group that collectively rejects the ‘different’ individual, perpetuating a cycle of low interpersonal integration and marginalisation.

If given an official diagnosis with a working label of “psychopath”, combined with society’s current view of what it means to be a psychopath, a psychopath is quickly forced to the outskirts of society thus lowering their commitment to fulfilling social roles. A self-fulfilling prophecy becomes imminent: when someone is thought of and treated as if they are somehow broken, they often become it.

Noel Smith is the commissioning editor of magazine InsideTime and a former prisoner who has experienced his fair share of mental health difficulties. Writing for InsideTime, Smith says: “If people think you’re MAD, then everything you do, everything you think, will have MAD stamped across it.”

Psychologists Peterson & Seligman (2004), tired of psychology’s tendency to focus on the deviant side of humanity, proposed we all have the ability to express ‘the six common virtues’: wisdom and knowledge, courage, humanity, justice, temperance and spirituality or transcendence.

Here, Peterson & Seligman neatly demonstrated how language can create a narrative. The psychopath according to Hare’s checklist could be grandiose and controlling, but with a slightly different view, they’re confident and courageous leaders. We associate the term so often with negative traits that we ignore the possibility for positives.

Mental health matters — but not for you

“They [psychopaths] are the social snakes in the grass that slither and smile their way into your life and emotions. They feel no empathy, and only care about themselves” says Dr Xanthe Mallett, a forensic anthropologist and criminologist at Newcastle University.

Dr. Mallett’s words reinforce an age-old belief: the psychopath’s only identity is psychopath and they are incapable of being anything other than one-dimensional.

Author Nathan Filer expressed his initial dismay that once his diagnosis was televised by ‘Meet the Psychopaths’ programme on Channel 5, strangers expressed their fear and revulsion immediately. Filer states he “quickly got over” people’s negative opinions but received abuse on the streets with words such as “psycho” and “nutter” shouted at him on a regular basis, reinforcing the rejection by the collective.

Lucy Nichol, writer and mental health support activist, expressed her fears when joining a discussion panel at the Centre for Life Science’s speakeasy programme for adults in 2019. Nichol, rightfully, is anxious about the welfare of those living with psychosis and how they can be discriminated against due to fear. She worries that psychopaths can be “violent and frightening”, and any potential link between psychopaths and people living with psychosis can lead to danger for people with psychosis. Resistant to the movement of psychopathy being welcomed into the family of mental health, Nichol argues it should not be treated as a mental health concern. Her argument is that a classified psychopath lacks empathy and is unable to judge other people’s emotions and this makes the people around the psychopath vulnerable, not the psychopath.

Yet, other mental health conditions and disorders can lead to an individual not necessarily being able to empathise in the way a neurotypical person may empathise. Similarly, an individual with autism, a panic disorder or psychosis may have limited capacity to judge other people’s emotions on occasion. As a society, we tend to understand this and accommodate it.

In contrast to Nichol’s view, there are more and more calls for understanding psychopathy in broader, more compassionate terms.

Dr Luna Centifanti, Lecturer in Psychological Sciences at University of Liverpool classes psychopathy as a mental illness that means the individual experiences “disordered thinking, emotions and behaviour.” She added that psychopathy can lead to struggles with understanding emotions of others and therefore their responses to distress can be “inappropriate”.

Do better, be better

Joseph Newman is a psychologist at Wisconsin University who classifies psychopathy as a disability. Newman explains it as an ‘informational processing deficit’ where individuals have less ability to process cues immediately such as someone else’s fear or upset, inviting us to see the psychopath through a more sympathetic lens.

Campaigners, researchers, activists and those with lived experiences of mental health conditions and illnesses have made huge strides for inclusivity and understanding. As professionals such as Newman and Dr. Centifanti begin to deconstruct the pathological idea of psychopathy, it is being tentatively considered as a mental health issue.

Let’s go back to Villanelle. Her history is relatively secret, but the viewer knows she’s spent time in Russian prison and has no family, therefore little connection to others. Her violent, ‘psychopathic’ actions are a result of her occupation as an assassin as opposed to something she does simply for the joy of enacting violence.

A recent soundbite suggests the show’s writers are no longer calling Villanelle a “psychopath” after astute fans have criticised the way it reduces her to a label.

Be more psychopath

A merge of popular culture, sociology and psychology has begun to turn the connotations of ‘psychopath’ on its head somewhat. The Wisdom of Psychopaths by Kevin Dutton (2012) looks to diagnosed psychopaths to teach us how to care less about other people’s emotions and our own, be fearless in our jobs and have an unwavering belief in ourselves. Western culture is a key culprit in promoting the idea that an impressive salary equals success or showing emotion at work is unprofessional, so, maybe it’s true — we could learn a lot about success from a psychopath.

On the flip side, while these traits have the potential to lead to fantastical financial and business success in aggressively capitalist societies, that doesn’t make them inherently good. Now more than ever seems to be a time where we need to cultivate harmony, compassion and vulnerability for all people regardless of individual status, label or identity.

“It isn’t hard to convince someone you love them if you know what they want to hear”

An eyebrow raising sentence from everyone’s favourite cute psychopath, You’s Joe Goldberg. It is wonderfully inclusive to change the narrative on psychopathy but surely there’s a reason for its fierce reputation. Maybe Dr. Mallet was right in that the psychopath is always a sneaky snake, ready to pounce and sink their psychopathic poison into our blood.

Manipulation is one of the terms we regularly hear associated with psychopathy. If psychopaths are prone to manipulating others, it can be argued that simple survival instincts mean non psychopathic individuals want to protect themselves and society from such behaviour. However, by perpetuating the hype of how dangerous psychopaths are, we just come back to an earlier point made in this article that the collective ostracises the psychopath and therefore impacts their ability to comply with social norms.

Hug your local psychopath

It seems that one of the prevailing mainstream perspectives on psychopathy is that a psychopath is someone evil: they were born evil; they are evil, and they’ll die evil. Hopefully you’ll now join me in disagreeing with that sentiment and see psychopathy as a complex mental health issue where everyone experiencing it is different and deserves to have the chance to be defined beyond a label.

No one is innately criminal or violent. While yes, there are links between criminality, violence and psychopathy, it’s worth remembering that we live in a time of mass media consumption that loves to sensationalise. The need to sell and to exaggerate often win over the need to be patient, analyse and truly understand complex parts of the human experience.

Psychology’s flirtations with neuroscience have revealed fascinating results: the brain, what a non-scientist would likely assume is a fixed and unchangeable organ, does and can change. Our brains are individual and through theories of neuroplasticity we can understand the vitality of our social environment on our brain and therefore behaviour. Psychopaths cannot be excluded from this.

Psychology and sociology are working to explore links between criminality and disadvantage or oppression. If criminality is linked to psychopathy, we must ask why, and be prepared to look at an individual’s history and their social environment.

Frankly, many of the accusations thrown at psychopaths do not work for neurodiverse people. Whether it’s an anxious person unable to understand why their habits, born from their anxiety, frustrate their travel buddy or a psychopath who — as Dr. Newman believes — can’t recognise their words or behaviour has upset someone until much later, the world can be a confusing puzzle for those of us who do not fit neatly into the expected norm.

In expanding compassion and understanding to others regardless of what condition or disorder they may have, we can be instruments of change. Once we look to others and try to understand them, we deconstruct labels that lead to marginalisation and instead, we can bring people together by saying: you are not alone.

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what-you-dont-surrender · 6 years ago

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K.E. 2x06 Analysis

The sex scene! I called it! Not going to go too much into this, it was basically what I said to a T so you can read that here.

I also said the following in a gifset about V watching through the window:

Okay but, look at her. She’s not crying, she’s observing, she’s calculating. That’s the face she makes when she’s observing and adapting. That slight raise of her head on the last gif, she’s decided her next step. Does it sting? Yeah, probably. And that’s part of her hashing out her feelings for Eve, but she’s also planning. That, to me, is far more important. She did tell him to try it with his wife, it was for a reason.

The reoccurring theme of "you're not alone" here is perfect. This episode really strives towards letting Eve know that she has Villanelle, they're similar, and only they both understand what the other feels and thinks.

Ew V, brushing your teeth with Eve's toothbrush doesn't count as a kiss, come on.

V is going out of her comfort zone for Eve! Look at her NOT killing someone, so endearing. And she really does struggle with it.

V’s apartment:

"Who do you want?" Such a great question to start this episode off on because if there is something V establishes in this episode is who she is.

She shows Eve all of these people she's been and she can be at will: change her accent, her language, her posture, her demeanor, her life story. But none of them are her and she is all of them. And part of this episode will be about just that, getting Eve to see and understand that V is not one dimensional, she is not just one thing at a time, she is complex and layered; both vulnerable and deadly all at once.

And then there's the name: Billie - Bill. So is V doing this as her form of an apology or is it a jab? Maybe it's both.

Eve calls Hugo Kenny, doesn't care for the mistake, is definitely detached from pretty much everyone.

The Moscow Rules! Apply! To! Their! Dynamic! Too! I love the writing-between-the-lines going on in this episode.

Villanelle recognizes that Carolyn is also on the spectrum. She can sense Carolyn's detachment from others, her demeanor, and (thought she doesn't know) Carolyn's inability to form lasting relationships. Even claiming she's careful about how much she loves her own son. I wonder if seeing someone like her in a different career, playing a different role, intrigues V. The possibility of a different future perhaps?

Eve are you jealous? You're no longer the "real boss", you're no longer the only one who V knows is like her. Interesting.

The “us” scene:

Eve chose Niko BECAUSE he is normal; he works as a grounding mechanism.

She knew when she entered their marriage that he'd never be up to snuff but stayed because she felt the pull of that darker side of her psyche. Eve is now becoming more accepting of it though, she even enjoys it. Hence why she didn't deny V's "us" comment. She's beginning to accept that part of herself. Villanelle, on the other hand, is becoming more insistent and more blunt because she sees Eve's underlying desire to break out of her shell. (Not alone, part 2)

SESSION TIME!

So many layers to this, lets dig in.

Villanelle using Eve as her background story to spite her is gold, because yes, she uses it to provoke Eve but also because it places Eve as the patient. The counselor's reaction was super telling, expressing that Eve has constantly placed herself as a victim to those who will not comply to her whim. She is far too "up her own arse" per se, to see why Niko wants to leave her. She's focused on getting her way despite of, or even at the cost of, others, choosing to instead play the "blame game". Even better, Eve is forced to hear this herself. She hears a counselor and a group of people who have experienced mental health issues express that she's too focused on her self-pity. And while this angers her it also functions as a catalyst, forcing eve to see more and more how much she has been spiraling and that she is, indeed, part of that "us".

And what does Eve do when confronted with this? She lashes out. If you ask me, her anger is a bit exaggerated, which tells me she's aware that V is right about her but hates having to face the reality. "...this is over...the first rule is honesty..." These lines feel like they're not about the case at all, but have an underlying meaning for Eve. And it shows given V's reaction: "You asked me to come work for you"/ "How can I be honest...?" She’s just as confused, Eve isn’t making much sense. Until things fall in line: "aren't YOU?" which Eve doesn't answer because, yes she IS, she has been playing a different person her entire life. And then Eve does it, she questions V's abilities and we see the tiniest flinch. I love V's lines here because we see her draw a line in the sand. V has lived her entire life authentically as who she truly is. She embraced her mentality and her darkness from a very early age and was not afraid to relinquish all possibility of a normal life as long as she could be true to who she was. And yet here is Eve, someone who has worked to oppress her own nature, questioning her capacity and her ability to perform something that's such a bit part of her identity. And so V places her boundaries: do not underestimate her, do not forget who she is and what she can do. And that last line. It's a jab of sorts. Eve refuses to accept her own nature, so if she wants to be normal then the only thing left interesting in her life is Villanelle. "We'll try again in the morning," Eve won't shut the door to the possibility of a different life, but she needs time.

I don’t think Eve misses Niko, sociopathic individuals just don’t fare well with major life changes. He grounds her, she knows that, so she’s scared of what she’ll become now.

Session 2! My! Favorite!

So, once you guys get to read my full meta you'll see the breakdown of how I arrived here but for now just know I've diagnosed Villanelle with antisocial personality disorder. She's also an overt narcissist. With this in mind, let's dive in.

V admits to an inability to be truthful but most importantly, she doesn't understand the concept of it. The why, the how. Reality, and thus truth, is so boring for her so why would she choose to delve into it more than she already has to? This is also probably why she enjoys her work, she gets to suspend her reality enough and focus on a task, serving as a distraction. She probably doesn't even enjoy her work per se, but finds it’s the only way she can allow herself to be who and how she is, as society has no place for her.

She finds her life both boring and herself incapable of feeling anything. This lack of emotional response to any form of stimuli is a staple for people who're in the APD spectrum. It has been speculated that some people with APD aren't incapable of feeling but simply feel far too fleetingly and their emotions manifest themselves in very low levels for them to a. sense them or b. recognize them. Villanelle has self-awareness and that's a significant feat in itself. She shows a form of frustration or annoyance/displeasure at her reality. She knows there are things others feel, others experience, that she lacks and this state of not-knowing is something she can’t embrace. So she seeks anything that may arise a semblance of an emotion, however small. Her work, staring at her dying victims eyes, Eve; they're all things she chases seeking a sense of normalcy.

I want to touch on a few details: while we must remember that V is calculative and thus this entire speech is done with the knowledge of Eve listening in so yes, ulterior motive, it is also based on V's truth. While the tears may be questionable and perhaps mostly there as a form of maintaining her appearance as a normal individual while she's undercover there are a few facial expressions that are classic V. Slight facial twitches here and there and then, what caught my attention the most, her searching eyes. "I wake up and I think 'Again? Really?'" Here her eyes search, moving from side to side, as one does when engaged in conversation. This isn't practiced or rehearsed, to me, this is a glimpse into V's mind, into thoughts she's had about her person. "I have to do this again?" And the steel eyes come in, a sense of frustration, of exhaustion, of mind-numbing boredom, takes over her features.

Now lets take a look at Eve, she's so in-tuned with what V's saying. For one, it seems she didn't expect V to be candid after their last encounter but most importantly, she seems to recognize the sentiment. She is engrossed listening to all the things V expresses she does hoping to feel something, there is a sense of recognition, of familiarity. And this may very well be why V decided to voice such thoughts, stirring that feeling in Eve. A sort of "see? I feel this and I know you feel it too. Isn't it so dull? Isn't it exhausting?" This move is purposeful but it doesn't necessarily mean it isn't honest. (Not alone, part 3)

And then V kills the bodyguard!

Because what does V do after she opens up every time? She deflects, she jokes, she redirects the attention to any other facet of her person BUT the tiny crack of humanity she just exhibited. Sure, on one hand it’s her way of dealing with this obstacle, in another its a way of showing Eve that she handles things her own way, and it also tells Eve "I am both. I am that person who just opened up and I am this. Accept me as I am, or not at all." We see how detached she is during the kill, how indifferent, showing how no matter what she does she can’t shake the feeling of nothingness. But let’s take a look at Eve too: there's the initial shock of surprise, the heavy breathing, and then she holds V's stare and she begins to calm. V is observing here, perhaps trying to read Eve, was this too soon? How will she take it? And then when she sees Eve cool and collected, head raised high, determined and daring, she smirks and then returns the gaze. "What if I don't really know how I feel?" Man, the soundtrack nails it.

Lol Carolyn don't care Eve! She knew V would go rouge sometimes.

The Gemma scene! Pretty obvious its Eve being territorial and her pride being wounded but the most important part of it for me was: "Are you scared?"

My dear Eve, are you mimicking behavior here? It's a lovely sight. It’s like when a lion cub is learning how to hunt, a bit messy but the intention is there.

Peel's home

"If it bored you, you must've studied it, so you can at least detail the argument for it." Interesting choice of words here from Peel, bringing back that idea of boredom.

We can see V struggling to NOT kill someone and it's so captivating.

Also, Amber SO loved that smack lol

And here we see Eve as her handler!

Isn't it lovely? Look at Konstantin directing Eve, telling her to give her space, let her cool off.

Teaching her how to manage V.

And then we see the chase scene with the girls. Honestly, I haven't made up my mind about this scene because it feels like it's sort of a transitional scene with the next episode so it's up in the air. V obviously scares them to later show up and get them to lower their guard, allowing them to enter a state of comfort. She has a tendency to do that, manipulate a situation to lull the other person into a sense of safety only to strike or get her way. My guess is she's either going to kill those girls or sleep with them as a way to distract her from the failed mission she just walked out of.

The previews! I'm gonna hold off on those for a bit. For now, I hope you enjoyed this until I finish the episode-by-episode analysis.

#killing eve #villaneve #villanelle #eve polastri #2x06 #i promise you all the meta is much better written #its 3am and I'm running on my killing eve high #i hope you like missionary!

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silentexplorer18 · 5 years ago

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First Dates and Distracted Snakes: A Jughead Jones Short

Summary: As Jughead’s attention to you wanes, you allow yourself to pursue other romantic interests. Although you try to have a good time, you realize that bad guys lurk throughout Riverdale. Can Jughead brighten your thoughts?

Paring: Jughead x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of rape and sexual assault, some depressing thoughts.

Read it here on AO3.

Masterlist

His dark hair fell into his eyes as his little hands reached for your own dainty ones. “(Y/n),” he said softly, “will you be my girlfriend?”

You squeezed his hand gently, but shake your head, small smile adorning your lips. “Juggie, we’re too little. Ask me again when we’re older, and I’ll say yes, okay?”

He didn’t seem too forlorn from your answer, squeezing your hand back and pulling you toward the swingset. “Okay, just as long as you’ll say yes.”

It has been ten years since that day when you and Jughead Jones were children, acknowledging that you had something more than what ordinary best friends would. Despite growing up together, his asking never again graced your ears, as much as you would have wholeheartedly said yes.

Over the years, you and Jug had found a comfortable rhythm that flowed through your lives. Every day, you would get up and meet him on your porch, sharing breakfast before you set off on the walk to school. Always, always walking together, you would engage in small talk or comfortable silence, either one being something you both enjoyed. Then came classes. Those that you shared, you were hip and hip in; those that you didn’t were never that enjoyable. At lunch you would sit together, and in the student lounge. After school would come long sessions at Pop’s, where the two of you would share food and work in a state of symbiosis. He would write usually, fingertips fluttering over the keys like his life depended on them, like he couldn’t quite get the words out fast enough. You would work on homework, read, or even doodle sometimes. The spans of silence would be broken by the click of his laptop and the eventual conversation that would spur when you gave him your attention and he gave you his.

You’d been the one that pushed him toward writing this book about Jason Blossom’s death, knowing he needed a true outlet for his hyper alert, clever mind. When he started into the investigation, you supported him wholeheartedly, ordering him late night milkshakes to feed his creative mind, dragging him from the diner when it got so late he would cease to be able to function the next day if he didn’t go to bed, and helping him investigate as he saw fit. Although he was your best friend and you inarguably his, you began to notice your late nights at Pop’s together dwindling as he and the rest of the Scooby Gang, most notably Betty Cooper, began to find themselves intensely rooted in the investigation.

You tried to be positive despite the gnawing disappointment in your stomach every morning he wasn’t there to walk with you to school and every night Juggie would forget to meet you at the diner. Your study dates and biweekly dinners soon faltered from their normal schedule, and you had no idea if or when Jug would show up.

So here you were again on a Friday night, sitting glumly in your signature booth sipping a vanilla milkshake halfheartedly. Jughead was always supposed to meet you on Friday nights, another tradition. You would share a meal and discuss the events of the week, any new leads he’d found, and sometimes would conclude the night watching movies in your room. He hadn’t shown up, though, hence why you were on your second milkshake of the night. You didn’t want to admit that saving yourself the social strain of making lots of friends was proving to be a monumental mistake, but it was. Jughead had hardly talked to you in weeks, and you realized gloomily that you’d fallen lackluster to the amazing Betty Cooper and Veronica Lodge.

Picking at your straw, you jumped when a body slid down in front of you. Half expecting it to be Jughead, you looked up in excitement only to realize that the beanie clad boy was not the person sitting in front of you. Instead Chuck Clayton gazed back at you with a half attractive smirk. “Out alone?” he asked, trying to avoid commenting on the crestfallen look you gave him when you realized he wasn’t the boy you wanted him to be.

You sighed a little. “Yeah. My friend forgot, I think.”

Chuck sympathized with you, carrying on a conversation for the next hour. Although he wasn’t the most charming or intelligent boy in the world, he did make you laugh, ask you about your day, and acknowledge your existence, all of which were worlds above Jughead who wouldn’t even respond to your text asking if he was okay.

That night of subtle flirting and fry sharing turned into one of many more to come. The next week, Chuck would stop in, chatting you up since Jughead couldn’t find the time to talk to you. By the end of the week, he’d asked you out on a date, stating that one of his football companions was throwing a party that he’d adore accompanying you to.

Your first instinct was to hesitate. You’d never been to a party before, and you’d also never been on a date before. Not officially, anyway. You’d been saving yourself for Jughead, just like you’d promised, but the sweet little Forsythe of your youth was the only boy to ever have asked you out. Jughead had never asked again. It was clear now, though, that he had no intention to, mind wrapped around Betty Cooper in all her charming glory.

With a blush rising to your cheeks, you accepted his invitation.

The next evening was another Friday, and you were adorned in your usual bluejeans and a Bulldogs tee shirt. You’d curled your hair lightly, applying a tiny bit of makeup to spruce up your features. You met Chuck at Pop’s Diner, blushing against his compliments as he led you down the streets of Riverdale toward your first date.

Inviting you inside, you didn’t expect the night that would follow. Chuck was quick to drink, trying to force alcohol down your throat as well. You weren’t one for the drinking, trying to suggest that maybe you should go home. Chuck pouted, trying to guilt you into staying. “Just one more dance. Please, baby?” His words made you uncomfortable, but you relented, agreeing to just one more. You wanted this date to be labeled as a success, afterall.

So you stayed, and his hands clamped against your waist, travelling rapidly down to your ass.

“Chuck, what are you-” you shouted, his lips shoving against your own to silence your protests. He pushed you up the stairs, several of his teammates trailing.

The rest of that night was a blur as his hands traveled up your body and touched every square inch. His lips met your neck, hips snapping against your own as you thrashed against his teammates’ weight. You tried to scream but someone’s lips were forced against your own, tasting like liquor and the salt of your tears. Chuck didn’t take you home; shaking, you wrapped your tattered clothes around your quaking frame and stumbled down the streets to your house. Your parents were traveling on business and would be gone for at least another month and a half, so you were free to let the hot tears of shame trickle down your cheeks when you entered the home. Ripping off what was left of your clothes, you hopped in the shower, letting the hot water burn your flesh clean of the horrors it had experienced in the darkness.

That weekend, you were holed up in your bed the whole time, ignoring the occasional buzzing of your phone even through Monday and Tuesday morning. By six Tuesday night, you were finally hungry, dragging yourself up and dressing in fresh clothes. On Saturday, you’d witnessed the photo spread across Instagram and Snapchat, flitting into group chats and ruining any chance of secrecy you’d had at keeping what happened under wraps. A photo of you barely clothed, the jocks closing in around you in a sweaty, hormonal mess. Chuck Clayton was branding you as an easy fuck, the girl who threw her virginity at him. From the photo, you just looked like a slut, not a girl who’d been raped by the team. Only people that knew you would know the lies behind the image.

But still, you needed to eat. So you drug yourself to Pop’s, perched in the farthest seat from the door, sipping on a vanilla milkshake, no cherry or whipped cream - you didn’t deserve it. Pop’s had brought you some sympathy fries that you nibbled on here and there, but for the most part you just sat quietly, dreading the days to come. Lost in thought, you didn’t notice Jughead’s approach until he’d slammed down in the seat in front of you. Your eyes flickered up to him, clearly startled. His face was hard, impassive. “How could you?” he said harshly.

“What?” you asked softly, confusion painting over your tired eyes.

“You gave your virginity to Chuck Clayton of all people? Why would you go on a date with that guy?”

Hurt flashed across your face, but your defences were up as his judgemental gaze looked down his nose at you. “Maybe because he was the only guy to ask me out,” you said incredulously, trying to ignore the pain pooling in your heart.

“But you screwed Chuck. Of all the disgusting, filthy, low level things you could have done, you did that. You jumped the first guy that offered.” He tried to keep going, describing how low screwing Chuck Clayton was, but you didn’t hear him. You were rushing up from your seat, tears flooding your cheeks as your feet led you to the door.

You felt someone collide with you as you pushed through the door, Betty and Veronica staring sympathetically at you as you stumbled by, obviously flustered and emotionally unstable. You stumbled toward home while they entered the diner, making a beeline for Jughead.

“Jug, what happened?” Betty asked as she and Ronnie slid into the seat you’d been sitting in.

“She slept with Chuck,” he mumbled out, clearly angry.

Veronica rolled her eyes, “Not by choice, you nitwit.”

“What?” he asked, brows furrowing at her words.

Betty, pale and concerned, began to explain what happened, Ronnie turning her phone around to reveal the photo of your broken, defiled form. Jughead went white, grabbing his bag from the seat and rushing away from the booth, muttering an, “Oh, no,” as he went.

You’d locked the door when you’d gotten home, climbing up the stairs and falling into your fluffy sheets, tears dripping onto pillow as you realized that Jughead was right, you were a dirty slut. You’d asked for it. It was all your fault. You’d went out on a date. You were to blame.

Jughead knew your house like the back of his hand, pulling the spare key from its hiding spot and slipping into your house, locking the door behind him. He knew you’d be in your room; that was always your go to when you were feeling sad.

He ascended the stairs quietly, stepping gently into your room. His heart broke when he saw your weak figure sobbing into your pillows. Bending down, he enveloped you in his arms. Your first instinct was to panic, thrashing against his body until you heard his soothing voice in your ear. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s me. You’re safe, (y/n). You’re safe.”

Just as quickly as you’d started thrashing, you stilled, tears still dripping from your puffy eyes. “Juggie, I’m so sorry,” you whispered against his chest.

“What? Why?”

“It’s my fault,” you whispered, tears starting to rapidly fall again as your breathing hitched. “You were right. It’s my fault. I was low and dirty and bad. I’m so sorry, Jughead.”

“No, no, no,” he murmured, holding you close to his chest and shushing you. “It’s not your fault. None of it was your fault. They hurt you, and they shouldn’t have, and I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

You stayed nuzzled in his arms for a while, hiccupping and sniffling as he whispered soothing words in your hair. “Why’d you come here?” you croaked out after a while, looking up into his eyes.

Jughead rested his forehead against yours, his sigh fanning across your damp cheeks. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. And I’m the fool that got you into this, so I should be the one that helps you through it.” You looked at him quizzically, and he knew what you wanted to ask before you had the chance to say it. “I should’ve asked you out,” his voice grew low, and his demeanor shifted from comforting to shy. “If I had, you never would have been in the situation you were.”

“Juggie,” you sniffled, “it isn’t your fault. I should’ve waited. You were always the one that I wanted.”

“(Y/N), would you be my girlfriend?” he whispered softly.

You smiled, an equal grin forming on his lips. “Yes. I’d love to, Jughead.” After a pause, you flopped back on the bed, letting out a sigh. “But I’m so dirty, Jug. How could you want me?” He started to protest, but you cut him off. “I lost my virginity to Chuck Clayton,” you groaned.

“Did you want to?”

You looked back up at him. “Of course not.”

“Then it’s settled,” he said, taking your hand. “You’re just as clean as ever, (y/n). You didn’t give your virginity away, you had a part of you taken. But you are still as pure as untouched snow. Don’t think for a second you’re dirty for not giving yourself away.”

Reaching up to his shoulders, you pulled him down next to you, snuggling into his chest warmly. “Can we just stay here?”

He hummed softly. “Yes, but we’ve gotta go to school tomorrow,” you let out a whine. “It’s okay. I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

Gently, he kissed your forehead, wrapping his comforting arms around you as the two of you drifted off into a safe, protected slumber.

The next morning, you put on a pair of jeans, a black tank top, and pulled a baseball cap over your head. You tried to look in the mirror, feel comfortable in your own skin, but you still felt out of place. Jughead stepped up behind you, his reflection revealing everything strong and brave you wanted to be. “I just don’t feel brave enough, Juggie,” you whispered.

“Hey, you are,” he comforted gently, pulling his signature flannel from his shoulders and sliding it over your arms, the finishing touch to your armor.

That first day back wasn’t easy, the whispered words of Riverdale High swirling around you like a cloud of smoke. But despite the hungry stares of Chuck Clayton and the hateful gaze of Cheryl Blossom, you clung to the notion that you were enough, catching Jughead’s eye in every hallway to give you strength.

You may have been cheated your first kiss, your first time, but that didn’t matter. Chuck was just a nasty memory that you could push away and forget with time. Jughead, he was forever, and now you didn’t have to wait for forever to come.

A/N: Thanks for reading my story! I hope you liked it. Let me know what you think and shoot any questions or requests my way! :) Hope you all are doing well.

Also, if you have experienced rape or sexual assault, know that my character is 100% wrong, making you wrong. It is NOT your fault AT ALL if someone violated you comfort or privacy. Never blame yourself for that experience. Hindsight is 20/20, you couldn’t have known what was going to happen, and you ARE NOT at fault.

#jughead x reader #jug x reader #jughead jones x reader #jughead #jughead jones #jughead x y/n #jug #riverdale #Veronica Lodge #betty cooper #Pop's #pop's chock'lit shoppe #chuck clayton

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likefromtheoffice · 4 years ago

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What I Had To Do - TLoUII SPOILERS

I started feeling compelled to write a deep reflection on The Last of Us Part II when it became clear I was going to be playing as Abby for quite some time. Like everyone else, I imagine, I had made up my mind about Abby almost immediately. She would die, and I would be the one to do it. I didn’t want to play as Abby, I wanted to not move the controller and just have her die. But the game makes the choices here.

Of course, knowing Naughty Dog and expecting the level of quality I did from this game, there was certainly a reason we were slated to spend so much time with her. While I ultimately came to respect this choice, it was plain to see that the game was going to attempt to change our minds about Abby, to show us how she came to be the person she is and how she was driven to do the things she had done. For this reason, I was not engaged in Abby’s story. Because, like I said, I’d already made up my mind.

The brilliantly-handled revelation of her father being the surgeon the player is forced to kill in the first game was enough to fully humanize this woman who, in the space after she kills Joel up until she is hoisted in the Seraphite noose is surely the most viciously despised character on Playstation. Even though I kept the difficulty low in order to breeze through her portion of the story, I admittedly did eat my words: “If they can change my mind about Abby, I’ll be shocked.” My mind was changed just about as much as Abby’s heart changed throughout her ~10 hours of game time. She ends up doing almost exactly what Joel does for Ellie for a very similar reason, although Lev’s brain can’t save the world.

When I found Abby at the Pillars, I had already decided that if the game were to give me the option to press Square to kill Abby or circle to let her live, I’d smash the circle button. When Ellie says “I can’t let you leave,” I thought to myself, “yes, let’s actually do let her leave, but we probably should fuck her up a little bit, right?” Fuck her up we did, but of course the game isn’t base enough to trivialize the story it’s told over 20+ hours by letting you funnel out all your rage with a button press, completely destroying Ellie’s and Lev’s lives with a single click.

So ultimately, Abby’s segment shows us a lot about the world we’re living in inside this game, and the metaphor of warring clans with their own agendas and perspectives very directly reflects the distilled personal motivations behind Abby’s and Ellie’s actions. I said a hundred times that Abby’s section was too long, and I think I’d drastically shorten the first act. I don’t think we needed to stroll through the base and see kids taking classes in an attempt to humanize and raise the stakes for her. When we’re forced to play as her, we are not interested in what is happening. You could start with information about Owen and the coming attack on the Island. A lot of Abby’s section felt like Druckmann knowing that we need more hours for $60. But this may have been because until Lev’s mother dies in her cabin, I still wanted to watch her die.

This is where it all changed for me, except for the feeling that her segment was still too long. One thing this segment does perfectly and to hopefully great and continued effect, is to show us--more than the game already has--that LGBTQI+ stories are now a part of our human experience, and these people will be in the stories we tell. And it won’t be a fucking big deal. “Do you want me to ask about it?” “No.”

I was able to stay almost entirely blind to the promotional materials for Part II. When I started the game at 11pm CST, I knew only that there was a guitar, there was a fight in a shopping area, and there was a real bad person cutting a hanging guy’s stomach open. I was also able to avoid anyone’s conjecture about the game, but in seeking the opinions of others after I’d completed it, I’ve discovered the bizarre criticisms about the narrative. Namely, being forced to play as Abby for so long and having “social issues” shoved in their face when they’re “just trying to play the game.” I had a problem with the Abby segment even after I began to see its purpose, but eventually it cracked me open in the way it intended. In making me do the things she’d done, I was of course forced to fully realize her perspective from the moment we’re put over her shoulder instead. But the latter issue is what bothers me to no end, and it’s upsetting that we’re still here as gamers.

If someone has a problem with Ellie’s sexuality or coming of age, Dina’s sexuality, Lev’s gender identity, or the fact that all our main characters are women, then the only hope I have for that player is that they might see themselves in Seth. Seth is the physically oldest character we see in the game, and he is the only character who has any problem with what he’s seeing. He’s alone in his bigotry and he is weak. He will die very soon and he will do nothing meaningful before then, aside from being forced to make free steak sandwiches for those he has hurt by those who are in power and do not take his side. If this hypothetical--although very real--player fails to make this revelation and turn this corner, if that person still disapproves of the story being told, my question to them would be: “did you accidentally buy this when you meant to download Call of Duty: Warzone?” If you’re not playing the game for the story, you should just play a game where you’re always shooting things. If you are playing the game for the story and you have a problem with the story, also fuck off to Call of Duty. I use Call of Duty here because it’s mainstream and not objectionable and you are holding the trigger through most of the game where the story doesn’t matter if you don’t want it to, not because I have a problem with its playerbase or the games themselves.

The dissent I still cling to is that it’s difficult to ratchet intensity upward and keep motivation high when you know the character has to survive because you’ve seen a future piece of the story--especially when you don’t want them to survive. This was most sharply upsetting when I was still playing as Abby after she shoots Jesse and Tommy in their heads. I felt like tossing the controller and quitting. The only reason I can think of for this choice is that the trope of unwinnable fights in games exposes the guts therein. For me, though, this exposed them even more. I would rather have tried very hard to kill Abby and then have her overpower me with those cannon arms and watch the devastating Dina scene play out. It’s what I wanted just then, and was undoubtedly what Ellie wanted. This would have aligned me more with her, the character who I would still side with instantly and unquestionably. It was so strange to fight Ellie’s AI, particularly because the computer does not play her like I do, and for the only portion in the entire game, she was not human. I understand what this rigid perspective attempts to illustrate, but the choice still puzzles me greatly.

While I am still able to see why the game did it and why it was necessary, there was no way I was ever going to care about the Jackson Crew. This made playing with Manny and Mel very frustrating. Owen’s meta-perspective philosophizing about how none of the clans are actually any different from each other was interesting, but it was not touched on for very long, and now seems to only have been there to benefit Abby’s journey toward her own perspective-altering events. I see this as the only other true failing of the game, although I don’t have any idea how it could’ve been done differently. Aside from being shorter.

The reason everyone hates playing as Abby is because very few narratives have ever fully explored the other side of a conflict, and for us to be forced to see that, to play as The Bad Guy for so long, is something we’re absolutely going to hate for a long time. It does, or it should if you’re paying attention, eventually do exactly what it’s supposed to do. When Abby becomes human, we can then say that we’ve experienced the story up to that point. We are almost never shown this, much less forced to do it.

Another thing I’m stuck on but can’t suss out is the theme of pregnancy and innocence. Of course, an unborn baby is completely innocent even in an overgrown hellscape. Where this is most effectively employed is when the knife is at Dina’s throat. “Good.” Maybe the most terrifying line in the whole pair of games. It shows us the depth of hatred these women have fallen to, and how, like the player controlling Joel or Ellie or Abby in parts I and II, when we have to survive, it doesn’t matter what’s going on in anyone else’s life. If we feel someone has wronged us, we take everything from them and don’t consider the consequences. This game does show us our own actions very plainly, and the ultimate consequence could not have been more beautifully shown than in the final chronological scene in Part II. In following her own anger--combined with Tommy’s--she has damaged her connection to the very reason she followed it. She cannot play the song she shared with Joel without wounds appearing in the music itself.

Ultimately, the story told here is about violence. Why, how, and when it is employed, the unexpected casualties thereof, and how it changes the world for everyone connected to it. Love, hate, survival, revenge, and so many more. Joel protecting Ellie ended a lot of lives--starting as duty and perverting into misguided redemption and love. Abby avenging her father ended a lot of lives--starting as revenge and ending as duty and love. The cyclical implication is very clear as we come to blows between the two rowboats, although it is--like many other gigantic story moments--masterfully left un-hinted-at. If Ellie were to have held Abby under the water for a minute more and Lev were to survive somehow, we’d have ourselves a Part III for almost the same reason which started us down the troubling path of Part II. Can you imagine Ellie looking into the boat at a broken and unconscious Lev? Would she have felt something similar to looking over the bars of JJ’s crib?

What a lot of games don’t bother to explore is what violence takes away from those who employ it, no matter the reason for their doing so. When Ellie walks away from the farmhouse where her family used to live, leaving the last object connecting her to Joel there at the window, I was devastated, as I’m sure we all were and as I’m sure the storytellers intended. Through the deeply troubled feeling Naughty Dog left me with, I was searching for meaning, like Ellie was after seeing those giraffes: “After all we’ve been through. Everything that I’ve done. It can’t be for nothing.” What was it for? It seemed like it was going to be difficult to determine when the credits started to roll, but when it appeared to me, I was embarrassed it had taken me so long to figure out. Everyone was led to their devastating conclusion by the same driving force: love.

There’s also been a fair bit of talk about how bleak the outcome is, and how hopeless everything seems. This observation comes down to how deeply we’re hit by Abby’s boat disappearing into the fog as we sit entirely alone, physically and emotionally less than we’ve been so far, and how the ending and outlook of the whole game isn’t really what we want right now because our world doesn’t need a lot of help in the bleak category. Of course we want everything to work out, and we are so used to video games giving us what we want. Tragedy doesn’t cater to the wants of the audience, and the weight of this tragedy is gargantuan. What a knee jerk dismissal of the story would rob you of is the incredible contrast. I finished the game eight days ago and I’ve probably watched the dance scene at least once per day since. How gorgeous. “Oh, Ellie…” says Dina. To feel this moment fully, knowing its the beginning of a beautiful thing that can’t last, is a gift rarely given to any audience or player. It does so much so deeply in 3.5 minutes. That scene in itself shows us that this isn’t what we’re used to, and the bit of Joel and Ellie’s interaction we get in that scene also demonstrates that the things we care most about are not okay right now. We were Joel more than Ellie in the first game and we protected her. We saved her. We want to continue to protect her.

But the decisions Joel made in the hospital guaranteed things would never be okay. What is it that these folks want from the ending? “You killed Abby! Congratulations! Ellie went on to found Joel Miller Memorial Research Center, where a cure was eventually reverse-engineered from a culture of bacteria extracted from Ellie’s intestine. Dina eventually forgave Ellie, and invited her to live with her and JJ inside the walls of Jackson where they dance, free from hatred and despair, every Thursday night.”

It’s hyperbolic, sure, but what a fucking waste that would be. What we have instead is a seemingly insurmountable sorrow which wraps around a glowing core of warmth and beauty which we’ve seen firsthand throughout both games, begging us to discuss and reflect and analyze and feel. Is the ending really entirely hopeless if Ellie puts down and leaves behind the guitar which attached her to Joel? I don’t know if she’s wearing or still has the watch, I’d have to see the cutscenes again. But she’s walking away from it, finally. What could she be walking toward?

Finally, there is one piece of storytelling after the credits, not a cutscene or a piece of text. The iconic title screen rowboat which we assume Ellie rides away in is replaced with its twin, dragged up onto the shore near Abby & Lev’s beached fishing boat. I’m having trouble putting what I believe this means into words that don’t sound too disgustingly sunny, but if Abby and Ellie, these two veritable destroyers are now free from the searing chains of revenge, and we’ve seen their allegiances shift and their hearts fundamentally changed, imagining the good they’re capable of isn’t too terribly difficult a task. That’s disgustingly sunny to even type out, but I believe it’s supported. It’s very clear that at this point, both parties deserve and have earned peace, inside and out.

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