#self harm - but not in the traditional sense

[fonthoura]

The Real Thing

Summary: Garak is sure that Julian has been replaced by a changeling once again, and this time, he won't fall for it's cheap manipulation, but the changeling is too good, it almost looks like the real thing.

Rating: Mature - 7.765 word - ao3

Content Warnings in the tags.

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The phaser felt heavy in Garak's hands.

It was cold and metallic and the design of the federation weapons never did much for him, but his hands wrapped around it to a point where the scales in his hands ached with the pressure, still, it felt like lead spreading through his arm. He never thought of himself as someone who would tremble with a gun in hands, he, in fact, never had, in all his years he never even moved an inch, now, on the other hand, his muscles seemed to have endless spasms that almost hurt, unending tremors that wrecked his body, although he tried his best to hold it in, and ot for the first time he resented that pathetic sentiment that made his skilled hands tremble like a child's on their first murder, biting his tongue so he could still himself to aim more accurately, keeping, or trying his harder to keeo, the feelings he might have under control so it wouldn't get in the way of harming the creature.

The creature...

It still had his back to him, blissfully unaware of the phaser pointed at it, still distracted by it's favorite tea - Julian's favorite tea - sipping calmly as if nothing happened, not even noticing the mistake it made, the game it had lost so freely, the fact that it was in a position so vulnerable, and Garak wasn't known to oppose shooting the disarmed enemy on the back. It would be easy, quick, to the point of being anti climatic even, the thing would be dead before it even noticed it was is danger, and Garak's finger twitched towards the trigger of the phaser, the changeling sat on the couch of his quarters none the wiser.

If only he was certain.

He could end with it quietly, but he needed to be sure, and blind certainty was a luxury of foolish people, and, despite the last couple of examples, he considered himself a smart man, intelligent, clever, thus, prone to doubt even his convictions, so he relaxed his finger a little, resolute in finding proof of what he feared, there was too much to lose if he fired and, later on, discovered he was wrong, and that loss would be a fresh wound, dire and horrible, akin to his exile, so, Garak took a tentative step to the side, bordering on being beside the changeling, not behind it, seeing the face it took in profile, the shapes of Julian's face, how the lips rested on the mug, sipping lazily at the tea, a clear trick Odo had already showed him how it was done, and the eyes of the changeling stayed on the wall, as if in deep thought, it's fingers drumming on the table occasionally, as if it was nervous about something.

Well, it should be, it should be trembling just as much as he was, it should feel deep inside that death was approaching and the face it wore - that face - wouldn't protect it from what was sure to come. Garak swallowed around the lump in his throat he was trying desperately to ignore, finally speaking, letting himself be heard again by the changeling.

"What did you just said?" He hated how his voice sounded, so small for him, breaking at the end of the question and breathless even though he spent the last few minutes almost entirely immobile. But one thing was welcome and it was how angry de sounded underneath it all.

The thing wearing the doctor's face finally turned to him, it's body taking some time to react, first with it's eyes settling on Garak's face, then traveling down to the phaser in his hand, that's when it's body reacted, on it's feet in a second, mug placed quickly on the table, not a single drop fell down, it's movements seemed fluid, fast, practiced, with an air of superiority around it, and Garak couldn't deny that it's impersonation of the doctor's mannerisms were much better this time around - but not perfect to fool Garak, not again, and he couldn't deny that it was unsettling, really, how it raised it's hands calmly, eyes down at the ground, and it almost looked sad, disappointed, like someone had stomped down it's last bit of hope. Garak nopticed for a brief second that it almost looked like Julian did when he got hurt.

"Garak." It started, voice even, still as metal, but gentle, as if speaking to a wounded predator. "Put down the phaser." It's eyes lifted to his, and Garak knew it couldn't be him, his eyes were more full of stars than the great beyond outside the station, this thing had it all wrong, the eyes looked dull, and as soon as it lifted, it was back in the ground. "Please, put it down." it finally pleaded. The changeling wearing Julian like an ill fitting jacket talked softly, and the voice broke all throughout the sentence, Garak had to squeeze his phaser tight and bite down at his tongue again to get his heart to stop that ache of seeing him and knowing it was a mirage, and a very realistic one at that.

"Tell me." Garak demanded, and pretended it didn't sound like a plea. "What in the hells did you just said to me?"

A moment of silence, they both imobile, then, a sigh of resignation, a roll of the eyes, a small laugh that sounded so hollow it could swallow an entire quadrant whole, and finally, an answer, it's hands held up at the sides of it's head in a sign of defeat and a voice just as defeated, devoid of everything, and if that were truly Julian, Garak probably would have died at the sound.

"I said..." It tried, eyes refusing to meet his and body bent in on itself as to convey discomfort, finally it raised it's head to look at a point in the wall just behind Garak's head. "I said I love you."

The ache Garak felt seeing the perfect act of hurt and resignation on the changeling's face was drowned by white hot anger yet again, his jaw was sending pain to his whole head and his back straightened even more, ready to attack, and the creature in front of him seemed to recoil before squaring up it's shoulders, it looked mortified and sorrowful, and the only thing Garak could think now was "good". He moved the phaser slightly to the right, shooting at the wall behind the changeling, it was all he could do to not kill it before further questioning, and now that he was certain it was indeed a changeling, there would have to be a questioning, if only to know where the real Doctor Bashir was.

Strangely, the thing didn't flinch. It barely moved really, it's hands lowered and it crossed it's arms above the chest, it's stance changing completely as it stood tall, lifting it's chin to look down at Garak, just like Julian always did in situations of fear or to prove he was not one to bend over to authority, the defiant stare in it's eyes just like his, the mouth in a thin line just like his, the youthful arrogance just like his, steady, collected, fierce, perfect, Garak felt sick.

"I said I love you." It repeated, now more assertive, chin up and eyes down, the wall behind it simmering and it didn't seemed bothered, taking a step towards Garak, only for Garak to prepare the gun again, and still, it was unmoved. "I love you, what are you going to do about it, Garak, huh?" It laughed a little, eyes shimmering. "Kill me?" It's voice was now accusatory. "That's rather much, don't you think?"

It spoke fast, but it still wavered, as if feigning that bravado, layer upon layer of lie, just like Julian too, although Julian always hid his lies in a false full honesty, and Garak doubted that anyone else truly noticed how proficient he was at lying and keeping secrets, but Garak did, and the creature emulated that posture all too well. Garak felt yet again that insistent dull pain on his chest, staring at it, the thing that stole the face he treasured so much, the thing that probably killed Julian, if he was to be honest with himself about the probabilities, the brown, luminous skin, the huge hazel eyes, each line and strand of hair perfect, acting more like him than the first time, but still so far off that Garak couldn't help the wet laugh that left him, loud, and this time, the thing did flinch, if only almost imperceptible to the untrained eye.

"Do you all really think of me as such a stupid creature? Because, surely, that had to be better tactics than this one." He said, now smiling so wide it hurt the corners of his mouth, but his eyes were lost on the changeling's face. "I thought you people to be smarter than this, but, oh well, one can never be certain until confronted directly." He didn't miss it when the face of the thing in front of him molded itself in pure and utter confusion about his words, and it was again a damn good Julian, the brows, the question on the eyes, the worrying of the lip. Garak wanted to kill it just for daring to be so good.

"If you excuse me." it said, perfectly civil and polite before taking another tiny step towards him. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Oh, please." Garak barked a laugh, this time, approaching too, finger on the trigger. "Don't play dumb, it doesn't look good on Doctor Bashir's face and it seriously aggravates me."

More confusion, it unfolded it's arms and stared as if the translators suddenly stopped working, a brief realization falling on it's eyes and Garak thought that, finally, it would talk to him on it's standard humanoid form, not through that face, not using that voice that seemed to cut deeper each time, not with those lips that were made to be so honest and deceitful at the same time that Garak couldn't help hanging on to each and every word, not with Julian's body, not again, please, anything but that again, but instead, it only clawed on an already bleeding cut, raising it's hands as if trying to calm down a wild animal, taking another step forward, eyes scanning Garak's face in search of something, anything, and if that was truly Julian, Garak would have thought he was trying to solve a puzzle, but the reality was darker and twice as grim, yet, it's voice sounded way softer now, in a faux sense of tranquility.

"Elim, listen to me -"

"You do not have the permission to call me by my first name." Garak fired back immediately, all but shouting, and the changeling flinched again, tugging Garak's mind in yet another emotion, his head already hurting by the constant push and pull between anger and heartbreak, but he stood still, eyes cold in the creature's stolen face as he lowered his voice a little, trying desperately to stop it from breaking. "You do not have the right, especially while using his face." he lowered his gaze briefly, sighing. "Not again."

The changeling was silent for a moment, it's eyes searching around the room before it landed on Garak, the pain in there subsiding as understanding seemed to settle in, it's posture changing to a more tight one, and, for the first time, it looked really afraid, but not for itself, it seemed, and Garak felt confused by the notion, as if it cared more about something else, someone else, as if it was worried, and Garak had the strangest inkling by looking at those eyes that it seemed worried about him.

"Garak," it tried again, almost pleading, but Garak only stepped closer and pushed the gun forward as a warning, it backed away half a step, but it's eyes never moved. "it's me, I'm Julian, the changeling is dead." It said, voice smooth, hands on it's front as if to protect it's body, but a face so concerned that it almost made Garak feel like exposed flesh. "You're safe, it's just us, I'm here, it's fine."

Garak stared at it - at him - and his insides seemed to burn in inhospitable and sterile cold, like his blood was ice inside him, and he looked at those starless eyes, the tilt in it's - his - head, and the realization that he could be hurting Julian was stones on his hands and feet that were determined to drown him, so, he lowered the gun slightly, taken by Julian's face, and he saw the smile, that smile that lit the fire on his bones, and the phaser was lower, his body felt heavy, ready to tumble down at the first wind.

"I'm here... I'm not going anywhere never again." Julian, no, it said, and Garak froze again.

His eyes shot up again, firm, the gun back in place and his body forced to stand still, the changeling dropped the fake smile and backed away, lowering it's hands and looking even more falsely concerned at Garak, meanwhile the "I love you" and the "I'm not going anywhere" replayed on his head until it was engraved on the inside of his skull. He felt a bitter taste in his mouth, like poison, stepping closer yet again with a scream that slashed it's way through his throat and came out as a laugh, bitter and hostile.

"You almost got me again." He said, the changeling made no move. "I think you might have unlocked and exposed a weakness I will certainly have to attend to in the near future." Garak contemplated, taking a step closer, now a mere two steps away from the thing. "But I'm not yet so lost as to fall for it twice." He took a pause, the room eerily silent. "Did you really think this would work? The same technique, the same words, all of it." He continued, out of pure curiosity, out of pure anger even, for the body thieves that plagued his every waking moment for some days now, and for himself, for his foolishness to be so trusting in that face. "Did you think it was that easy? Well, that's proof enough that you are not him." he smiled, his eyes watering. "Doctor Bashir wouldn't underestimate me like that."

His chest felt empty, and the thing in front of him looked empty too, mirroring his emotions in it's eyes, like it felt for him, like it ached just as much, like it grieved just as ardently.

"What has it done to you?" The changeling asked, and it's voice sounded thick, as if holding back tears, shaking it's head just like Julian did, it's eyes so full of worry, and Garak chuckled again, and he would clap at such performance if he wasn't pointing a phaser to it's head.

"Please, let's stop the dancing, my feet hurt and I don't really like my partner." He said quietly, posing it as a threat. "You tried, you failed, it's not like you could use the same love confession, the same empty promise and what more?" His voice went up with each word, resolving on the edge of shouting. "Would you have kissed me like the other one and hoped that it blinds me to every sign that you are not the real him again?"

The room was silent after that, the shout leaving Garak's ears ringing and his mind hollow, like saying it out loud took what was left of his strength away, but he stood still, shaking more than ever, trembling with anger, and he finally saw that anger in front of him too. The changeling had it's jaw clenched, the veins in it's neck popping up, it's eyes were dead like a nuclear winter and it was vibrating with barely contained ire. Garak was pleased for a second, at last, it's façade was dropping, but his insides twisted as saw it wasn't even looking at him anymore, it was looking at nothing, unseeing, Garak couldn't help the unconfortable chill on his spine.

"I can only be blinded by wishful thinking once, and you used that card already." Garak smiled, searching for the thing's eyes but it never seemed to focus. "I was specially insipid the first time around, and the strange behaviours were all there for me to notice, and simply didn't, but now, now I know better, and a few pretty words and kisses won't fool me just as easily."

The changeling finally looked at him, the simple smile still played on Garak's lips, but his eyes burned, the weigh of the words, the confession of the betrayal, the hopelessness in the truth made his throat feel impossibly tight and his bones exceptionally fragile, but the thing looked at him and it looked just as miserable, only it looked like it was burning alive with the way it emanated the rage inside it.

"If it was still alive, I would kill it." The changeling said, and Garak stopped on his tracks, the protectiveness wasn't a side so often seen in Julian, so it's ability to do it perfectly astounded him. The simple threat yet a true one, the face, the stance, the anger, everything perfectly in place, and Garak only felt emptier, angrier.

"Drop it!" He warned, the changeling swallowed. "Stop playing him."

"Garak-" it tried.

"No." He was resolute, the thing still looked distressed, the wrath being put aside to deal with the issue at hand, but Garak only stared at it for a while, thinking, analysing. The ire building as he settled into the conclusion that if it could act the part so well, than it must've meant it learned all it could from the source, and if the source dried, than it was disposable.

Garak knew all too well about it, torturing until a person was dry and then throwing them away to live as a husk or killing them to spare them from the pain of the aftermath, like they were no more than waste, and if he was right, Julian was long gone, dead, as dead as the eyes that stared back at him, but he needed to be sure, to know.

"Where is he?" He whispered, still lost in thought, the thing looked a bit lost, so he repeated, venom dripping from the words. "Where is Julian?"

The changeling breathed in, suppressing something so deeply that it looked like it lost a bit of itself, straightening it's back and staring Garak directly in the eyes, unwavering, there was a surgical stillness about it that Garak knew, and he had to do his very best not to close his eyes to it.

"Garak, you listen to me and you listen closely." It said, the words perfectly articulated, like it thought carefully about it, as if there was heavy meaning in it. "I am Julian Bashir, chief medical officer, your friend, your... More, even." It never broke the eye contact, and Garak listened, only to turn his head at the last sentence, chuckling to pretend it didn't cut right through him, staring at it again, it's eyes so hopeful, so expectant, Garak felt the need to relent to it, but, then again, that was the power of Julian's face to him.

"And you listen closely too." He adjusted his posture, lifting his chin in a faux smug manner, smiling in a way so blatantly insincere that it looked like a threat. "Drop the act and tell me where he is, or this phaser will be the least of your problems."

The thing moved suddenly, and Garak was careful no to be surprised by it, but it only spun around, eyes glassy staring at the ceiling as it seemed to lose it's patience, laughing bitterly at the roof and looking back at Garak, it's eyes wet, unfocused, like they were made with watercolour, and Garak felt that pang of guilt, not for the first time, eating away at him each time the fake looked like the real thing.

"He's here, Garak, I'm him." It sounded defeated again, but now it was entirely different, slack, hopeless, dark, not sorrowful and melancholic like before. "If only you could see me, Elim." the tears on it's eyes were almost overflowing, it's voice losing it's sound, yet, it continued. "Please, please... I lo-" it cutted itself off, shaking it's head, only to finish a few moments later. "Please, love, see me."

The ground felt like sand, devouring Garak, like the universe could just blip him out of existence, to stare at eyes so despaired, to listen to the begging, he felt the walls closing in on him, crushing him into nothing, and it was harder and harder to think of it as something other than Julian, and so he was tempted to live in the fantasy, where his Julian was alive and loved him, where all could be well for a little while, but he couldn't breathe and the thing was going to win, and he couldn't let it.

"Did you take his place when, if I may ask?" Garak asked slowly, watching it as it only curled up on itself, miserable and lost, and Garak had to ignore it. "On the transport to the ship? On some night in 371?" Garak stopped, noticing, thinking, connecting the dots of the plot of his paranoia, the next words coming out with the strings of resentment, the cracking of the voice coming in as he spoke with realization. "He wasn't even on the camp, was he? It was always... You." He barely ended the sentence, and it all happened fast.

As soon as he said it, the thing closed the gap between them, body sure but shaking, it's face betraying the loss it appeared to feel, it put the hand above the gun, and as Garak was going to push away from the clear attempt the creature was doing to rob him of his weapon, it actually placed the phaser on it's head, pressed strongly against the middle of it's forehead, closing it's other hand into a fist to clearly stop it from shaking, and Garak couldn't even react, staring at it in astonishment, baffled by the action, silent, and the thing finally spoke.

"Then shoot me." it said through gritted teeth, but Garak heard no actual fury, only an empty attempt of a last resort. "If you're so certain I'm not him." It never closed it's eyes, it didn't blink, it never tore it's eyes away, and Garak was horrified to notice he was paralysed by it. "If you are sure, shoot me, don't prolong this any further."

Garak felt something inside him stir, that guilt he was pushing down, the feeling of being possibly wrong, because offering his own death to prove a point was such an idiotic move that only his Julian would make, and Garak wanted to die, for a second, looking into those eyes and trying to see something other than Julian, because if this was truly him, then it meant Garak had done the thing he knew himself incapable of surviving: He would have permanently ripped Julian Bashir out of his life, because there would be no chance of him wanting to see Garak after that. But it couldn't be Julian, not after the confession Garak knew to be a lie, and even though Garak knew Julian to be a liar, he never struck Garak as quite this cruel.

"Go ahead, Garak, shoot me!" The changeling demanded, it's voice rising. "Why don't you just put an end to it? So you can finally have an answer, pull the trigger, kill me, it's that simple." Garak tried to move the gun but the changeling - Julian? No. - held it in place with enormous strength, another thing Julian lied about, how strong he was, and Garak never understood why, but the changeling was using it against him, and, although he was the one holding the gun, he had the strangest feeling of being threatened. "Elim, if you have no doubt." it said slowly again, it's eyes fixed but the tears in them finally ran free on it's cheek, and Garak closed his eyes, not daring to stare any further. "Shoot..." it said as if speaking to a child. "Me."

"Where is Julian?" Garak felt his breath hitch on his throat as if a sob was threatening to spill out, but he opened his eyes, trying his best to pretend he only didn't shoot because of lingering quastions, not tearful hazel eyes. "Where's..." his throat closed, he couldn't speak, the thing still held the gun to it's head and Garak feared that it would suddenly pull the trigger against itself.

"I'm here, Elim." he said - it said, by god, someone said - and Garak felt his eyes burn again. "I'm him, and if you can't see me, you can shoot me, but I am him." It finally gave way, Garak tore the gun away from it, watching as it stayed just as close, only now with it's arms crossed.

Garak still couldn't speak, the image in front of him doubling as two people, a possible threat and the last good thing about the universe. Julian, changeling, or whatever it was, placed a hand on Garak's, holding the hand that was holding the gun, but never trying to take it away, never protecting itself. Garak had the sudden chilling realization that it could easily overpower him if it really wanted to.

"I'm here, and I won't hurt you, I am not just trying to manipulate you, I am trying to make you understand." Julian said, voice soft, almost professional, the voice he used when talking down a patient. "I know it betrayed you using my face now, and I would hunt it down if I could, for stealing those moments from me, and..." He stalled, Garak couldn't open his eyes, he baraly realized he had closed them again. "For stealing such intimacy from you."

Garak was shaking, it was obvious that Julian could feel it too, but he didn't back away, he came closer, head gently pressed against the phaser again, but with no force, Garak only knew by the pressure he felt. The moment was almost tender, almost romantically them. Garak had nothing else to give, and he remembered with a detached uneasiness how he trembled and could barely speak the first time that, what he thought was Julian, kissed him, and how it would shut him up by doing so again and again, and how he longed for the intimacy, how it maintained itself away, saying sweet nothings and kissing him when it needed, never daring to do more. Garak was frustrated then and deeply relieved now, still, it was strange how he never stopped trembling ever since. Specially after seeing Julian, or again, what he thought was him, in that camp. Strangely, too, pointing a gun at Julian - changeling - and having his forehead gently resting upon it felt more intimate than any kiss ever could.

"I love you." It said, Garak flinched, it noticed. "I'm sorry if it hurts hearing it after that thing lied to you, I am, but it's true, and I won't stop reminding you that I love you until you have all the certainty in the world that it's true." Garak opened his eyes, the tear tracks in the changeling's stolen face were like open wounds, and Garak wanted to tear himself apart, but found his voice to say.

"Julian wouldn't..." it was simple, but true to the deepest beliefs in Garak's chest, the weakness too exposed to be denied, and somewhere, wherever he was, Tain was laughing at him, to be so reduced to nothing, to be so inefficient to the point of being manipulated and bent into a shaking mess by something that wore a face he dared to curse by loving. "Stop..." he finished, but it was reticent and had no strength.

The thing looked at him, and he saw a myriad of emotions, jumping from pure despair to bone shattering sadness, from deep worry to anger and finally to something surprisingly unreadable, a thing only Julian had the capacity to do, and apparently it had solon it too. If Garak had half a mind, he would have been at least cautious, at most scared, but he was only confused by the expression, the firmness on it gave way to a feeling of anxiety in Garak as he tried to antecipate the next move, but he was tired, and the thing was so like Julian, he was blindsided once again. It all started calmly, as he first heard the noise of it touching the combadge and the thing speaking quickly.

"Doctor Bashir to infirmary, prepare all the equipment for a blood transfusion, no need to hurry, it's not an emergency." It was out before anyone could respond, and Garak would have been confused if he had the time. Because then came everything else, and Garak had only time enough to gasp.

The thing placed it's hand on top of the phaser, lowering the gun to the ground in a quick and skilled move, using force to stop Garak from lifting it again, and just as quickly it snaked it's other hand on Garak's waist, plucking out the dagger he hid on his tunic, a dagger only Julian knew about, only him ever saw, him and the changeling Garak thought was him, and suddenly, it let go of Garak's hand and backed away a step, staring into Garak's eyes, knife in hand and a stare twice as sharp.

He knew Julian's reflexes better than anyone else, he was convinced he was the only one who saw it even, the way he seemed to lack the normal amount of human clumsiness, he never ran into things, never tripped, never swayed, the way that when he got hit on a fight it felt faked. Garak even saw him catching a hypospray mid air as it fell without even looking at it, proceeding to check around to see if anyone had seen him. Garak knew that to be a true Julian fact, but not like this, no, this was something else, each movement was calculated and precise that Garak couldn't even think, much less act, and Julian was good, but Garak was sure he wasn't that good.

It wasn't him - after all this doubt, it wasn't him.

Garak felt all his paranoia being validated, the thing was armed and had a stance that would draw blood at any moment, the message to the infirmary was odd, but he didn't know the thing's plan, he couldn't guess, and the certainty of it not being him crashed onto him, drowning him, killing what was left, so he raised the gun, finally resolute to kill the offending stolen flesh, finger on the trigger, eyes on the target, right until it said.

"I'm really sorry about your carpet, Garak." It smiled cheekily, boyish even, contrasting with the heaviness on it's eyes, and Garak had barely the time to register it, to feel confused, because soon enough he was torn in half.

With the knife in hands, eyes on Garak, the thing stabbed itself in the stomach.

The station felt quiet, it's gentle movement underneath Garak's feet seemed to have stopped, the universe dare not make a sound, all Garak could hear was the blood rushing through his ears, the pressure of it, his eyes stuck on the image in front of him, the knife deep inside, only the handle was visible, the shaky hands around it, Garak then looked at the face, pain clearly breaking through, tears falling, but eyes fixed, lips pressed together, rapid breathing, and no sound was made. Garak was shaking more, if that was possible, but a curiosity, a bizarre intrigue crept it's way through him, like he was stuck between throwing up and investigating closely, he was baffled, confused, nothing made sense and he wanted answers.

That was the reaction Julian always got out of him, the confusion, the thirst to know more, the hunger for whatever it is he could give him, always unpredictable, with what he did, what he thought, like a never ending surprise, and also, a never ending idiocy about himself that annoyed Garak to death, the way he would throw himself in danger for others, or how he wouldn't back down from a confrontation, or his absurd sense of duty. Julian would stab himself to prove a point, and Garak had no doubt about that, and so that had to be him, no one was quite as stupidly selfless to put himself through that just for Garak's peace of mind.

But if that was Julian, that would mean...

His thoughts were cut short by another movement, the hand, Julian's hand, - oh my god, that was him - around the knife tightened, and in a second, he took it out, not moving, eyes still on Garak and body trembling in pain, other than that, no sound was made, Garak, even with all his year of training, wouldn't know he was in pain if he didn't know where to look, and for a second he wondered what made him so resistent, what happened to make him so falsely unaffected, what about his stay on that camp - and it was real, he was there- made him so impassive to such an extreme pain, and how could Garak seek his revenge about that, but, still, the knife was out, and Julian only handed it to Garak, smiling, breaking what was left of the cardassian in front of him.

"The blood will stay blood," He breathed, sharp, his words sounded distant to Garak. "It will stain your dagger and you carpet, and you'll know..." he held back a wince and smiled again. "You'll know."

Garak stared at what he before thought to be a changeling and knew in his bones that he was wrong. Julian Bashir stood in front of him bleeding profusely from his stomach, handing him the knife, smiling, eyes haunted, body trembling and so completely there. Garak felt the strangest confort, and the unsurmountable grief, all at once, the hurt he caused and the ease of him not being manipulated again, all played a game of tug inside him as he accepted the knife, staring at the blood dripping from it, and it was again so intimate to hold the dagger that held such a profound proof of life, his eyes swarm with tears but he only blinked, letting a small sob of relief leave his lips, only for the guilt to overcome him.

He had done it, he harmed him, his Julian, his paranoia drove him to it, his selfish self preservation, - Julian would chastise him for this kinds of thoughts, and yet, he coulnd't help it - his stupid need to know that the real Julian didn't love him, and how could he, how would he even? Yet, he did - or so it seemed, and he went to great lengths to prove it so, so Garak didn't have the right to dismerit it, he would not dare to doubt after such a demonstration.

"It's mine, see?" Julian whispered, pressing his hands against his injury, coming out of it bloodied and gruesome, holding Garak's hands to stain it too, not accusing, no, it was gentle, delicate, and Garak felt his body come to life at his touch, his warm blood, so personal, so his. "It's my blood, and it's yours if you want it."

Garak was still paralysed, and Julian still had worry in his eyes, taking a step closer, the blood dripping on the carpet, wonderfully staining everything, and Garak had the thought for a second that Julian didn't know what that meant, to bleed for someone, to sacrifice parts of yourself to them, not in his culture, but he corrected himself again, knowing that Julian was too clever not to know. It was too many feelings, the overwhelming guilt, the blissful relief, the remainders of fear, the hollowed out sadness and the love, there was so much love, and it barely made anything better, but god, it was there.

"Julian?" Was the first thing he tried to say, and although he was certain, he still posed it as a question, still reeling, still sacared, needing the confirmation, and Julian smiled, wholeheartedly, the lines on his face coming to life in a way that made Garak ask himself how could he think it wasn't him, the tears fell freely from his eyes again, his face clearly breaking into a painful solace found on his name being pronounced by Garak's lips, a weight leaving him but staining his body with it's sorrow, he looked far from fine, but he smiled to his name like he never heard it said like that before.

"Yes!" He said, laughing a bit, clearly letting go of what was being held in. "Yes, Elim, it's me." He laughed again, staring at Garak with the stars back on his eyes, just enough, just to shine a little, and Garak felt a wetness on his face he decided to ignore, pretend it wasn't there, focusing only on Julian and his warm blood getting cold and drying up in his hands.

"My dear..." he whispered, letting another sob cut through him, and to that, Julian closed his eyes, basking on the pet name like it was warm sun, still smiling, nodding a little, accepting it like a blessing to hear, breathing in as if he could finally do it withou restriction, new tears escaping him, his body looked light as a feather, finally relaxing, and Garak felt a bit whole again, for a brief second, before Julian came crashing down, body slack and weak, letting go and being consumed by the exhaustion.

Garak dropped the gun he didn't even realized he was still holding, the knife with Julian's blood was on the ground in a second and Garak closed the distance to hold the falling body in his arms, breaking the fall, holding him gently and laying him on his lap, hands immediately finding the wound to put pressure on it. Garak was all action, trying to focus, but his mind screamed the warped realities to him, as it was what he deserved, to possibly lose his Julian to a mistake he made, to have him die in his arms because he couldn't trust him, surely it was poetic, Tain would be pleased, to have a barely lover sacrificing himself to reassure a less than deserving Garak, he felt ashamed, he didn't honoured the warm blood Julian spilled, he was unworthy of such devotion.

A hand was suddenly on his face, almost like it could hear his thoughts, staining his cheeks with blood, warm and viscous, the overpowering smell of copper woke him up from his nightmarish thoughts, and Garak forced himself to stare at Julian again.

"Please, Elim, don't look so worried." He said smiling, face starting to go pale. "I'm a damn good doctor, I know where to cut." he supplemented smugly, Garak let out a sad but endeared laugh, his body deflating as he held Julian a bit tighter.

"You could've slashed one of your arms, my dear, blood would still be blood." He tried a smile, lifting a hand to caress Julian's cheeks just like he was doing, staining his skin with his own blood in the process.

"Please, it wouldn't have worked." The doctor laughed, strained but true, and it was sewing Garak back together bit by bit. "You never responded to small gestures, my love." They stared at each other's eyes for a second, small smiles and soft touches, the smell of blood and smoke still coming from the wall, and to hold a beloved while they bled for you, while you ached for them, such a powerful declaration, and once again, Garak felt stupid - not stupid, victim, he could almost hear Julian correcting him - to fall for the changeling's schemes, because now he knew Julian Bashir wouldn't settle for words if given the opportunity.

"I'm very sorry, Julian." He whispered, smile trembling and eyes watering yet again. Julian's smile dropped, his eyes were sharp yet again, staring into Garak's soul until he felt raw.

"Never apologize for this." It was firm, firmer than anything he had ever heard from him, strict, unmovable, it opened no doors for a discussion, Garak gulped at that. "It's the changeling's fault for..." he seemed to swallow around his anger, trying to speak through it. "For using our intimacy as a weapon to manipulate you." he slid his fingers through Garak's eye ridge, looking so fiercely protective even bleeding on his lap, so angry, so desolate. "It's that creature's fault for assaulting you."

Garak never thought of the word, human terms it's what it was, but it fitted well, like a nametag underneath a horrible memory, it didn't made it hurt less, but at least he knew Julian wouldn't judge him for it, at least, for now, he had the real thing to start to cope with the bitter aftertaste of the fake. Julian, a human so protective over a man who didn't need to or even deserved his protection, understood where the fault lay, and would be there to help, the blood proved that, his eyes said it with passion, and Garak felt safe, and yet, he also felt unconfortably bare, trying to hide for the moment.

"I should get you to the infirmary soon, my dear doctor." Garak said, purposefully changing the subject to the matter at hand, and Julian stared at him a bit longer, understanding that it was a talk for a less adrenaline filled and blood stained time, leaving it be for the moment, to which Garak only smiled gratefully.

"You probably should, I might know where to cut but I'm starting to get dizzy." he admitted, laughing lightly, and Garak shook his head at that, taking his hand off the doctor's face, tapping the combadge on Julian's chest.

"Garak to infirmary, I need an emergency transport for me and Doctor Bashir to the sickbay." he said calmly and the voice on the other side said they were checking some things and getting ready, starfleet protocols, always taking too m,uch time, and so Garak stood by.

"I thought you would prefer to walk me so no one would know I'm here." Julian said, his voice a bit sluggish but his smile smug, arrogant, and Garak wanted to punch him, but instead, he just said.

"Well, seems like even as infallible as you are, you managed to be wrong, my dear." he said smiling and Julian laughed again, seeming more alive now than before, which was odd to say the least.

"I love you." Julian said, eyes fixated on him, and Garak tensed up, he couldn't help it, the words still cutting deep into him, Julian noticed, forcing himself a bit up and bringing Garak's head down, so their foreheads touched, and everything around them seemed to dissappear, Garak closed his eyes, reveling in the touch. "I will say it until you think of the real me when you hear it, and will continue saying it after, forever, if you let me." Garak felt Julian tracing his face, his head against his, the connection, the love, and Julian knew what it meant, he had to, nothing he ever did was uniformed.

"My dear Julian, I'm afraid there's nothing in this universe I wouldn't let you do." he said earnestly, gaining another little laugh, a small giggle in return, Julian backing away only to place a kiss where his forehead once laid.

"I fear the same thing, my love." Julian said with a clear smile on his lips.

Garak wanted to melt, to scream, to cry, it was overwhelming the amount of emotions in a single afternoon, the amount of grief, of sadness, of anger and of love, it was mind numbing and heart wrenching, but he held his Julian, eyes closed and feeling his head again against his own, and everything could be resolved later, and he knew that camp 371 and what the changeling did to him were problems that were going to persist for longer, but right now, it hardly mattered.

"Mr Garak, do you hear me?" Someone said, he slowly opened his eyes and found Julian staring right back at him, smiling cheekily, the blood on his face contrasting with the light colors of the place. Garak lifted his head and looked around, seeing the infirmary around him, baffled at not noticing the transport.

"Mr Garak, I need access to the doctor, please." Doctor Girani said, clearly confused and with little patience.

Garak stared at Julian again, who nodded and sat with some difficulty as Garak gave him space, watching Girani go to him and help him into a biobed, stealing stares from Garak as to ask what happened, and Julian never took his eyes away, explaining the injury and the cause of it, Garak didn't hear it. He stared at his hands and clothes, drenched in blood, his face felt dried with it, his body trembled but all he could do was watch him, the real him, with the skin that seemed to shine on those lights, his brand new uniform ripped and bloodied, his lanky frame, and those eyes, those hazel eyes that never left him, enchanting, hypnotizing, huge and inviting, still starless, still with so much in them Garak could only begin to know, even with all his training.

The man was a mystery, and an open book, and Garak loved him...

He loved him to a thousand deaths.

And so, left with his thoughts, he only watched as the things were put into place, and once Julian was secured, the blood he needed going to his body, Garak found the usage of his feet to walk closer, staring at those deep eyes, and he wished he could say what he wanted, he wished he could profess his love, his utter devotion in words, but his body seemed to reject it, so he settled for the best he could do.

"Keep saying you love me." he said after an hour of silence between them, staring at each other, Julian looking tired but keeping himself awake, and he smiled widely, hearing what it meant, reading Garak's subtext like a professional, taking Garak's face in his hand again before saying.

"Trust me, love, you will hardly hear anything else."

[tauforged]

i feel bad about something -> i pick at my skin to relieve stress -> i get upset about the damage i just did to myself -> i keep picking because i don’t know how else to ‘fix’ the problem i just made -> i realize how much time ive wasted doing all of this -> i continue picking even after it becomes actually painful as ‘punishment’ -> i finally get tired and/or something else calls my attention and i stop, clean up, and attempt to move on with my day -> i feel bad about everything that just happened -> i continue to feel bad about this and everything that happens afterwards until i can’t take it anymore and need a release so i don’t implode -> rinse and repeat

[lovingoverwatchguys]

Thinking about the concept of Jack visiting Gabriel Reyes' grave often, and every time he goes there, it's gotten dirty or someone put graffiti over it, since Reyes' reputation has been smeared repeatedly after his 'death'. He cleans it, both as a show of lingering love/loyalty and as an intentionally self-destructive habit. He knows that it's going to make him angry and sad when he sees it, and he does it anyway, because he thinks that he deserves to be painfully reminded over and over about how he failed.

[batterys-oc-blog]

is talcus Ok.

Talcus hasn't been okay since he was five and still loves Marrgo so so much but after learning the lengths to control him he didn't think he could be safe with her alive and that he Had to kill her (parallels) and it's sooo conflicted and has been talking to Minthy a lot and they're realizing they don't really hate each other and that Marrgo pinned them against each other and he learns there is Another Marrgo and they want to use this one as a replacement and Fix Her but also hates the idea of her existance at all and wants nothing to do with her and its been trying to tell their friends about its past suicide and self harm but they're failing so bad at it

[applestand]

.

[airbrushfather]

been a while. might go get injured tomorrow.

[truckstoptigers]

i keep trying not to give myself any more bruises but like it's either i do that or i throw smth across my room and scream and well. i'm not doing that second one.

[everything--is-taken]

I am having a bad day. And the state of the world right now? Maaaaaaan, imma lose it. Can I just have like 2 days to lose it?

[impishjesters]

Jax x Reader w/depression/suicidal tendencies

warning(s): mentions of depression/suicidal behavior/tendencies, nothing graphic though, mentions of morbid/dark humor note: it's only mentioned that he has feelings for you, whether romantic or platonic is left up to the reader. A/N: I think this is the fastest I've ever wanted to write for something utterly new to me, usually it takes a while of being into a series or liking a character to wanna write something. This was...less than twelve hours? This was probably the most self-indulgent thing I've written in a while.

Nobody was safe from Jax’s pranks, including you—regardless of how much he found himself gradually enjoying your company.

It’s actually a right of passage at this point that every new person (as rare as it is) who shows up is subjected to some awful prank to gauge just how much of an easy or difficult target they’ll be.

You handle the pranks with ease. Sure it can be annoying, but there’s little that can seemingly “kill” you here.

Which is a shame really—well, only slightly.

Your therapist would’ve probably found it a good thing, trying to off yourself in a digital world where sleeping and eating were no longer required likely meant the inability to die.

Not in a traditional sense anyway.

You’re the only one ballsy enough to prank Jax back, which isn’t easy but when a prank is successful? Oh, it’s worth it to see his reaction.

There’s an unspoken prank war back and forth, but typically the other’s are the subject of your guys’ pranks. Somehow it feels more rewarding with the joint effort.

It's not often, but sometimes Jax's pranks will go a step too far and trigger something unpleasant. He's not really sure why you just walk off like that, those pranks don't make him feel as satisfied for whatever reason.

Once a special type of friendship grows between the two of you, the pranks lessen—not entirely though—nah he loves the unsuspecting reactions of a prank you didn’t see coming.

The pranks become less hostile and more casual—he’s got a reputation to keep after all, regardless of how he feels about you.

The initial reaction to someone being told there was no way out was to panic, you however, didn’t..well not outright. Your initial reaction is dark humor—even with the whole censorship thing.

Ragatha is the only one initially disturbed/worried over your dark sense of humor, which should be expected from one of them since they’ve been there longer.

Jax is aware of your morbid sense of humor and often plays along with it, especially in the beginning—later in the friendship though? Yeah, there’s no noticeable physical change, but he’s only a tad worried.

When not tormenting the other’s Jax stuck with you, or vice versa.

After the attempted drowning and standing (willingly) in harm’s way of one (or three) of the rides, Jax keeps your bedroom key closer in hand than the others.

And honestly? Ragatha doesn’t even blame him. You aren’t distant from them, but you do tend to favour Jax’s company. Regardless of her feelings about him as a person, it becomes obvious that he feels something less hostile towards you compared to them.

It takes a while before you finally confess to Jax that prior to being trapped in this digital hell, you were medicated for depression/suicidal tendencies. And while the digital world took away things like needing sleep and food, it didn’t get rid of the thoughts or urges.

Now—had this been someone else telling him all this? He’d be very uncaring and probably make a nasty “joke”, but because it’s you? He’s treading into foreign territory here when it comes to emotions.

There’s not really anything he can say that would make you feel better, but he does show a more rare tender side, offering to be there whenever you need him. Just to backpedal like a tsundere and say that he won’t always be free ( a lie, the fuck else does he have to do?), but he’ll try and make time for you during those moments.

He doesn’t do some pinky promise bullshit, I mean he can and would, but he doesn’t expect his offer and attempts to do that much (words of promise aren’t on the same level as a prescription drug after all).

But if being around his rude ass self and doing the occasional nice *gag* gestures of like, hugging or whatever helps you, he’ll do it—just, not with others around obviously. Again, man has a reputation.

From then on Jax is more aware of where you are around him at all times, not in a suffocating way though. Well, not intentionally, he has his moments. But he’s trying, again this is new territory for him.

Jax makes it his unspoken, personal goal to make sure you don’t tread the line of becoming abstracted.

Bonus (fluff)

Jax will make an attempt not to immediately recoil from your touch when others are present.

I’m not talking “Whoops, sorry to bump into you”, I’m talking about grabbing onto his arm or being in his personal bubble because you need something grounding or whatever.

More often than none his immediate reaction is to just use you to lean on, elbow or arm resting on top of your head to give you some contact and pressure. (He does it out of habit even when you don't need it.)

Sure he probably looks like an ass to others, but after a while, they sort of just get used to it since you never bring up being offended by the act.

But in private? Yeah, sure shoot, just don’t expect him to put any effort into returning anything. Maybe the drape of an arm or his legs, but if it’s really bad? He’ll lay or sit there while you cling to him like a koala.

Jax actually finds it kinda funny how tightly you hold on whenever he gets up.

“Wow, you really holdin’ on there.”

[crimsondinnerparty]

What makes "Digestivo" so compelling is Hannibal’s unexpected surrender. In a move that defies his nature, Hannibal allows himself to be captured—not out of defeat, but as a twisted act of devotion to Will. Hannibal’s surrender is not a loss but a strategic maneuver, illustrating his willingness to place himself in captivity just to keep Will’s attention and, in his mind, their bond intact. It’s a sacrifice that highlights the depth of Hannibal’s obsession, one that blurs the lines between love and control. This act subverts traditional power dynamics: the hunter willingly becomes the hunted, not out of defeat but out of an unshakeable desire to remain entangled with Will. It’s a twisted declaration that Hannibal would rather exist in chains than be free without Will—a powerful commentary on his psychological dependence

For Will Graham, this episode is a breaking point. After enduring unimaginable horrors, Will confronts the reality of his connection with Hannibal, realizing it is as destructive as it is profound. Will’s decision to finally sever ties is not just about self-preservation; it’s a desperate attempt to reclaim his humanity from the pull of Hannibal’s influence.

Will’s rejection of Hannibal is less about moral clarity and more about a desperate need for self-preservation. The idea that Hannibal offers himself as a constant in Will’s life—forever present, forever influencing—is a direct challenge to Will’s autonomy. By refusing Hannibal, Will is not just rejecting a person; he is rejecting a darker, monstrous version of himself. This is Will’s attempt to reclaim agency over his life, to draw a line between himself and the man who has shaped his most violent impulses.

This episode further cements the concept of psychological cannibalism, where the characters consume each other’s identities, fears, and desires. Hannibal’s obsession with Will goes beyond physical consumption; it’s about devouring Will’s soul, his morality, and his sense of self. The act of cannibalism in this context transcends the literal—it’s about how each character feeds off the other’s psyche. Will’s struggle is not just to escape physical harm but to resist the allure of becoming what Hannibal sees in him: a killer with a refined sense of aesthetics and a cold detachment.

[valtsv]

while i'm on my shit about silt verses naming conventions i've decided to work out potential names for VAL before she became VAL and settled on odessa or odess, which alludes to the word "odyssey" - a long journey of changing fortune - but also to the swan queens of the ballet swan lake, the innocent odette and deceitful odile, who are typically danced by the same ballerina to emphasise their duality (and who, in the film black swan, has an abusive mother who exacerbates her transformation from innocent and sweet, albeit repressed to the point of self-harm, to corrupted and self-destructive) and feel apt because VAL's character is also rather fairytale-esque, in the traditional fairytale sense, as well as calling to mind the word "odious", which can be a synonym for abominable, abhorrent, hateful - all reactions that VAL provokes with her existence as an uncomfortably humanlike saint, and her actions.

[downbadf0rficppl]

you're on your own kid

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You had a rough childhood, what with an absent father and a piece of shit mother. When a family dinner goes wrong, how do you stop your brain from spiraling? How do you convince yourself you're not alone? A certain blue-eyed, metal-armed avenger, of course.

Word Count: 3.3K

Warnings: Eating Disorders/Weight Related Talk, Blood, Injury, Kinda Self Harm, Child Abuse [PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THESE TOPICS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!!!]

You squirmed in your seat, fidgeting with your sleeves. It was awkward being at home after so long. You hadn't been home for four years almost - and it had probably been even longer since you'd sat at this table. Your mother sat across the table from you - her gaze heavy on your head. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, your brother had joked.

He was sitting next to you, his knee gently brushing against yours. A placating movement. He was trying to keep the peace - enjoying the first meal that you had had as a family in a long while. You don't know what it was that made you seek them out. Maybe if you had waited a week, you would have thought about the facts, rather than the feelings. Maybe if you had waited a week, you wouldn't be sitting here with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

You sat in silence, playing with the food on your plate. Your mother was of the almond variety, weighing out plates before passing them around the table. You didn't have much to talk about. Things hadn't ended well the last time the two of you spoke.

Your brother chimed in with the odd question - 'How's your gardening coming along, mom?' or 'How's the new job, sis? What's it like working for the Avengers?'. You'd humour him until your mother's disapproving stares became too much and then you'd shut up. He'd give you a sad sort of pitying smile, before returning to his food.

Dinner was long - even it was less than the traditional three courses. Your brother packed up some extra food, and took it home - he only lived about a half mile away so it made sense for him to go home. You made to go with him but your mother insisted you stay with her. "I made up your room, just the way you like it."

You doubted it. But you smiled anyway and hugged your brother tightly. He whispered that 'you would be fine' and 'it's only one night' and maybe for a second you believed him. As soon as he left, you headed to bed, claiming that 'The trip was long, ma, I'm super tired.'

The look on her face screamed that she didn't believe you. But she waved you good night and headed to the kitchen to find her favourite bottle of scotch.

You opened the door to your childhood bedroom to find it almost the same. The pink walls and bedcovers were suffocating, the blinds drawn shut to create this overwhelming feeling of being trapped. You were. Trapped.

You took your jumper off, laid it over your vanity chair, and jumped onto the bed. It was comfortable, but lying there staring at the ceiling brought back all the horrible memories you tried to suppress. Diet pills and weighing scales, small plates and vomiting, screaming and crying, sirens and hospital bills. Tears streamed down your face as curled up onto your side.

It was almost midnight when you heard your mother walk up the stairs. You knew she was drunk - her steps were loud and out of sync, and the bottle in her hand frequently tapped the banister as she tried to stabilise herself on it. You half expected her to keep walking, cross the landing, and fall dead asleep on her bed.

Instead, your door creaked open and you came face to face with her. Her glassy eyes were rimmed with red - she'd been crying too. Her eyes raked over you and suddenly you wished you'd never come back at all.

"Such a shame," she whispered, "You could have been so much more."

"Ma?"

"You were always... the best. The prettiest. The skinniest. You could have been incredible. Instead, you are... nobody."

Her words cut deep but you tried to ignore them. You were somebody. You worked for the Avengers, you were a top-level agent for SHIELD. You helped save the world.

"I tried my best. To help you. But you were ungrateful," Your mother stalked closer, her sadness giving way to anger, "conceited, convinced that you could be anything more than what I made you. But you were wrong. I created you. Without me, THERE IS NO YOU." She launched the bottle at your head and it shattered at the wall behind you.

She kept screaming, but you tuned her out, slipping off the bed and grabbing your jumper and keys. You ran past her, shoving her hard as she tried to grab you and ran out to your car. She watched you go screaming abuse after you, telling you to 'never step foot inside her house again.' You weren't planning to.

You drove like a madman back to upstate - traffic was pretty light considering the ungodly hour. You parked haphazardly - Tony would probably murder you for it in the morning but you couldn't find it within yourself to care. You trudged upstairs, footfalls far too heavy for someone is literally a superspy, but this was your home. You weren't running from anyone in here.

You were so stuck in your own head that you didn't realise that Bucky was sitting in the living room, watching as you walked into the kitchen. He'd heard your footsteps and he was worried. You never walked that heavily.

"Everything ok, doll?"

You looked up at him, not registering a word he said. He stood up and walked over to you, fingers reaching up to stroke your face.

"You good?" He whispered, his forehead almost touching yours.

You pulled away from his touch, even though your body was screaming for you to collapse into his open arms. "Yeah, Buck, fine. See you in the morning for training." You stepped past him, heading for the stairs.

"Yeah, doll. See you in the morning."

The morning came around far quicker than you'd hoped. You had barely slept, tossing and turning all night, your mother's words ringing through your head.

Eventually, you realised it was a futile effort. You might as well get up and be productive. You found yourself in the gym just as the sun came up, face to face with a heavy bag. You clenched your wrapped fists before shaking the sleep out of your system.

Your hits were precise, measured, calculated. If there was one thing no one could fault you for, it was your skills. You were an impeccable agent. If only your mum could see that. You took your rage out on the heavy bag, pouring every ounce of resent in your body into your punches. Sweat beaded on your forehead, the exertion making your breaths heavier and your knuckles sting. You kept punching, time slipping away from you.

You heard the door to the gym open, and someone was talking. Their voice was muted, almost as if your head was underwater. Between the punches and your tiredness, nothing registered in your foggy mind. From the distance you could hear footsteps, getting louder almost as if they were walking towards you.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when a hand brushed against your shoulder. You spun around ready to cuss out whichever stupid rookie decided to bother you so early in the morning. You were surprised to see familiar eyes boring into yours.

"I called your name, you know," Bucky said, his hands moving to rest on your waist, "twice. I even dropped my bag next to yours to get your attention."

"Sorry, I was thinking."

"I can tell," Bucky's thumbs drew circles on your waist, absentmindedly, "Where's that pretty mind been at lately?"

"What do you want, Barnes?"

"I'm worried. About you. You haven't been yourself lately. What's going on?"

"Nothing." You sighed, removing yourself from his grasp, "Missions, reports, meetings. It's tiring."

"Maybe you take a holiday? Try and relax a bit?" You could hear the genuine concern in his voice but you still rolled your eyes.

"Maybe you mind your own fucking business, Barnes? Don't you have other shit to be doing apart from hovering over me?" You grabbed your stuff, refusing to make eye contact with him, and walked out.

"I'm still seeing you for training right?" You hear him call after you, but you keep walking. You let out a shaky breath as soon as you got into the elevator.

He didn't see you for training. Or after.

You'd skipped training in favour of going on a run with Steve and then you had to file a few mission reports. You'd holed yourself up in your office, manila files piling up on the corner of your desk your fingers brushing over the keys with seasoned speed. Bucky had wanted to stop by but given your odd behaviour in the morning, he'd decided against it.

You were glad. You hated that Bucky could see right through you, even when you tried your best to hide it. Especially because you were irrevocably in love with him.

You'd been in love with him ever since you'd started working at the compound. Bucky was one of the few people to notice you and your efficiency. You became one of his preferred mission partners, a fact of which you were very proud. You quickly became one of his favourite people, period, and Bucky even went so far as to blow off Steve to spend time with you.

It hurt you to keep him at arm's length but you knew it was for the best. You remembered what your father told you the night before he left. You're on your own kid. You always have been.

You were given a mission assignment in the evening, with strict instructions of 'wheels up at 0600.' The early pickup time wasn't strange and you were itching to get out of the compound. You packed your bag up, leaving it by the door, and headed to bed.

Another restless night of sleep was the last thing you needed, but you were up and at the hangar waiting for Captain Rogers by 0600. He smiled when he saw you and handed you a coffee. You smiled. Your first real smile since you visited your parents.

"Good luck out there." A voice calls from behind you. You freeze. Bucky jogs towards you both, his eyes betraying his tiredness. Steve's face breaks into a grin at the sight of his old friend. Steve throws his arms around Bucky.

"Don't do anything stupid until I get back," Steve says, his joking tone making Bucky laugh.

"How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."

You want to smile at the sight of the two of them together but you held yourself back. You walked towards the quinjet, ready to get this show on the road when you hear Bucky clearing his voice behind you.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Onto the quinjet?"

"Not without a hug, you're not." You sigh but trudge down the steps to give him a half-arsed side hug. He pulls you in tight, and whispers into your hair, "When you get back, we're gonna talk. Okay?"

You don't respond, brushing him off and climbing into the jet. Steve follows you in, dropping his bag next to yours, before turning back to wave at Bucky.

"Don't worry, Buck, I'll take good care of your girl."

His girl. That sounded nice. You shook the thought away before elbowing Steve in the sight. Jokingly of course, but he still doubled over for effect. Bucky burst into laughter.

That was the last thing you saw as the door went up.

The mission was hard. Not terrible - no one died, which was a win in your book - but it wasn't fun. Multiple shootouts, car chases, and three hours of hiding in a dumpster later, you were ready to nap for a week. But, alas, Fury had set a debrief at 8 the next morning, which meant that you had - you checked the clock on your microwave - 6 hours at best.

You dropped your bag on the sofa and headed into the bathroom. You unzipped your utility vest, dropping it on the floor. You needed to disinfect it - god knows what had stained that vest. You pulled up your compression shirt, wincing as the flecks of red came into view. You quickly stripped it off, dropping it in the washing basket, before whipping back around. You caught your own reflection in the mirror and tilted your head, taking in your reflection of your body. Your mother's words played back in your head. Maybe your mother had a point.

You quickly shook your head, dispelling those horrible thoughts from your mind. But still, you continued to stare at your body, scrutinising every feature. I mean, sure you weren't as skinny as you used to be, but that's because you had muscle now, right? And the hamburger you had for lunch was a treat - you know for completing the mission? The super important mission that you were on because you are important and you are somebody and you have value and you are someone without your mum. Don't you? And it's ok that you can't see your ribs because actually you have abs now and that's way more attractive. Right? And.. and... and....

SMASH.

Broken glass was shattered all around you, fragments piercing your skin. Your mirror now had a fist-shaped hole in the middle, from where your sadness had quickly bled into anger.

You cradled your bloodied fist in your hand, sinking to the ground as sobs racked through your body. Glass dug into your knees as they hit the floor and you curled your hands into your chest. Hurtful 'what ifs' swirled through your head, stealing your breath and making it almost impossible to breathe.

Pounding on your door broke you out of your thoughts. You tried to regain your bearings. It was 2 am. You were in your apartment, the apartment that was miles away from the compound, that you lived in alone. Who the hell would be at your door right now?

You were silent, breath bated as you waited for the stranger to go away. They banged on the door again.

"Doll, I swear to god, if you don't let me in, I'm going to break your fucking door down."

You knew that voice anywhere. The knowledge that you weren't alone, that he was here for you, that Bucky wouldn't make you suffer alone brought new tears to your eyes. Fresh sobs burst from your chest as you tried to move. Glass shards were stabbing into your legs, and one of your hands was bleeding profusely. Bucky, your safety net, was so close and yet so far.

"Doll? Doll, I can hear you. Doll, please, please let me in." You could hear the panic in his voice as he struggled with his conscience. You tried to move but the pain was excruciating. A pained scream erupted from your lips.

A loud bang came from your front door, followed by heavy and fast footsteps.

"Where are you, doll? Come on, just come and talk to me." He said, sweeping through your living room. You whimpered from the bathroom, his enhanced hearing focussing on even the smallest of sounds.

He quickly found his way into the bathroom, his eyes raking over your hunched figure, before flitting to the broken mirror and the shards of glass on the ground.

"Oh doll," he whispered, bending down to scoop you up from the floor. He cradled you gently as he carried you from the bathroom into your bedroom. "What happened, doll? Talk to me."

You looked up at him, trying to figure out where to start. You blanked. You couldn't find a good place to start the story that would cause you the least pain. Your mouth opened and closed a few times with no sound coming out. Bucky rested his hand against yours, trying to reassure you to take your time, but the sound of your wince drew his attention to your hands.

"Doll, your hands." He grabbed your hands gently, peering at your knuckles. They were mauled, glass sticking out of torn-up skin, "What did you do?" He stood up, walking into your kitchen to grab the first aid kit he knew was under the sink. Watching him walk around like he owned the place made some small part of your heart happy - it was almost as if your dreams, your darkest-held fantasies, were coming true.

Bucky kneeled in front of you, placing the first aid kit beside him. He brushed all the glass shards off your legs - luckily none of them had been embedded into your skin. He cleaned any small scratches before turning to your knuckles. The sight of your knuckles made him wince and you started to pull them away. Bucky leveled you with a look that said, let me take care of you. You let him. He sterilised a pair of tweezers and got to work pulling the shards of glass out of your knuckles. You sat in silence for a while, Bucky diligently working on your knuckles, and you watching the swiftness with which he worked.

"Why did you punch the mirror, doll?" Bucky asked after a while.

"I was angry," you whispered, your voice deathly quiet. Now that the rage was gone, all you had left was embarrassment.

"And why were you angry?" Bucky coaxed, his eyes pleading for some answers. He pulled out the last shard of glass before swiping an alcohol wipe over your knuckles and bandaging them up. He packed up all the items back into the first aid box and went to put it away and wash his hands.

You were still sat on the bed contemplating your answer when he got back. He knelt in front of you again, before he rested his hands on your face, "Why were you angry doll?"

"I didn't like it." You whispered, pulling your body away from him.

"What didn't you like?" Bucky's eyes stared into yours and you suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. You tried to remove yourself from his all-seeing, mind-reading gaze, but he didn't let you. He pulled you into his lap, and you hid your face in his neck. His beard tickled your forehead as you nestled into him, trying to seek out the comfort you so desperately needed but didn't know how to ask for.

"Me." You said, your head turned away from him as you stared at your hands.

"What?"

"I didn't like me." Your voice started to shake as you tried to find the right words to tell him the truth, the whole honest godforsaken truth, but you couldn't.

Bucky seemed to read your mind, "It's ok, take your time. We don't have to talk about this today. We can come back to it later, when you're feeling up for it, okay?" You nodded, burrowing further into him, "You wanna sleep?"

You nodded again, and Bucky shifted, wrapping his arms around you so he could gently place you down on the bed. He removed his arms from underneath you and tucked you into bed, gently kissing your forehead as you turned to leave. You whined.

"Pleasedon'tgoBuck-" You mumbled, sleep quickly pulling you under. He smiled, perching himself on the end of the bed.

"You sure you want me to say, sweetheart? Not sure you'll ever get rid of me if I stay?"

"I promise. Never want you to go." You said, clinging to his arm and pulling him back into bed.

You slipped into an easy slumber as Bucky shuffled around in your room. Maybe you didn't have to be on your own anymore.

fin.

buy me a coffee

[suikung]

may i request some shikamaru x lil!sis headcanons?

| Brother!Shikamaru

| TW. Incest

Shikamaru was the prized sibling in the family, and the Nara clan. From the moment he started in the academy, his genius was noticed. Your parents equally loved you, however you could tell they knew you weren’t as gifted as Shikamaru. And Shikamaru obviously knew that. But to him, it’d be better for it to stay that way.

You started the academy a year after him, and immediately the instructors could tell a difference between your brother and you. They held you to such high standards because of him, and when they weren’t met, all you would receive was a look of disappointment. It crushed you to know you’d never be as good as him. But it didn’t deter you from training hard day and night.

He didn’t allow you to have friends, even if he did. It was always something along the lines of “They’re just a drag you know. No need to concern yourself with them.” It almost felt he took all the friends for himself so there wouldn’t be none left over for you.

He was and continues to be the biggest manipulator. His words might seem innocent to any pair of ears, but he knew to yours, they would crush your self esteem. “Come on, why train so hard? Just accept the way you are.” They might seem as if he encouraged self acceptance but in reality he was firm on the belief you’d never advance.

As the years went on, his words only weighed heavier. He tried his best to convince you not to take the chunin exams. Wasn’t being a genin enough for you? You already were assigned missions. And he hated it. You now needed to uphold a responsibility to the village and he sadly couldn’t keep you at home. Couldn’t you see he was doing this all for your safety.

When Asuma-sensei died, it further showed to him the cruelties of this shinobi world. And soon he know that the King, was not the Hokage or Feudal lord, but you. Just like the knight, he’d work even harder to protect you. Conveniently for him, you’d been dispatched on a mission and had come back severely injured. While he vowed to find those who did this to you, he also petitioned with Lady Tsunade to have you relieved of being a shinobi. “She’s not capable of continuing to do this Lady Tsunade. I say this with her best interest in mind.” Just like that, you had returned to being a normal civilian.

During the 4th Great Ninja war, you stayed home. Despite the village needing all the power they could get, Shikamaru did not let you join. “You haven’t done anything in forever. Do you seriously think joining the war would result in you coming back alive?” He was right. Your brother was always right, so you stayed home. You waited for both him and your father to return, however only Shikamaru came back. The loss of your father weighing so heavily on the family, your mother shortly followed suit.

Now he had nothing but you. He had lost the people who would always talk sense into him, give him a guiding push in life when his path might stray. But now? He had no one to tell him what he might do is wrong. So he let his instincts take over. His feelings suppressed for so many years, he could finally let them over when the time was right. And that time would be when you turned 18.

Shikamaru was now 19, you 18. He led the clan on his own after the war. But he needed someone to do it with him. You had now become his wife. Nothing out of the ordinary in this society. Pure bred clans were a normal things. However now he possessed so much more control over you.

Immediately you were left to uphold a traditional housewife life. He was cunning, already he kept you inside as much as he could but now as his wife he could finally put his ultimate move on the board. You had fallen pregnant.

Now he controlled every single thing in your life. What time you ate. What you ate. Who you were around, what if they caused you stress and in turn harmed the baby? But to him most importantly, when you went outside. He was still a Shinobi, he couldn’t be around you 24/7. But this allowed him to keep you inside, for what seemed like forever. Only ever being outside when he couldn’t take your begging and crying anymore to be free. But his plan worked. And if he had to, he’d continue to keep you pregnant if it meant you’d never have to step foot outside again.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A/n I love him and his fucked up hairlime

[tarot-by-e11e]

PAC: "Little Warnings"

(this is strictly for entertainment purposes only)

Unfortunately, this is gonna hurt. So, don't read through this if you're already going through some pretty harsh stuff.

When I felt called to do this PAC, I felt that we needed to be humbled and check ourselves occasionally to see if we were being a bit too arrogant. It's such an odd feeling to be called to do this theme for this specific PAC, but hey, even if not every loving call out may be meant for others, every message is still, in some shape or form, valid. Not all of it may resonate with you, and that is still okay~

But I am manifesting that you will encounter this when the universe deems you need to be lovingly knocked down a few pegs~

Nothing wrong with a little loving call-out?

Pile 1:

Cards Pulled:

Queen of Wands, Hierophant, 5 of Coins

Hi Pile 1, if you chose this pile, whenever part of your journey you read this, here are your little warnings you might need to know, so only take what resonates with you, okay?

"Aren't you getting a bit over your head lately? Nothing wrong about being confident in your own abilities but you don't need to rub it in other people's faces that you know you're that Queen B~"

"There's a fine line between confidence and arrogance, my dear. If you don't want to be perceived as someone abrasive or cheap, you know what you need to do."

"Traditions are great and all but there's always room to make new traditions. Honoring the past doesn't mean you have to continue living in the past."

"Which would you prefer being ruthlessly right all the time and be hated? Or learn how to communicate compassionately without sacrificing your truth?"

"Don't expect different results when you're clearly stuck in your ways."

"No matter how much you mean well, if you don't know how to respectfully convey your messages properly, you will not be understood in a way that you'd prefer."

"Don't expect other people to pick up on your body language and subtle hints. Not everyone is as painfully self aware as you."

"Your Past pain is valid but your attitude is not."

"You keep behaving like you can't get passed your trauma from your past then btch out on how cruel life was for you, so you project your hurt towards others, especially towards people who are living the life that you want. Seriously, pick a struggle and push through it. Make it make sense."

"You are not bound to the environment you grew up in, because you have the power to change your destiny. Remember, at the end of the day, only you can save yourself from your circumstance."

"You are more capable than you let yourself believe you are. You just chose to live in your pain when you know you have to put in the effort for you to change your life for the better."

"You are bound by your own self imposed limitations. You are imprisoned in your mind by your own fear."

Channeled Song:

(this concludes the end of your reading)

(this is strictly for entertainment purposes only)

Pile 2:

Cards Pulled:

Queen of Swords, Chariot, Strength

Hi Pile 2, if you chose this pile, whenever part of your journey you read this, here are your little warnings you might need to know, so only take what resonates with you, okay?

- "I'm all up for honesty, just not verbal abuse. So be discerning if the receiver of the message is too soft hearted or easily traumatised."

- "Words are double edged swords. The same words that can heal can also break someone's heart."

- "Discern which battles are worth fighting for. Know when to retreat your words when you know that how you speak may bring more harm than good."

- "Being assertive and a goal getter is nice and all, but remember, your passion may be misinterpreted as abrasive and uncouth. Remember to respect other's personal boundaries."

- "Going after what you want is normal, disregarding someone's feelings and free will isn't."

- "Think before you speak or do."

- "Your way isn't the only way."

- "Impulsive behaviour leaves you susceptible to disaster and unnecessary quarrel. It won't kill you to think before you leap."

- "You don't need to so harsh and dominant to be perceived as strong."

- "Having strength does not warrant you to be mannerless and disrespectful."

- "Hypervigilance doesn't mean you're strong. It means you've been pushed to the corner where you had no one to rely on, especially during the times you need anyone the most."

- "Being able to do everything on your own doesn't mean you don't need help. You can lean on to others unharmed too. Not everyone is out to get you."

- "Just because you used to being in pain and on your own, it doesn't mean that what you've gone through is something you deserve. Don't catastrophize every bad thing that's happened to you as a punishment from the universe. Unfortunately, bad things happen for no reason. You were just unfortunately at the wrong place in the wrong time."

- "You don't deserve to be stuck in your hyperindepence and wear your lack of trust in others like a badge of honor. Your body can only hold so much trauma before it starts completely wrecking your nervous system and have it physically manifest as an illness. Ex. You struggle to lose weight no matter how much you work out because your body doesn't feel safe to exist. That's why you body stores fat as a cushion to help make it feel safe to exist."

- "How far will you keep pushing the people you love away? Are you waiting for their patience to run out so that you can subconsciously prove to yourself that everyone would leave you?? You're so hellbent in your skewed narrative that feeds your self-sabotaging tendencies and lack of self worth that you'd do anything to have your negative self talk to manifest into your reality. Stop feeding yourself the BS that (If they're meant for me, they'll stay. News Flash, no one wants to willing stay with someone who refuse to grow out of their own toxicity. No one can save you but yourself. EVEN YOUR LOVED ONES HAS LIMITS TOO."

- "Be a dear and search up the meaning of the ff. words: GASLIGHTING, STONE WALLING, COVERT NARCISSIST, ACCOUNTABILITY, EMOTIONAL MATURITY, JEALOUSY, SOFT FBOI/GURL, SHADOW WORK, MALADAPTIVE DAYDREAMING (Feel free to see which words hurts the most for you and start working on that)"

- "No one can save you from your own self imposed mental prison of scarcity and unworthiness. People around you can only do so much for you. The power to trap you and free you has always been in your hands."

- "Are you done thinking that everyone is out to get you? Hopefully you'd come to realise that people don't think about you as much as you think they do. Everyone's busy barely surviving their lives to be bothered to meddle with yours."

- "You're not as strong as much as a target you think you are, and that's okay. You don't have to be in everyone's mind and in everyone's DM to feel important. You are worthy and deserving of all regardless if you are in the spotlight or behind the scenes."

- "Two things can be true at the same time. You are the Main Character of your life and also be a background character is someone else's storyline."

- "What's serious for you may not be serious for someone else. So don't expect others to adjust for you when you made zero efforts to properly communicate what you wanted to say."

Channeled Song:

(this concludes the end of your reading)

(this is strictly for entertainment purposes only)

Pile 3:

Cards Pulled:

7 of Swords, Ace of Swords, 6 of Wands

Hi Pile 3, if you chose this pile, whenever part of your journey you read this, here are your little warnings you might need to know, so only take what resonates with you, okay?

- "Just because someone broke your heart it doesn't give you the right to leave a trail of broken hearts in your path. Your pain is valid but your attitude and actions afterwards aren't."

- "Being betrayed in the past doesn't mean you should play and to toy with someone else's feelings. You are becoming the player that you hated the game for."

- "Not all people mean to use and abuse you. Other people are just good natured and mean what they say. Don't confuse someone's genuity because someone else broke your trust before."

- "Discernment is highly encouraged, projecting your pain and jealousy isn't."

- "It's great to chase new ideas, what's not great is to chase the idea of someone new then cheat on your current partner just because things got bored. Don't be a part of the problem."

- "Don't even dare entertain anyone new just because you chose to be lazy and not put in the effort to communicate on how your current relationship can get better. Emotionally opening up to someone is cheating. Having a work husband/wife is still cheating. Putting yourself in any situation that would cause your partner to doubt your loyalty is a breeding ground of disaster of the life you currently know."

- "If you caved in and cheat now, you are bound to cheat again. If you allow yourself to be tempted now, you have proven yourself unworthy to even be in a loving relationship. In short: you have become part of the problem. So don't expect receiving anything you refused to give. You have no right to the privileges of an exclusive and healthy relationship if you fck around and find out. (because you actively chose to play whack a mole and find out what it's like to have std because of your recklessness)."

Channeled Song:

- "How far will you go just to win? Will you cheat on your partner just to have a promotion? Will you pay someone to ruin your competition just to win? Will you start a smear campaign just to go ahead? Will you drop little white lies to make yourself appear as the better option? How illegal and immoral would you allow yourself to become just to get ahead? Is it worth it? Lose your friends and family along the way? Just to win that empty cup?"

- "Will you abandon your morals just to win?"

(this concludes the end of your reading)

(this is strictly for entertainment purposes only)

Pile 4:

Cards Pulled:

6 of Swords, Knight of Cups, 7 of Wands

Hi Pile 4, if you chose this pile, whenever part of your journey you read this, here are your little warnings you might need to know, so only take what resonates with you, okay?

- "Unfortunately, leaving the problem behind without any explanation or letter won't make it go away."

- "Ghosting, just to protect your ego, is never the answer. Face your issues like an adult and accept the consequences of your actions accordingly."

- "No amount of dr*gs, alcohol, smoke or flings can help you tun away from your own willful ignorance. You can't run away from your own feelings. The only way to get away/rid of your problem is by facing it. This is one of the moments in a person's life where DELULU is NOT the SOLULU."

- "Fleeing the country won't keep you from feeling your feelings."

- "Just because you understand how people work and emotionally operate, it doesn't mean that you should use that to your unfair advantage. Stop binge watching those dark psychology videos. And you wonder why people pick a bad vibe from you? What do you expect? You are indeed the problem: the not so covert manipulative problem."

- "Stop using the promise of helping others with their dreams just so you can trick them in making your dreams come true at their expense."

- "You can only spin a web of lies so far."

- "You're not as convincing of a gaslighter as you think you are. People can see through your lies, they just chose not to speak up because, yes, they do it out of pity."

- "Resilience is incredibly admired but bulldozing other people out of your way to get the results is out of the question."

- "Not seeing the results that you want then btching about not having slept enough and feeling like you're about to collapse? You chose to overwork and overburden yourself to the point of burn out, and you're shocked that your health and sanity is fcked up? Dear, make it make sense."

- "Has it ever occurred to you that just because you put in the effort to win someone over, it doesn't mean that they're obligated to choose you? Free will and preferences are a thing, you know? You can be everything and more to that person, and that person is not required nor obligated to choose you. You can the most ideal man/woman and still not be chosen."

- "Don't expect exclusivity from someone who told you from the beginning that they're there to fck around. You can't change someone just because you stayed. You can only keep someone that wants to be kept by you."

Channeled Song:

(this concludes the end of your reading)

(this is strictly for entertainment purposes only)

Feel free to check out my feedback herePaid Readings are AVAILABLE

In all honesty, I feel so bad for releasing this PAC but there's this oddly strong gut feeling that we all need to be humbled and wake up to the toxicity we all chose to lie with at night.

In fact, some things we've gone through, unfortunately are the results of our own lack of accountability.

Sorry if I hurt your feelings, but some painful warnings need to be said.

Notice:

Exchange Readings are OPEN

Feel free to send me some support in the form of tips,

Head to my Buy-Me-A-Coffee here 🍀

[randobsdanalyst]

What makes Soukoku Soukoku? A long analysis

Thread on Twitter: https://x.com/RandoBSDAnalyst/status/1770598183132967067

There have been many ways the word Soukoku (双黒) has been translated from the Japanese, such as "Double Black," "Twin Dark," and "Twin Darkness." As the translations imply, all the generations of Soukoku are very heavily tied together by a certain darkness they share. Soukoku, especially, have a very fascinating yin-yang relationship that is crucial to understanding how they work together so perfectly despite their differences.

In the pop-culture sense of yin-yang very simply being opposites but similar, Soukoku fits the idea perfectly. Dazai and Chuuya experienced so much of the same things as teenagers but in slightly different ways: having their childhoods robbed from them and growing up way too fast in an environment unsuitable for their age, struggling with humanity, feeling alienated and lonely, being betrayed and losing the people they cared about, and just simply not ever being able to be like anyone else do to the pain they went through and their inability to be truly vulnerable in the normal sense anymore. Their shared experiences and desire for humanity connect them.

They are thus both isolated in different ways, and it is this that allows them to reflect and complete each other. Even their responses to the deaths of those they cared about (and the resulting heartbreaking realization that these people had been their friends the entire time) in Stormbringer and Dark Era are meant to emphasize their similar but contradictory natures. Chuuya, who is generally so emotional, hid his emotional reactions and lied during the death of the Flags so that Albatross would die in peace and only showed emotion afterwards, while Dazai, who is generally calm and driven by logic, acted rather emotionally during Oda’s death and visibly showed his distress. There’s also many other ways in which they are shown to mirror each other that lie more in their mentalities.

They both are also described as feeling undeserving of goodness in their lives, and they believe themselves to be unworthy of their hearts. This was a result of their views towards their own humanity and their alienation from others, which mirror each other in that they are extrinsically driven for Chuuya (due to his ability and strength) and intrinsically driven for Dazai (due to his emptiness and coping mechanisms), and it quickly led them to become self-sacrificial in ways that are similar yet different, with Dazai doing so as a form of self-harm and out of necessity (as he believed that things didn’t affect him), while Chuuya does so out of his need to always protect others using his ability and his self-deprecation. Dazai thus never even considered that he had the possibility of leaving until Oda died and still shuts down when someone compliments or points out any good in something he did, while Chuuya similarly had fought against Detective Murase’s wishes to save himself from the mafia. Neither of them believed that they were human enough to be meant for the light. Even the way they both do physics problems in their heads and have a habit of humming when happy can be thought of as small ways in which they are similar and in sync with one another.

In the more traditional sense of yin and yang, Dazai is very clearly yin: dark, calm, soft, passive, wavering, cold, death, winter, the Moon. Chuuya, on the other hand, is yang: bright, active, loud, direct, warm, life, summer, the Sun. However, just as Daoism states that there will always be yang found in yin and yin found in yang, Dazai and Chuuya have some traits of yang and yin, respectively. Dazai’s logical way of thinking, the harshness of how cold he can be at times, and the loudness of the way he pretends to feel is more yang (even though his true emotions are deeper and softer and more vulnerable), and between the two, Dazai is the one that found himself in the light. Chuuya still lives —and found a home — in the side of the dark, and his tendency to introspect and the certain depth and sentiment to the emotions Chuuya feels is more yin. Dazai could be thought of as the Moon attempting to be the Sun, and Chuuya could be thought of as the Sun eclipsed by the darkness of the Mafia. There is a bit of light that lies within Dazai’s darkness, and a darkness that lies within Chuuya’s light. Thus their partnership lies not in their opposite personalities, but the threads that tie them together as a result of their views regarding humanity and themselves.

This is made incredibly clear in Stormbringer, where several scenes are designed to show their compatibility as partners, to the point where Chuuya even hallucinated Dazai taunting him about their similarities when he was drugged in Stormbringer.

But as Chuuya slowly began to see the human inside the Demon Prodigy and gradually became the one person who could predict Dazai’s motives (while Dazai, a brilliant strategist, could never predict Chuuya), he also began to understand that these similarities are what allow Dazai to understand him more than anyone ever had. The similarities were never a burden, but instead boons that allowed them to find humanity in each other and learn to read each other’s souls.

We don’t know much about their bond after Stormbringer and the Dragon’s Head conflict, but we do know these two moments were not the true beginnings of their partnership as Soukoku, indicating that their partnership grew even further with time and was made official afterwards.

There is so much lore and history to unpack between the two of them despite all that we know about their partnership. Remember that they still have three year's worth of history we have no idea about, history that is undeniably rich and eventful.

What we do know is that after all they have experienced together and learned from each other because of the ties they share, their bond and trust are simply more than anything that could be described using labels and norms (they are the perfect example of relationship anarchy). After so many years, they truly know each other by heart and by soul despite their constant disagreements, something that Dazai so often proudly proclaims, and they are both exactly what the other needs. They are always there to affirm each other’s humanity, and their words and actions always provide what the other requires in ways that may not make sense to the typical person but makes perfect sense in the context of their relationship and personalities.

They have never needed to explicitly express the way they care and feel vulnerable around each other and to put words to the feelings they share, instead showing each other implicitly through the arcade games, the childish arguments, and the many times they protected each other. Instead of forcing themselves into a normalcy they know they wouldn’t ever fit into or be allowed to fit into because of their natures, they manage to reach each other through various means that resonate with and can be understood by just the two of them. They built their own kind of normalcy, their own messy language composed of the pain they share and the words that go unsaid during their childish bickering.

The scene where Chuuya punched Dazai and harshly told him off during the Dragon’s Head Conflict is a perfect example of that, reminding Dazai of his humanity in a way that Dazai could process instead of ignore or push away. Chuuya had learned to care deeply about Dazai, but he never let go of his detestation of the masks Dazai wore. He knew from what Dazai has done for him in Stormbringer that Dazai has the potential to be good and do good if only he lets himself accept he is a human with feelings that are affected by others and his own actions. So the anger and the harsh response to Dazai’s nonchalance in the scene, then, was less about Dazai acting like an asshole and more about Dazai acting like an asshole and not even seeming to understand that there was more to him behind the masks he constantly wore.

Another earlier example is Dazai carrying Chuuya to where the Flag member’s bodies were before leaving him alone to mourn their loss, and then allowing Chuuya to struggle on his own for a while (though part of it was not intentional and was him again pretending to be douchey). As much as Dazai tried to pass their intentions off as another twisted method of annoying Chuuya, even going so far as to claim that he was “intentionally late” to save Chuuya, it is clear that his basic, overarching plan was purely for Chuuya’s sake.

He wanted Chuuya to at least partially face his humanity and internalize the fact that he was indeed in charge of his own behavior, emotions, and outlook. Therefore, to show all this in a way Dazai knew Chuuya would accept instead of deny, as Chuuya has such horrible survivor’s guilt and used his near invulnerability in battle to force himself to continue fighting so that he could protect others and somehow prove to himself that he is human, he allowed Chuuya to fight and handle things on his own terms in the way he knew Chuuya could before saving him and giving him the ultimate choice in the end. And it was not that all of it was intentional (he surely felt some guilt regarding the torture, based on the fact that he let Chuuya punish him afterward) or that it was even the biggest reason why Chuuya changed his perspective over the course of Stormbringer, since it was mainly Adam and Verlaine that showed him that humanity wasn't just one's origins, but it's clear how much thought Dazai put into Chuuya's humanity.

It’s as if the two were practically born to read each other’s hearts and souls in certain aspects, even though they may not have a word-for-word understanding of the other’s specific thoughts and emotions. And as their bond deepened over time, so did their ability to connect. Chuuya is able to easily sense Dazai’s presence no matter where Dazai hides, and even when using Corruption, Chuuya is able to scream Dazai’s name and regains some of his humanity when close to Dazai or when Dazai calls out to him.

Dazai, in turn, is able to tell when Chuuya’s at his limit, and promptly finds ways to end the mission so that Chuuya can recover. So, when all is said and done, they don’t always need to say everything out loud, and words can be limiting anyway depending on the circumstances.

Sure so much is left murky in the pain they live in since their verbal communication is imperfect (especially outside of missions, as they both struggle so much with their more vulnerable emotions), and sure the arguments get notoriously painful, but they can trust that they will always be able to still find each other and understand one another despite the flaws and roughness. They don’t need perfection and labels, they just need them. In a world where attachments and the usual displays of vulnerability get you and others killed or worse, something which both Dazai and Chuuya experienced so painfully from very young ages and were shaped by, it is more than they could ask for from one another. They feel that they weren’t meant for anything too soft in the normal sense, anyway, and in either case, such affection would only make both of them less them.

That’s what makes their bond so powerful: it is built off an intrinsic and deep understanding between them that formed from the messiest parts of themselves that reflect each other — their twin darkness.

In one of the creator’s words, they are one soul in two bodies, the perfect twin flames. They may exchange harsh truths instead of soft love confessions, and they tend to focus more on their work and survival in order to keep each other and Yokohama safe, but it doesn’t mean that their feelings aren’t any less obvious and meaningful to one another. It’s the much smaller things, all these acts of service and their own forms of affection, that allow the absolutely incredible depth of their bond to best come through and make it possible for them to each come to terms with being so intimately connected to another person after everything they’ve already lost. They’re the one constant, the one bit of surprising stability, in each other’s lives in every possible universe, something that is so invaluable for two individuals who have lost so much. They not only have stood the test of time despite everything thrown at them, but also still allow themselves to share the same childish arguments and small moments of tenderness even after so many years.

Now, I feel that I must add that yes, Soukoku isn’t perfectly healthy in the way we would usually judge a relationship. But that is the point. It would be far unhealthier for them to be in normal relationships where things are more gentle and loving in the usual sense, because it’s not in either of their natures and would be ignoring the parts of themselves that are darker and make them themselves. They’d both be putting on masks for such a relationship to work, since they’d have to act like they can accept and reciprocate such gentleness and vulnerability, as while they can be gentle and vulnerable, it is never in the way it usually works. Dazai and Chuuya, on the other hand, actually acknowledge those parts in each other without encouraging those bad traits, and instead of forcing them to hide those parts or think of them as nothing but monstrous, they find humanity in the death, destruction, and all their flaws that resulted from the things they needed to do to survive. They give each other true, genuine acceptance and humanity where they would otherwise pretty much never have.

They also know very well that neither of them have any blueprint for what love and true belonging is supposed to be like, Dazai especially since Chuuya at least was able to find a "family" in the mafia and grew up under Kouyou where he was cared about and seen as human and approachable despite his moments of temper (but even then it’s not like Chuuya still felt completely understood). One of them uses the other as their will to live because that’s the best he can do in that regard (as in he would pretty much lose any will to live as soon as the other genuinely leaves and is why he’s possessive and why he so constantly thinks of Chuuya), somehow has MORE masks than people he’s lost and never felt as if he had his own genuine identity, doesn’t even process that he ought to have boundaries (forget about what those boundaries ought to be), is unable to process his emotions and feel vulnerable in the normal sense due to problems with trust and emotions, can’t handle being treated as an actual person, and desperately holds on to whatever allows him to feel human and partially treats him as such without going too far. The other also greatly struggles with his emotions, vulnerability, trust, and loss, and he also feels obligated to always protect others to his detriment because he can’t live with himself otherwise (which is why he can be possessive and overprotective — in the sense of “You are a part of me and I feel obligated to look after you and make sure I don’t end up seeing you hurt like everyone else I’ve cared about before you” — of those who show him care and/or humanity in some way, which is mostly just Dazai at this point, but also includes to a lesser extent the many people who work with him and under him in the Mafia, which is why they are so fond of him and greatly respect him as an Executive and why he had eight boxes of oracles requesting him to temporarily lead the Port Mafia during the Cannibalism arc) and has a lot of guilt and self-blame. Of course they are going to be messy.

But acknowledgment of that messiness is what matters and gives them that bit of humanity they don’t get to have otherwise, and they give each other what they need. They fight for each other’s humanity and let each other be themselves and not the people they’re expected to be, and Chuuya gives Dazai meaning to his life and makes him actually feel different emotions, while Dazai gives Chuuya a break from being obligated to protect others using his ability and strength, and having to always worry about not being able to protect someone in the first place. It’s always been Chuuya’s choice to protect Dazai and use Corruption, and even though he has to always save Dazai and while Dazai may certainly give him some grief from how dangerously self-destructive Dazai is and how little Dazai values his own life, he knows Dazai can handle himself during missions until he gets there and will then be able to pull through the rest with his constantly-evolving plans.

Related Songs: "A Little Death" and "Flawless" by the Neighborhood, "I'm Your Man" by Mitski, "Daylight" by David Kushner, "Rock Bottom" by Hailee Steinfeld, "In the Name of Love" by Bebe Rexa and Martin Garrix, "Young God" by Halsey, and "The Archer" by Taylor Swift

[jayktoralldaylong]

You ever think of how Martin defeated Peter with the power of low self-esteem? Peter told him that he was the Hero and Martin thought to himself "He must be lying", because he didn't believe that he could ever be the hero in anyone's story.

You ever think of how the exact opposite happened with Jon because he believed Elias? He believed if he did everything by himself then he could save others from harm, but his actions led to situations that hurt every single person he loved.

Ever think of how Martin is the hero of Jon's story. How Martin inadvertently saves him over and over again just by being....himself. His clumsy, determined and brave self. It's how he doesn't save Jon in the traditional sense, he just reminds him to be human.

Ever think of how Martin ends up the hero of TMA in general because he could sacrifice the person he loved the most to save the world.

It's the contrast between The Hero and the Ordinary Man. The Saviour and The Monster.

A repeat of Basira and Daisy's story. Daisy thought she was the hero killing all the monsters to protect Basira. Until she found the monster in the mirror. The monster staring at the end of Basira's gun, staring at The Hero who had tears running down her face.

This isn't an "I love TMA" thing.

This is an "I wonder if Martin ever realised how amazing he was" thing.

Everyone talks about how Martin was proven right with Peter only using him to get to Elias, but did Martin even take note of when he was proven wrong?

Did he ever realise how incredibly hard it is to do the right thing? That he did it anyway, giving up the one good thing he had left, for the sake of so many others. Even if he expected to die with Jon, did Martin ever realise that he was an amazing hero?