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jjackrabbitt · 3 years

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That Damned AU

Hey guys (gn), I know you’ve heard me talk about this before, but I’ve actually been working on it now, so here’s part of it. It’s called That Damned AU because it’s been waking me up in the middle of the night to think about it for the last two years, so it’s just me damning it. I will probably change the name at some point. If you have any suggestions, I will gladly consider them. Basically, That Damned AU follows the events of the canonical story line of MPHFPC, but I’ve changed some things around, messed with some details, and added a few things. Mostly to fix or add to things that I have complaints about or wanted to hear more of. I will be tagging it as That Damned AU in case you want to block it

Before we begin I would like to thank @finn-nito for letting me talk his ear off about all this and in turn talking my ear off. It’s been a lot of fun doing this with you and getting to know you.

Now for the damned thing:

Ricky actually goes into the house with Jacob when Abe doesn’t immediately answer. Probably makes dumb comments about the decor or some thing. Goes back to his car for the gun when they see the screen door. Tells Jacob to stay there. Rushes back when he hears Jacob yell for Abe when the flashlight is found. Catches up to Jacob just on the edge of the woods and gives him shit for moving. Tries to lighten the mood and reassure Jacob, until they see the trail of blood. Is there with Jacob when he finds Abe. Ricky tries to keep Jacob from touching Abe because he thinks Abe is already dead. Both of them handle the situation Extremely Badly. We actually hear Abe call Jacob “little tiger” this time instead of just retconning it. Ricky alternates between trying to get enough signal to call the police and crouching with Jacob to try and help him. Abe’s riddle is delivered the same as before and Jacob does see the hallowghast. Ricky tries to shoot it but can’t because he doesn’t even know it’s there. When Jacob sees it he does grab onto Ricky and start shaking him with one hand, still holding onto Abe with the other.

Both boys have to be questioned, together and separately. Jacob sees Ricky’s interview because he gets a chance to snoop through the policeman's notes. He gets mad that Ricky wouldn’t admit to seeing the hallow and Ricky gets defensive about it. They don’t stop talking though because they mutually think the other is having a stress reaction and is seeing things/is erasing things from their own memories.

Jacobs parents didn’t really like Ricky before and they really don’t like him now because they think having him around will remind Jacob of finding Abe, but Jacob almost seems less stressed when Ricky’s around so they’ll allow it.

They don’t necessarily see each other more, but their interactions are way more emotionally charged now.

Ricky does start carrying his gun more because while he didn’t see the hallow, that was a scary night and he did hear something. He brings it into Jacobs house several times without Jacobs parents knowledge. This is a point of contention between Ricky and Jacob because if Jacobs parents find out Ricky will not be allowed back and will be cut off.

Because Ricky is still very much attached to Jacob when he starts seeing Dr. Golan this time, Ricky is in more danger of wights.

Dr. Golan hears a lot about Ricky. Probably significantly more than he wants to.

Ricky doesn’t get the medical attention that Jacob does because he’s poor and when Jacob knows Ricky’s having a problem he asks Dr. Golan for advice for Ricky.

Jacob is more resistant to Dr Golan’s work this time, because Ricky is there to call bullshit when he hears it and mentions that Jacob's meds are making him weird. Golan responds to this resistance by trying to convince Jacobs parents that Ricky is bad for Jacob. It does work but both of his parents are fairly shit at computers and they both have to sleep some time, so Jacob can still message Ricky and sneak out at night.

Ricky does appreciate when Jacob gets advice from Dr. Golan for him, but he does still give Jacob shit for therapizing him.

Both of them are being observed by wights at this point. Jacob gets a series of very weird food delivery guys and there’s like, three different cars that consistently follow Ricky. The food delivery guys aren’t outright weird, they just have the same ~*vibe*~ as Golan and some times they say strange shit. One of them knew his name without Jacob introducing himself.

The cars wouldn’t be weird if they weren’t definitely the same cars, didn’t only stop following Ricky when he A) was near his house or B) took random turns without signalling, and didn’t seem to follow any particular pattern to where he was seeing them. If they were in a similar area at similar times every day then okay, he just keeps seeing the same people on their way to work or whatever, but that’s not what’s happening.

Not much comes of it though. Jacob gets a few weird stomach aches, Ricky gets pulled over by a really strange cop once. Some one breaks into Ricky’s house while no one’s there and goes through stuff but doesn’t take anything or make a mess, the door’s open and a few things have moved when he gets home. You know, normal stuff.

Once, Jacobs parents go out of town. One of his mothers cousins is getting married, and they just aren’t sure that Jacob’s ready for travel and relatives and a party and everything. They don’t want to leave him for the weekend, but they both agree that he’s been doing really well lately (and it’s been months. They want to get out of the house and do Normal People Things). They tell Dr. Golan that Jacob’s going to be alone for the weekend and tell Jacob to go across the street to their neighbour for help if anything happens and they give the neighbour Dr. Golan’s number.

Roughly ten minutes after they leave, Ricky shows up. The Crown Vic goes in the garage, Alien is turned on, Chinese food is ordered and the weekend commences.

They barely even watch the movie, they’re busy talking. They fall asleep on the couch and honestly? It’s the best sleep Jacob has in months.

Until it’s about 4 a.m. and Jacob wakes up violently because this time the scene in his dream changed. This time he and Abe are in Abaton. He doesn’t know it’s Abaton, of course, and though the events of the dream have change, this one feels worse some how. Now he’s missing his grandfather and this place that he doesn’t even know what it is. He feels weirdly protective of it.

Dr. Golan Really doesn’t like Ricky. It’s significantly harder to manipulate Jacob if Ricky’s there to call bullshit. It’s still pretty easy to get Jacob to go to Cairnholm though. Even Ricky doesn’t call him a quack over it. Only tells Jacob to send him a post card of the only place on earth that’s more of a nowhere than Englewood, Florida.

Jacob does have some apprehension over being separated from Ricky, but he figures it’ll be okay since there will be a phone at their hotel.

They do spend a lot little more together than usual in the weeks leading up to Cairnholm. It worries both of them that they’ll be more than a 20 minute drive from the other. Jacob’s more obvious about it, Ricky (poorly) pretends it won’t bother him that much.

Jacob does bring one of his dads less favoured cameras with him, to take pictures.

His dad does try to insist that Jacob spends some time with him to look at birds. It’s funny, they keep seeing this one peregrine hanging around. Some times she, Frank says it’s a she, flies over them. She doesn’t seem too interested in hunting. Some times she disappears for a little while, but she comes back most of the time, unless it’s later in the day.

Kev and Martin are dating. I know it says in the book that Kev has a wife but no he doesn’t ❤️. Kev and Martin are dating and in love and very little will convince me otherwise. Everyone on Cairnholm is completely chill with it. They have dinner with Martins uncle on Wednesdays. Kev tried to take Martin fishing once and it went terrible but it was fun.

Jacob meets Martin on the first day, at the Priest Hole. He’s done at the museum for the day and is getting a drink with his sister and working on his poetry. He and his sister are harassing Kev while he’s on the job. They meet because Martins sister, Amelia, sees Frank and Jacob lugging more than they can carry up the stairs and makes Martin come with her to help.

Amelia is one of the very, very few ocs you’ll see in here, I’m not here to add a bunch of people. She’s here because I don’t want Martin to be lonely, as a plot device to make things move forward, and because I think we should have more women. Yes MPHFPC already has a good amount of active women characters, yes I want more.

They start talking because both Martin and Amelia are huge nerds who would be excited about bird watching. When Martin mentions the museum, Jacob gets interested, as before he thinks it will help him unravel his grandfathers riddle. That’s it for now, but I will try to update again soon, though it probably won’t be as long. if any of you have any ideas or opinions to add, I’d love to hear them!

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years

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Sink then float (Poe Dameron x GN reader)

Summary: Poe comes back from a mission to find that reader is experiencing a depressive episode, and he does what he can to take care of them while they’re sick. Hurt / comfort. Angst / slight fluff.

Author’s note: Was feeling super crappy at the start of the week (I’m ok now!) and this angst-bomb came out of me. Pleased to have finally written something, though it tackles a tough topic. I’ve tried to be as sensitive as possible while writing about depression, and while it’s something I have experienced in the past, of course it manifests differently for everyone. I have drawn on some personal experience to write this, but it is a fic. Therefore, it is necessarily outside of my direct experience, which opens up the possibility I may have gotten something wrong. Therefore, if you think there’s anything I’ve handled in a way that is harmful (even honest mistakes can be mistakes) I’m happy for you to send me an ask outlining this so I can correct and do better.

Warnings: It deals with reader in a depressive episode, and it is from reader’s POV. As such, it is pretty angsty, ngl, as reader’s thought process is in a bad place. The piece grows more hopeful as it progresses, and ends on a hopeful note, however it may still be difficult reading. I’ve actively tried to acknowledge in the text where reader’s thought-process is skewed by being sick e.g. when they say they are worthless, I’ve tried to directly counter this as it’s not objectively true. The last thing I want is for anyone to feel worse reading this, so I’ve tried not to validate reader’s most difficult thoughts (though what they’re going through is valid and it is valid for reader to be experiencing those thoughts)! That said, please take care when reading, as some of the feelings and thoughts set out may be triggering. Also, whilst there is no direct mention or suicidal thoughts or ideation, I am also warning for that, as there is some crossover in thought patterns. Ultimately, this is a fic about Poe being there to comfort reader, but reader finding that shred of hope inside themseleves, amidst feelings of hopelessness. I didn’t want to suggest that Poe could “fix” reader, so yes, they are still depressed at the end, but more comforted and hopeful than at the start. Sorry for all the warnings, but I wanted to be clear so you can make an informed decision on whether to read. Please stay safe!

GIF by @twillight. Yowzers, it’s PRETTY AF.

There’s no poetry any more.

There are only syllables. Vowels like an orange in your mouth. Consonants rattling between your teeth. You speak only of sleep. Your words hollow like a worn, sprung mattress; inviting rest but offering no comfort.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

There is no art any more.

Not even in a thousand burning suns. Not even as you tip your face up to the milky black. Not even in his face; that face you love. You look, and you feel numb.

Numb. Numb.

No music.

Birds sing. It’s just noise, ringing in the hollow of your body.

Noise.

You want to sleep. It is all you want, and you merely want it because you want nothing else.

No dance in your body. No motion; only stillness.

No fight left in you...

What is left, then?

Nothing?

Nothing left.

Yes.

Nothing but the robust pang of hunger.

Nothing but the parching thirst.

Nothing but this weight on your chest, pressing you to the bed.

Nothing but the refresher door taunting you because you can’t cross the chasm in five steps.

Nothing but the guilt and self-hatred, and false, invasive belief that you are worthless.

Guilt because you...

Can’t.

So much then? So much where there is “nothing”?

You are simply so full of empty that it has pushed everything good down. It has pushed you down until you are sunken. Until you are yelling at yourself from below water, sound muted.

Everything muted.

Colours. Feelings. Life. Love.

Worst of all, your love will be home soon.

Home and sleep is all you...

Home and you haven’t even...

You almost think about ...

You sigh.

You can’t.

You can’t complete the...

You feel nothing, and yet guilty tears fall to the pillow. A part of you understands you are not to blame for being sick, and still, there is this guilt.

You have him.

Poe. Poe. Poe.

So, shouldn’t you be happy?

Why can’t you be happy?

Love shakes the inside of your chest, rattling against the bars of your ribs and wanting to be known. Reminding you of what you lack. It hurts. Everything hurts when it flexes, even love. Especially love. It flexes and it feels only restriction. It feels only weight on its chest. Such pain.

He will be home soon.

You love him. You know this, intellectually. And yet, you don’t want to see him. Don’t want think of him. Because you don’t want to be seen by him.

Not like this.

You don’t want to let him down. You don’t want to break his heart by meeting his loving gaze so hollow. As if he is not sunshine. As if he is not a thousand suns blazing; and yet, instead of poetry and art and music in your heart when you think of him, there are mere syllables, images, noise. There are those vowels again, large like an orange in your mouth, consonants rattling in between your teeth as you cry muffled sounds into the pillow.

He’ll be home soon. You don’t know how soon. You don’t know how long you have layed like this.

Still, all you can do is lie empty, where the room brims with mess and misery and shadow.

All you can do is lie in this empty room, where you brim full with sorrow.

It is enough. This is enough. You are enough, though you can’t see it.

And so, because you can’t see it, can’t feel it, you bring your hands to your face, despairing. Your fingers find your hair, and it’s dirty.

You just want to sleep. You want to tug the covers back over your head and disappear but..

There is a rap at the door.

He’s home now.

A soft knock, then inistent.

He’s back.

After a week apart he’ll be so...

...disappointed to see you. At least, that’s what you mind is telling you to believe.

You turn away and close your eyes as he pushes through into the dark room. You cannot look at his sunshine. It is too bright, like the round circle of sun at the mouth of a deep well. You cannot look, so your eyes scrunch closed as he flicks on a lamp, and you hear his feet deftly pick through the mess on your floor.

You try not to look.

You try not to hear.

You try not to exist.

How can feeling nothing still hurt? How can you wish to feel even less than this, just to blunt your pain?

Still, you do feel something. You feel his sturdy weight settle on to the bed beside you.

You do hear. You hear him sigh.

Yes, he sighs, but it’s gentle, concerned, and his hand finds your shoulder, his touch like warm sand on your cold, goosepimpled skin. Rough and full of sunshine.That blessed sunshine you cannot -at the present moment-comprehend.

“Honey?” he asks, and you hear his voice, soft and tender. You hear his love, but you can’t feel it. No, you can’t.

His voice should ignite you. There should be blood moving beneath your skin but...

There is nothing. There is nothing in your mouth. Nothing but bones in your body.

“Honey, look at me, please?”

You peel your eyes open, bracing yourself for the disappointment you expect to find carved into his face. His eyes examine you, assess you, eyes flitting around the room to understand how bad things are. The state of you, the state of the room. The half-filled bottle of meds at your bedside- at least you’ve been keeping those up. That’s something. Something where you would insist there is nothing.

That look. That look in your eyes, your pupils like bleak, empty wells he tips his sunlight into, and yet he can’t reach the depths of you. Can’t warm all the way through, even as his eyes brim with tears and love.

He doesn’t look surprised, at least. He ran into one of the others first, then; Leia or Finn or Rey. They warned him. Warned him that you are worthless, a burden. No, you are not those things, you try to remember. They will have warned him that you are sick.

Suddenly, looking at him, you have words.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, your mouth as dry as sandpaper.

“Why in the hell are you sorry, baby?” he asks gently, surprised now, his eyes searching yours. How does he do that? How does he look at you as if you are beautiful, even like this? Perhaps you are beautiful, even like this. Yes, you are. He sees it when you can’t.

“Because I...” you look away from him and sigh, even these simple words taxing your energy,”...couldn’t....”

Couldn’t get out of bed.

Couldn’t want to.

Couldn’t be happy when he came home.

Couldn’t want to.

Poe doesn’t judge you though. Not for this.

He’s Poe. Of course he doesn’t. Poe knows that people are not to be judged on such blameless matters. People are not the sum of their illnesses and struggles. You are so much more to him. You are everything to him, in fact.

He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. Always will. That doesn’t change when you’re sick. Why would it? Why would it?

“You did just fine, honey,” he insists through a thin, watery smile. “I’m still proud of you. I’m still glad to see you.”

You look at him.

He looks back.

You know you should feel poetry in it, like all the other times he’s come home. When your skin and your heart and your breath and your words and your lips were alive. When your body danced with his.

“It’s bad this time?” he asks. “Like before?”

“I guess,” you croak.

You hate yourself. You hate yourself even though you dont deserve that hate for a second. You hate yourself for what you believe Poe must think of you, but you try to remember that your brain lies, and that Poe tells the truth. You try to remember everything he tells you over and over. You try to remember hope. Rebellions are built on hope, after all, and you? You are a Rebel; therefore, you know you must fight this too. A small, vanishing part of you knows that you can fight it, even if a louder voice in your head tells you you can’t. A voice with bad intentions. This sickness.

Still, you always promise Poe you’ll try. You always try. Have been trying. Even the refresher door becomes something that taunts you, a chasm between you and it as you try to make it there. You always try. Regardless, Poe’s always proud of you.

“Can I hold you?” he asks, his warmth and his unsurpassed beauty evident to you even now, even if it you cannot muster any ready response to it.

You shake your head.

“I’m disgusting.”

“Kriff, me too,” he says, his tone natural and easy, and refusing to shrink away from your pain- from the temporarary reality of you, as some do. “Came straight here. Five days on a mission without a shower? We can stink together,” he adds, with a tentative, lopsided smile, hoping to tease one from you too.

Poe has no trouble being hopeful, where that has never come easily to you.

Still, he’s here. He’s here at your side, all warm, sandy voice and his soft, loving eyes. Even if you had been convinced he would never come back. He is here. His rough hand is swooping over your cheek. Caring for you, even though he must be so tired himself.

Your eyes grow watery and your lower lip trembles. “I should be caring for you, you shouldn’t have to come back to me like this, after fighting...”

“Hey,” he protests, his voice hushed but his tone insistent. “You’ve been fighting too, baby. We both got our missions, yeah? If you ask me, I think you got the raw end of the deal.”

He’s perfect. He’s so perfect. You will the blood to move under your skin. You will your heart to ignite, but there’s nothing.

Correction; there’s nothing yet. It will come. It will get better.

Poe’s voice and eyes soothe you as you contemplate this. “There’s nowhere else I wanna be. I just wanna hold you. Okay, baby? Missed your beautiful face. Missed you so much. I’m kriffin’ lucky to come back to you.”

Missed your smile, he might have said. You missed it too. Misplaced it.

Forgot how to...

Your thought-spiral is interupted as Poe shifts slowly on the bed, and he curls his warm, sturdy body around yours, holding his beloved little spoon tightly.

He’s wrapped around you, but you wish you could feel him.

Still, as his arms wind around you to tug you into him, you clasp his forearms tightly against your chest. A part of you knows. A part of you feels. You know how important this is. That he is home.

“Mission go ok?” you ask in monotone.

“Yeah,” he says, exhaling a tired puff of air into the back of your neck.

You wish you could melt for him and comfort him in return. You try, at least.

You try, but you feel like a gargoyle carved from stone, sorrow frozen on you. Face locked in a grimace. What mason would be so cruel as this? To make this bitter emotion permanent as stone? However, as he squeezes you tighter, fits against you so naturally, so familiar... As he touches you, you remember you are, in fact, skin and bone. You remember, even though the memory may be distant, that although your heart is heavy now, it once was light.

If it once was light it can be that way again.

He kisses your hair, even though it is dirty. He breathes you in, even though you are not clean. He loves you, and even if you think you are broken, he thinks you are perfect.

You are perfect.

His body heat suffuses through you, and you hadn’t realised how cold you were, until he warmed you. Poe had noticed, though. Poe loves you.

“Have you eaten? Drank anything?” he whispers into your neck, after a moment of holding you in gratitude and breathing deep, relieved breaths.

“Finn made me eat something,” you say, almost embarrassed, even though you know Poe does not judge you. “Managed half a ration. It was... today? I think it was today, I don’t know...”

“That’s good, baby!” he praises, entirely genuine. You feel him shift on the bed behind you, sitting up with his back against the headboard.

“C’mere,” he encourages softly, bundling you into his chest, and producing a ration bar from the pocket of his flight suit. “Split this with me while I tell you about the mission, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, and Poe can hear that you sound a little sceptical. You doubt you have the energy to engage with him.

“I’ll tell you all the funny and horrific stories of your boyfriend’s heroics this past week. Shall I do The Thing as well?” he asks, and you swivel your head to look-up at him, seeing him tick up an eyebrow, slightly amused.

“Yes please,” you say, and you even manage the barest of smiles.

Poe proceeds to tell you all about his week as you nestle into his chest, his voice flowing through you like warm sand, pouring in and filling up just a little of the emptiness inside you. He also does The Thing, and he intersperses his animated storytelling with “your” part too, so that you don’t have to worry about upholding a conversation. So that you only have to listen, and you don’t have to worry that you aren’t able to react as you typically would.

“That would be the bit right there you’d laugh,” he says as he recounts his finest dumbassery from the mission. A small smile inches over your face, as though you are rehearsing your own emotions. Trying them out. “Yeah, I think that one would be dumb enough to get a belly laugh from you.”

He continues.

“This would be the bit you would tear off my clothes because I’m a dashing badass,” he adds as he relays how he took down a ton of TIEs. “Yeah, definitely. You’d try to get steamy right about now.”

It might be odd, but it is a comfort. It doesn’t remind you what you lack. You feel less of a deficit this way, as it reminds you what you’re capable of. That it is not always like this. That you do not always feel like this.

Will not, as soon as you’re better.

“And you, honey? Mission report?”

You sigh, trying to think through what you have done, rather than what you haven’t. Even if the things to recount don’t sound as impressive as Poe’s, he always insists the battle is no less worthy. You are worth fighting for, after all.

“Well... I got a lot of sleep. Beebs made sure I took my meds.” It’s a short list, but what could be more important than that? The fact that you held on? Then, you have your first playful thought in days. “My love came home to me, and he thinks he’s all that, but he stinks pretty bad,” you tease, as if you weren’t in an entirely equal state.

“Kriff, you’re teasing me from your sick bed?” Poe’s chest shakes against you in gentle mirth. “Brutal, honey. Kriffin’ brutal.” You have a point though, he concedes. “We should both shower though, huh? Before someone catches a whiff and reports a possible herd of bantha in room z88?”

He clocks your trepidation as your eyes flick over to that taunting refresher door.

He squeezes your arm, and somehow manages to be encouraging without even a hint of being condescending. “Pretty far, huh? You can do it yourself tomorrow, but.. d’ya want your big strong man to carry you for now, baby?”

“Yes please,” you smile, and Poe shifts once again. First, he strips off his flight suit and tosses it aside, and then he peels back the covers and helps you to stand. Then, he helps you step out of your vest and pants, before swooping you up and carrying you the five paces to the refresher door, setting you down gently. You glance back at the rumpled bed, which still calls out to you, and although it is a short distance away, you feel like you have trekked across a damn galaxy.

Poe begins to run the water warm in the shower, casually handing you a fresh tumbler of water to sip on as he does so. Then, he takes your hand and eases you under the stream of water.

Poe’s broad hands lather up your body and your hair, feeling like an act of worship as he slowly, gently, washes days of rest away from you, without question. Without expecting anything from you in return except to let him- and even then, only if you want to. He then makes short work of rinsing off his own body, searching your eyes as he does so.

Water is a funny thing, you think- it can drown and it can cleanse. It can be gentle and forceful, deep and still or turbulent. After days of drowning, it feels good simply to be clean. To begin to rise to the surface.

You reach towards that circle of sunlight at the mouth of the well. You look a little deeper into his eyes. See a little further.

“A little better?” he asks.

You nod. A little better.

You step out with him, and even though he’s tired -ragged from this mission- he dries you off.

He changes your sheets.

He picks your dirty laundry up from your floor and throws it in the basket. He throws away your trash.

He let the light in.

Literally.

Then figuratively.

Yes, you still feel so heavy. So, so heavy.

But you know. A part of you knows that lightness will come again, if you just hang on. You can see it. You can see that light at the surface, still out of reach, but not forever.

You watch him as he cares for you in all these small ways and suddenly there are vowels and consonants pushing out from beneath your ribs.

“I love you,” you say as you perch on the edge of the bed, right where he seated you, not thinking to move.

He pauses, dropping what he’s doing and coming to kneel on the floor in front of you. Tenderly, ever so tenderly, he takes your face in his hands, and his warm eyes are as intense as you’ve ever seen him, as if he can’t believe that you fought hard enough to push this love out from the depths. For him. Even though you are so sunken. Even though you cannot do it for yourself yet.

“I love you too,” he promises, entirely earnest.

You push a small smile on to your face, even though you know you need not wear masks for him.

Yes, it got bad again, but it will get better.

You hang on, and that’s enough. More than enough.

You have to hang on, because there will come a day you’ll be so glad you did.

When everything in your chest rises up and gasps for air and lets you breathe again. You will break the surface and come back strong and eager for this life.

“It scares me when you’re sick. I love you so much.”

“I’ll be okay again,” you nod. “Or, I’ll try.”

That’s all anyone could ask of you. That’s all you can ask of yourself.

That is enough. More than enough.

You are enough. You are more than enough for him.

You look at him. He looks back.

His face. His face is art. You feel all those things; poetry, art, music, dance. They’re there. They’re just sunken. Muted.

Poetry is in the pauses too. The blank lines and empty spaces; in the missed beats. You will come back to yourself, and you will make new art. Feel new things. Things more full and replete with joy. Joy can clamber from out of the deepest wells, given time. It will. It will again.

“Can I kiss you?” Poe asks shyly. “Been desperate to kiss you,” he admits, the corners of his plush lips tugging up into a smile. He is sunshine. He is beautiful. Perfect.

You nod, and his lips meet yours, chaste and gentle, and not expecting anything in return.

You try your best to feel him. To feel at all.

You close your eyes and hope you will open your heart. It has begun, with a crack to let the light in.

There is fight left in you, even if you can’t see it. Even when you can’t feel it.

“I’m so happy to be home with you,” Poe says, and his words are greeted with silence.

That’d be the bit you’d usually say... I’m so happy too. But Poe offers his words freely, and you know he doesn’t expect anything from you in return. He doesn’t expect your happiness. He simply wants to give you his.

This is not a warm story, but he is warm.

Correction; this is not a warm story, not yet.

But, oh. Oh, it will be.

It was so, in the chapter before, and it will be, in the chapter which is coming.

And you? You will thaw, I promise. Not because of him. But because of you. Because you’re a fighter. Because no matter how long you may be sunken, you will float.

Poetry takes a breath sometimes. Misses a beat. It is not a waste. It is not worthelss, this pause. Sometimes it is needed. The big breath hope takes before it floats to the surface. So, maybe there is hope.

Yes. There’s hope.

There is hope.

Hope is like the sun. If you only believe it when you see it you'll never make it through the night. Isn’t that what Leia says?

You will make it through this night.

This is how you feel now but will not be how you feel forever. You are not carved from stone. You are a fluid thing; you are made of water. Sometimes, you can drown in yourself, and sometimes you can be cleansed. You are always moving and ebbing, even if it’s so far below the surface that you cannot detect the shift.

This will shift.

Love and life and light are straining, deep down, and after all that straining, pushing, trying, when they resurface they will be strong.

There’s a reason they say hope floats.

It cannot be drowned forever, even if it is is drowned right now. It is not set in stone. You will float, up beyond that circle of sunshine. You will heal, even though you are hurt.

Poe knows this. His eyes tell you all this, but most of all, you know it; no, you feel it, in the depths of you. This is truth.

Poe peels back the covers, and he tugs you to his bare body, warm flesh against yours.

He’s tired. All his body can speak of now is sleep.

You are both tired of fighting, so for now, you must rest, and try again tomorrow. You stroke his hair and he strokes your back, and for now, this is enough.

Yes, for now, this is more than enough.

You are enough.

#poe dameron x reader #Oscar Isaac #poe dameron angst #tw: depressive episode #tw: depression #tw: suicidal ideation #star wars #tw: hunger #tw: food

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captaincravatthecapricious · 4 years

Text

Ill and Alone- Prompt Fill

cw food mention, nausea mention, fever, anxiety, the concept of not feeling bad enough to merit comfort, depression, isolation

Hi! I am still accepting bingo prompts! The crossed out prompts are already written, the starred ones are ones that I have gotten, but not posted yet! Let me know which character you want and if you prefer writing on a drawing! Bingo sheet by the wonderful @celosiaa

Jon wakes up to Martin leaving before dawn. Walks him to the door, hands him breakfast and a thermos of tea. Goes back to bed, the sticky exhaustion nipping at his heals, at the back of his skull. Inserted in the grit in the corner of his eyes.

He wakes up to an empty bed, Martin’s side of the room looking sad and empty, usual trinkets of their cohabitation lacking. No prescription on the nightstand, no glasses, no poetry book, no neatly folded outfit set out for the morning, closet looking empty.

The room is bathed in the grey light of early morning. Jon goes back to sleep.

He wakes up properly at nine. He makes tea, staring at the faded sticky note that Martin had written precisely how both he and Jon respectively take their tea. Jon remembers by this point. It’s been years since he Needed to look at the note, but he still looks at it because… well… it’s Martin’s writing. Instructions written with care and precision, with a little heart and a smily face. He doesn’t trace the writing, he isn’t that pathetic, and he doesn’t want the paper to disintegrate any faster than it already is… but he wants to.

Martin will be back in a couple days. He shouldn’t be this clingy… But the flat already feels empty and cold. Jon shivers, holding his tea close to his chest, and resisting the temptation to make a second cup for Martin.

Jon teaches his classes. He eats lunch in his office. A sandwich that tastes like chalk and fills his mouth with cement. He grades a few papers. He teaches another class. He rides the tube home. He falls asleep on the couch. He wakes up on the couch. The flat cold around him, the cushions stiff and frozen against his slight and hurting frame. Joints stiff against the chill.

He thinks about making dinner, or even just reheating some leftovers, but he doesn't. He texts Martin. 'Love you, hope the volunteer training is going well.'

He falls asleep. Heavy and aching and so tired.

He wakes up on the cold couch to a buzz from his phone. 'Going well, just finished up for the night. Love you!'

It's dark now, but not late. Daylight doesn't last long in the grey of winter in London. Jon shivers. He thinks again about dinner, and how Martin would want him to eat, but he just wants a warm shower and to go to bed.

He considers his cane, but doesn't feel it worth the effort. It is out of his way, and he would just like to get this over with.

Jon hates sitting in the shower, but he hates baths more, and his hurting limbs won't keep him up any longer.

Jon wakes up in a cold sweat. Salt on his lips, saltwater on his lashes. The flat is cold. Cold like his dreams. Panic on his breath as the Lonely dreams still hold him in their vice. He wraps his arms around his chest. He tries to rub his own back despite aching muscles, trying to make his own boney hands sooth him like Martin can. He shakes and he cries silently.

He checks his phone, the low brightness still stinging his eyes, and smears the numbers of the time beyond recognition, but he makes out no new messages.

He pushes himself out of bed on aching legs, and shaking arms, pulling on one of Martin's sweaters and stopping by the loo.

He makes tea. And tries to take comfort because it is almost as good as when Martin makes it.

Jon goes back to bed.

It's morning and Jon's head hurts. His head hurts and his arms hurt and his legs hurt and his back hurts.

He almost pushes himself up to get ready for work, but he remembers it is Saturday.

Jon rolls over to Martin's side of the bed. Placing himself in the divot where Martin would be, if he were not out of town.

Jon texts Martin. 'Morning, have a nice day, love you.'

Jon dozes.

He should make breakfast. But he isn't hungry, and he doesn't want to move. Even if his small frame isn't holding heat, even under the thick covers of their bed. He wants the weighted blanket. He wants the heated blanket, but those live in the closet. Those are for bad nights. Mostly of the time He and Martin under the thick duvet is enough.

But it isn't night and it isn't that bad, is it? And even so, that is more effort that he thinks he can spare.

He texts Martin.

Meaningless texts with the mundanities that are beyond him. Little messages about missing him, about making tea, about reading. None of them lies, but cutting out the dragging exhaustion that has given way to a dragging fever.

And Martin texts back.

Jon bundled in the heated blanket and Martin's jumper on the couch. Dosing off to the Archers. He still hates that show, but it's easier to hate something for the content than admitting he feels too shitty to even enjoy the documentaries he has been saving for the weekend.

He grades some. Not much. And he makes tea.

He thinks again about the leftovers in the refrigerator, but he doesn't have the energy to eat them. Lacks the appetite.

Jon falls asleep on the couch. Tea cooling on the coffee table. Papers spread around him in uneven heaps.

Jon texts Martin. And Martin texts back.

Only the buzz of the phone keeping him from sinking deeper into misery.

Jon texts him whenever he is awake to do so, and Martin texts back during his breaks.

Jon's head hurts. He is shivering despite the heated blanket that is tight around him. Woken from another nightmare by his own gasping breath. The Stranger this time.

He calls Tim.

"Jon? Everything okay?"

Still gasping from the phantom hands rubbing him down, fighting the nausea that comes with that particular brand of terror, of that trauma of his invaded personal space. And the desperation that someone come and save him from his cold and empty flat and end this lonely weekend.

"Jon, are you alright? Where are you, do you need your inhaler?"

Jon probably does, but he fights for breath for a minute and he's more or less okay.

"I'm home. It's fine, sorry for calling." He feels foolish for being needy, and more foolish still because he's fighting back tears now. Tears over nothing at all. Just the fever. Just the dreams. Martin will be home tomorrow, and Jon will probably be feeling better by then, and if not, it's probably mostly exhaustion anyways. He's been having a hard time getting restful sleep.

"Hey, hey, hey Jon. It's okay to call. Are you alright? Do you need someone to come over?" Tim isn't angry. It still surprises Jon that there is no bite to his voice. No snipping, not sarcasm, not annoyance. Just... warmth, caring.

"Just a little under the weather. I'm okay. Sorry for bothering you... Had a dream... and just... Sorry it's foolish. I'm alright." Jon shivers, and hoping he doesn't sound too soggy over the phone. He aches. Stupid joints. Stupid immune system. Gives out the minute Martin leaves. Which... good. He guesses… at least Martin isn't losing sleep over him this time. He hates that Martin doesn't sleep when caring for Jon. He Hates it. He hates stealing sleep for him, even if this is the mundane way of doing it, he still has cost Martin too much over the years.

"I'm gonna come over, okay? It's not a bother, it's not an inconvenience, I had been planning to give you a visit anyhow, I've been too busy to drop by in a while and I want to see you because you are my friend, and if I make you soup as well, hey we both get dinner out of it. I promise I Want to. Sasha still has work, so I don't have any company tonight anyhow. No plans. Nothing."

"Not been hungry." That's all Jon has the energy to argue.

"Feeling queasy, or just the usual fever nonsense?" Tim asks. He sounds too cheerful for this.

"Nightmare queasy now, but mostly just... fever probably."

"Oof. One of those nightmares? Yikes. Well, that kind usually passes in a bit, then we can make you some Spicy Stoker Sick-day Soup. This Is to my benefit. Sasha isn't a big fan, and Martin isn't either. It's a good excuse to make some good comfort food."

Jon almost smiles. "'kay."

Tim must guess he's falling asleep again. "Get some rest. I'll be there soon with some soup stuff and meds. Don't worry about letting me in, I have a key, remember?"

Jon falls asleep on the couch.

He wakes up to tea being set in front of him.

Jon groans and rubs at his eyes.

"I know I've said it before, but that note in the kitchen is fucking adorable! I mean... a little sad that it took you that long to learn how to make yourself tea, but still fucking precious that the note still has a place of honor. Not to mention, it's good reference for when I want to make you the perfect comfort cup of tea!" Tim smiles at him.

And it isn't the same as with Martin, but it still warms him up. At least a little.

"Hey bud, how are you feeling?"

Jon tiredly rock his hand in a so-so motion.

"Mind if I take your temperature before you drink that tea?"

Jon turns his attention inward to see if what remains of the Eye wants to be helpful today. "38.6."

"That... I can't tell if that is handy or inconvenient. In any case, not bad but not great. You okay if I start the soup? You can either get some more rest of join me in the kitchen and we can watch some Buzzfeed on my laptop?"

Jon nods. He gathers his blanket and his tea, and limps to the kitchen.

Tim sucks in his breath at Jon's clearly stiff movements, and rushes to plug the blanket back in before Jon can move to do so.

"You. Are not gonna help, okay? You can help by drinking your tea, and some water and then getting back to the couch and using me as a pillow and eating a little something."

Jon opens his mouth to argue, but sees the steel in Tim's glare. Nothing unkind, but still solid resistance. He nods.

Jon falls asleep on Tim. On the couch. Empty bowls stacked next to Tim's laptop, cord plugged in next to Jon's blanket.

Tim stays the next afternoon until Martin gets home. Marin scolding Jon for not telling him he was ill. Martin thanking Tim for coming. Martin wrinkling his nose at the soup.

Martin's prescription and glasses, and clothes and book back in their proper places. Martin in Martin's divot in the mattress, Jon smooshed against Martin, still a shade too warm, but much better than earlier.

Jon falls asleep in Martin's arms.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #jonathan sims #tim stoker #timothy stoker #martin blackwood #jontim #fever #cw nausea #cw anxiety #cw isolation #cw depression #cw food #fic #my writing #my fic #my words #my art

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

Text

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 12

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N: Surprise, a new chapter already! This one and the Chapter 11 were actually supposed to be one single chapter but we decided to cut it due to my inability to keep things short length. Hence, the same title with an addition and the consecutive days - just so you don't wonder. Also, in case anyone was confused by the timeframe reading Chapter 11, this supposed to be a flashback to when the whole thing between them started - sorry for not making this clear in the first place 💛

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Langague, mention of alcohol and drug abuse, mention of NSFW content

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell

It's just the way that you walk

It's just the way that you talk

Like it ain't no thing

And every single day is just a fling

Then the morning comes

~ Smash Mouth - Then The Morning Comes ~

Lizzie woke the next morning to a painful pounding inside her head and a mouth as dry as dust. It took her a few moments to find her bearings; the light of the morning sun didn’t fall onto her bed like it did now, and neither did her sheets smell like Orion’s aftershave.

With that thought the memories of last night hit her like a freight train. Covering her eyes with her hand, she let her head slump back onto the pillow, a breathy chuckle leaving her parched throat. She certainly hadn’t expected that to happen when she had agreed to go to her first poetry slam with Orion. Saying she regretted sleeping with him would have been a blatant lie, though; it had been far too good for that.

Sitting up slowly, Lizzie stretched her back, rolling her neck from side to side; her head hurt like hell but it wasn’t as bad as she had anticipated. Orion seemed to be up already, which didn’t surprise her; Lizzie knew he was an early riser from the many years they had spent touring together.

Her eyes fell onto the nightstand and the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile. A full bottle of water and a blister pack of painkillers were waiting for her there. Not sure what she was more grateful for, the meds or the water, Lizzie took a large gulp out of the bottle first before washing down one of the pills with a second, smaller sip; her mouth was so dry, she wasn’t even sure any of the water was reaching her stomach at all.

She sat between the sheets for a little longer, her back leaned against the rough brick wall. Taking small sips out of her bottle every now and again she contemplated last night’s events.

In a thousand years she wouldn’t have anticipated ending up in bed with Orion when all they’d had planned had been a night out together. And it wasn’t like she could blame it all on getting drunk and high out of her mind either; Lizzie was honest enough with herself to admit she’d always found him more than a little attractive, but so far, it had stopped for her at that.

The dreamcatcher hanging from the window frame directly above the bed was painting intricate shadows on the sheets. Lost in her thoughts, Lizzie watched them, trying to discern if she felt any different after spending the night with one of her best friends.

If she was completely honest with herself, the answer was no. Neither she nor her feelings towards Orion seemed to have changed in any way.

She shrugged the thought off and swung her legs out of the bed, standing up slowly in case her circulation was still funky. She grabbed her shorts from the ground where she had unceremoniously tossed them last night. Exchanging the shirt Orion had given her with her own top, she pulled a new hair tie from her pocket and pulled her tangled hair out of her face.

With the warm shirt and her hair gone from her bare shoulders, Lizzie noticed how cool the morning air felt against her skin. She grabbed the black hoodie she had borrowed yesterday from another place on the floor and put it on again. Following the soft sound of Orion’s guitar that was drifting down from the rooftop terrace, she climbed up the steps and through the open skylight.

Orion was sitting on the deckchair with his acoustic guitar in his hands, playing a melody Lizzie didn’t recognise. One of his countless notebooks was lying in front of him and she could spot a pencil being stuck behind his ear. Lizzie waited until he stopped playing to write something down before she walked over to him.

He looked up from his notes as she sat down on the end of the deckchair. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Lizzie smiled. She tilted her head, trying to catch a glimpse of what Orion was composing. “What was that you were playing?”

“Something new,” he smirked. He closed the notebook and carefully put his guitar away. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” Lizzie chuckled, “No wonder though…” She indicated the water bottle she was still holding, “Thanks for that, I didn’t even realise how thirsty I was.”

“That’s what smoking does to you,” Orion shrugged. “I got us some fruit from the market down the road for breakfast, if you want some.”

Lizzie had already spotted the huge plate laden with an assortment of colourful fruit on the table behind him. It was only now that she realised just how hungry she was. “How do you know that’s what I like for breakfast?”

He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “We’ve been touring together for five years now, remember?”

Lizzie felt her cheeks go red. “Obviously. I can’t think before coffee.”

“I made you some, but no idea if it’s good,” Orion shrugged. “You know I don’t drink coffee myself.”

Lizzie made her way over to the table and poured herself a cup. “Then why do you have coffee in the first place?”

“Merula likes some when she’s here.”

She took her first sip after adding sugar and milk but even then the bitter taste was so overwhelmingly strong that Lizzie couldn’t help but grimace.

Orion watched her with a sympathetic expression. “Too strong?”

“A little,” Lizzie croaked, trying to wash the taste away with another sip of water.

“Sorry, that’s how Merula likes it.”

“No wonder she never laughs if her days start like this,” Lizzie replied sardonically.

Orion had to chuckle at her words. “Our tastes can mirror our personalities, that’s true; I wouldn’t tell her that, though.”

He raised his own mug that had been resting on the floor beside him. “If you don’t like the coffee, I can only offer you tea, I’m afraid.”

Gingerly pushing her coffee cup as far away from her as possible, Lizzie nodded gratefully. “I’d be fine with that.”

Lizzie was surprised at how relaxed and comfortable the atmosphere between them was; it was like having breakfast with her best friend, just like it always had.

None of them spoke about what had happened last night, nor did they feel the need to. Now, in the light of a new day, the fact that they had slept with each other seemed almost surreal. Lizzie was relieved to see that, just like her, Orion didn’t seem to have any issues with it whatsoever.

She had just picked out another cherry from the fruit platter when her phone started ringing, the familiar picture of Skye flashing across the screen. She motioned for Orion to be silent before accepting the call.

“What’s up, Skye?” she greeted her breezily.

Skye didn’t seem to share her good mood, however. “Where the fuck are you?”

“What?”

“We were meant to go running today? I’ve been waiting for a solid twenty minutes now.”

Lizzie mouthed a silent curse; she had completely forgotten about that. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry! I slept in, it got a little later yesterday than I expected.” She tried not to grin as her eyes flicked over to Orion.

“Oh yeah, how was the slam?”

Lizzie almost choked on her tea as she tried not to snort with laughter. “You want to know how the slam was?” she repeated Skye’s words, watching Orion cover his mouth with his hand as he, too, was trying very hard not to laugh.

“It was very good, thank you for asking. I got some whole new perspectives out of it.”

“Maybe I should come next time.”

“Oh, believe me,” Lizzie grinned, “it wouldn’t have been your thing at all.”

“Hm, if you say so. How about Orion? Haven’t seen him quite so excited about something in a long time.”

“Well, I think he had quite a good night,” she smirked, throwing her cherry at Orion as he was shaking with silent laughter.

“Anyway,” Skye sighed through the speaker, “what’s the deal now? Could be at your place in ten minutes.”

Lizzie racked her brain, trying to come up with a suitable excuse. “Uhm no, I’m actually not home right now.” Her gaze fell onto her cup of green tea. “I ran straight out of coffee this morning and I’m on the hunt for some.”

Luckily, Skye seemed to buy it. “Fine, want to meet for lunch later?”

“Make it dinner and I’m in,” Lizzie answered, “Say hi to Erika for me,” she couldn’t help but add with a wicked grin.

She could practically see Skye blushing, even through her phone. “What makes you think I’m with -”

But Lizzie had already hung up on her.

The laughter was still dancing in Orion’s eyes when he shook his head. “You’re truly evil, do you know that?”

Lizzie chuckled. “That’s not what you said last night.”

“Fair enough,” Orion conceded. “But I’m curious, why did you lie to her?”

“First of all, I didn’t lie; I just didn’t tell her all the details. It’s none of her business anyway.” The smile vanished from her face and Lizzie averted her eyes. “And besides, I don’t want her to get into a conflict because she’s hiding something from her father.”

She took a deep breath, the mood suddenly not at all relaxed anymore. “And about that…”

But Orion had already guessed what she wanted to say. “You want to keep this a secret.” It wasn’t a question but an observation.

“If that’s cool with you.”

To her relief, Orion nodded. “It suits me well. I agree with you, it’s no one’s business but our own. And a secret shared between friends can only serve to deepen the friendship.”

Lizzie nodded in agreement, glad to see they were on the same page about this. She finished her tea, popped another cherry into her mouth and got up to leave.

“Is it okay if I borrow that for today?” she asked, motioning at the sweater she was still wearing. It wasn’t cold by any means, but the sweater was cosy and soft, just what she needed on a hungover day like this. It smelled like something resembling ginger, a scent she found very pleasant.

Orion followed her inside and showed her to the door. Just as she was about to leave, he caught her wrist and held her back.

“Any chance for another kiss?”

Lizzie hesitated, looking at him apologetically. “Sorry, I don’t usually do that.” Her lips twisted into a sly smile as she added, “And you got way more than a kiss anyway.”

She turned to go, but changed her mind on a whim; standing on her tiptoes, Lizzie pressed a quick kiss onto his cheek.

“Maybe next time.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #harry potter hogwarts mystery #rockstar au #orion amari #lizzie jameson #when stars ignite #wsi #besties collaborate

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georgiaswarr · 4 years

Text

lister bird - part 1 (part 2)

this is me trying - taylor swift

“they told me all of my cages were mental / so i got wasted like all my potential” starting this playlist off with a song that i feel definitely will come to describe lister’s mental state, especially during iana - he’s fallen behind, he’s dependent on partying and drinking, but at least he’s trying to get better

still learning - halsey

this song incorporates a fuckton of lister’s struggles - the pressures of fame, trauma, dealing with past mistakes, of course self-loathing, and much more

timebomb - finish ticket

and another self-deprecating tune !!! this one in particular addresses the connection between drinking/alcoholism and feeling like a fuck-up

the key to life on earth - declan mckenna

i could probably go into great depths to explain how exactly this is a lister song but suffice it to say, lister grew up poor and we mustn’t forget that. “holy smokes / you kids and your jokes / asking where we got our jeans / and where the hell we found our coats” reminds me a lot of meeting lister, him getting into fights and being “held back for after-school meetings”, etc.

new age meds - the wldlfe

“self-deprecation; / a new age medication / and you might need some therapy if / you're gonna live your life suffocating / someone who you're supposed to be” here we have the theme of self-hate again, used in connection with drugs and addiction, too, which is very lister

are you satisfied? - marina

another song highjacked from @kindaorangey, they did a better job than i ever could explaining it here

knock me off my feet - soak

“saturday night on the highest wall / settin' 'em off, all 50 fireworks / kickin' the cannons, we watch them fall / it doesn't exist, the law” lister starts living the high, indulgent life once he gets rich, which is a stark contrast from how he grew up. in the end, though, he still has people he can call his home.

narcissist - no rome

“stayin' late, i just wanna get stoned / telling all your friends that I'm never at home / and my face filling up with blood / but you're still the same living like a bourgeois” highjacked from alice’s 5 playlist, another song about partying and the like but also being painfully aware of your own flaws

big black car - gregory alan isakov

a song about feeling inadequate and worthless compared to another person, which is how lister feels about himself compared to jimmy and rowan

eventually, darling - declan mckenna

abandonment issues, lost hope, impostor syndrome, disillusionment and an almost nihilistic view on a relationship - this song has it all. i personally associate it with bicci and lister reassuring both jimmy and himself that it’s okay if he doesn’t like him back - after all, “everyone leaves eventually, darling”

swimming pools - lxandra

lister grew up poor and we mustn’t forget that part 2 - this is another flashback to his childhood, while simultaneously showing the stark contrast to his current life - i like to interpret the line “still the kids who don't have swimming pools / in their 40-million-square-feet mansions, ooh” in a “yeah, he’s rich, but he still came from almost no money and this has had a profound effect on him” way

mind - declan mckenna

according to declan mckenna himself, this song “makes me think of my friend matty’s party i went to on halloween 2015 after playing a show […] the song lyrically and artiscally kind of reflects the confused mess of my 16 year old self”. this is something lister can probably relate to, feeling emotional turmoil and an incoming existential crisis while partying

joan of arc on the dance floor - aly & aj

“at the stake, we don't fight the flames / are you born in vain if you die a savior?” first of all, joan of FUCKING arc metaphors, second of all the death motif and lister’s “die young” mentality, third of all another dark party song which is how this applies to lister in particular

why do you feel so down - declan mckenna

listerowan song !!! “i think you're one of a kind so i'll never like myself / i think you're older and wiser so i won't let you tell / i think it over and over and hope you're thinking too / i think it over and over and hope i'm over you” because angst

know me - the band camino

and yet another angsty listerowan song, gosh i’m really making myself emo over here

18 forever - maris

a) such a bisexual anthem, b) a song about partying and feeling forever young

house party no. 1 - blossom caldarone

“you want to grow up too fast / it's a race to see who is left last / from lemons to liquor to loving each figure / you're constantly wired up the wrong way / you'll be dead in a year if i wait one more day”. this is how jimmy and rowan see lister, as a party-obsessed “rebel without a cause”

sedated - hozier

a song about addiction and self-destruction. i could probably go through every line of it but imma keep it short and just trust all of you to understand the sheer levels and poetry of sedated by hozier as a lister song

shadows - ruth b

another song from jimmy and rowan’s perspective - they see that lister indulges in a lot of self-destructive behaviour, smoking, drinking, having sex, etc. in the first part of iwbft, they notice all of that in an almost accusatory way, which to me feels like the tone of this song - “kiss yourself another stranger / ‘cause you know you love the danger, don't you? / give yourself to someone new every night, is what you do” for example is them thinking he sleeps with everyone with a pulse

burning incense - skott

i talk about lister and his relationship to religion in greater depth in part 2 with preacher man but i think that theme appears in this song too. generally this song is very much about emotional turmoil, feeling unloved and distant from your friends, and feeling worthless, so very much a lister song

those nights - bastille

theme of loneliness and finding comfort in strangers (which i know lister doesn’t really do anymore but still)

sunday morning - matoma

“i probably shouldn't say this / should keep it all inside / but maybe i'm just wasted / enough to speak my mind” bicci bathroom confession??? anyone????

love like ghosts - lord huron

another beautiful bicci song about unrequited love and feeling so incredibly strongly for someone that it feels beyond the realm of the living - that’s also where the theme of death in iwbft comes in, which lister grapples with in particular

high hopes - kodaline

this song makes me think of the confession scene too - lister realising jimmy maybe doesn’t like him back, losing hope and all that, and deciding he needs to move on

mirrorball - taylor swift

theme of personas - lister has the Lister Bird persona which is there to entertain people, to make himself appear fun, aloof, approachable, almost like a clown, even though that isn’t who he actually is deep inside

much like myself - emma jayne

and another song about appearing happy on the outside despite the fact that you don’t feel much like yourself

#gonna break this up into two parts because holy shit my playlists are LONG #lister bird #osemanverse playlist #playlist #iwbft #em’s fuckery #alcohol tw #addiction tw #death tw #drugs tw #smoking tw

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rallamajoop · 4 years

Text

...and the unironic joys of better living through chemistry

How do I love Venom: The Hunger, let me count the ways…

It’s by far the shippiest Venom/Eddie story to come out of the character’s heyday. It’s the only story of the era to treat Venom’s violent wild-animal instincts not as an immutable fact, but as something that can be managed. It pulls off an aesthetic like nothing else that was being done at the time.

And then there’s the way it says, Does the world around you seem sinister and foreboding? Do you lie awake at night contemplating metaphorical oceans of despair? Well shit, son – have you considered you may be suffering from a mundane neurochemical imbalance, and a round of the right meds could clear that right up for you?

It does all this without breaking the atmosphere, without a whiff that our story has been interrupted for a Very Special Message about mental health.

In the near-decade since I was first prescribed anti-depressants, I don’t think I’ve read another story that lands the message “Sometimes, it’s not you, it’s just your brain chemistry,” so well.

Fair warning: if you have not read The Hunger, I am about to spoil every major plot point. If you have, well, maybe I can still give you a new appreciation for a few details you might have missed.

It’s a strange book, whatever else you take from it. It’s almost the only thing either author or artist contributed to the Venom canon, and it’s so different stylistically and tonally from the 90′s Venom norm that it feels like a tale from some noir-elseworlds setting instead of 616 canon. When you take risks that big with a property, you leave yourself precious little landing space between 'unmitigated triumph’ and ‘abject failure’: if this book hadn’t absolutely nailed it, I’d be dismissing it as edgy, OOC dreck. Fortunately, if The Hunger is nothing else, it is a story that $&#@ing commits – to basically everything it does.

Now, I'm not going to tell you Venom: The Hunger is a story about overcoming depression, because I don't know whether author Len Kaminski even thought about it that way while working on it. There's always space for other readings, and this one take is not gospel. That said: holy shit is this thing unsubtle with its metaphors. And with that in mind, let’s start by talking a little about Kaminski’s take on Eddie himself.

As I may have mentioned before, I like to divide 90′s Eddie into two broad personas: the Meathead, and the Hobo.

Kaminski’s Eddie nominally belongs in the angsty, long-haired Hobo incarnation, but that’s a bit of a simplification: this version certainly has plenty of angst and plenty of hair to his name – but nowhere, not even at his lowest ebb, does he doubt that he and his Other are meant for each other, which is usually Hobo!Eddie’s primary existential quandary.

He’s also taken up narrating his own life like a hardboiled PI.

So that’s... novel.

The only other time Eddie’s sounded like this is, er, in that one other Venom one-shot Kaminski penned (Seed of Darkness, a prequel that sadly isn’t in The Hunger’s league), so I think we can safely file it under authorial ticks.

Then again, Hobo!Eddie’s always been one melodramatic SOB, so maybe this is just how he’d sound after learning to channel his angst into his poetry. You can’t argue it fits the aesthetic, anyway.

We’d also be remiss not to mention Ed Halsted’s art, which I can only describe as gothic-meets-noir-meets-H.R.-Giger. Never before or since has the alien symbiote looked this alien: twisted with Xenompoph-like ridges and veins.

But Halsted doesn’t treat Venom to all that extra detail in every panel. Instead, the distortion tends to appear when the symbiote is separated from Eddie or out of control – and I doubt you need me to walk you through the symbolic importance of that creative decision. More importantly, Halsted’s art provides exactly the class of visuals that Kaminski’s story needs.

Did I mention this is a horror story? You might be surprised how few Venom stories really fit that genre, but if all those adjectives about Halsted’s style above didn’t clue you in, this is one of them.

Anyway, with that much context covered, let’s get into the main narrative of this thing.

As our first issue opens, Eddie’s world has become a dark and foreboding place. He’s not sleeping, though he mostly brushes this off. (Fun fact: trouble sleeping is one of those under-appreciated symptoms of depression. Additional fun fact: the first doctor ever to suggest I might be suffering from depression was actually a sleep specialist. You can guess how that appointment was going.)

Just to set our scene, here’s all of page 1.

Eddie’s narration has plenty of (ha) venom for his surroundings, but the visuals are here to back him up: panels from Eddie’s POV are edged in twisted, fleshy borders and drained of colour, the people rendered as creepy, goblin-like creatures. A couple of later scenes go even further to contrast Eddie-vision with what everyone else is seeing:

As depictions of depression go this is a little on the nose, but then, you don’t read a comic about a brain-eating alien parasite looking for subtlety, do you?

Eddie doesn’t see himself as depressed, of course. As far as he’s concerned, he’s seeing the world’s true face: it’s everyone else who’s deluding themselves. He’s still got his symbiote, so he’s happy. He’s yet to hit that all-important breaking point where something he can’t brush off goes irrevocably wrong.

But he’s also starting to experience these weird... cravings.

He just can’t put a name to exactly what he’s craving until a routine bar fight with a couple of thugs takes a turn for the horrific.

(I include this panel partly to point out even in The Hunger, the goriest of all 90′s Venom titles, you’re still not going to see brains getting eaten in any graphic detail. We don’t need to to get the horror of the moment across. The 90′s were a more innocent time.)

Eddie himself is horrified when he comes back to himself and realises what he’s done.

Or rather, what his symbiote’s just made him do.

Kaminski doesn’t keep us in suspense about why, though. Eddie may have just done something horrific, but there’s a reason, and it’s as mundane as a vitamin deficiency. He’s bonded to an alien creature, after all, and his symbiote is craving a nutrient which just happens to be found in human brains. And if Eddie can’t or won’t help it meet that need, it’ll do so alone.

Now, giving us that explanation so quickly is an interesting creative decision: this is a horror story, and horror lives in what we don’t know. Wouldn’t it be all the more horrifying had the symbiote been unable to explain what’s going on, leaving Eddie without the first real clue as to where this monstrous new hunger had come from?

The Hunger doesn’t take that route though, and I love it. Eddie isn’t a monster, this isn’t his fault: he has a fucking condition, and wallowing in his own moral failings is going to get him nowhere. You might as well try to cure scurvy or rickets with positive thinking. Just like depression can make you feel like an utter failure at the most basic parts of being human, and all the affirmations in the world won’t fix it when it’s fundamentally your brain chemistry that’s the problem. Or like addicts aren’t weak-willed for struggling not to relapse, they’re dealing with genuine chemical dependency – or even like how someone who’s trans isn’t at fault for being unable to reconcile themselves to the bodies and the hormones they were born with by pure force of trying. Free will is more than an illusion, but we’re all messy, biological organisms underneath, and your own brain and biochemistry can and will fuck you over in a hundred wildly different ways for as many wildly different reasons and it’s not your fault.

We aren’t monsters. But if we do, sometimes, find ourselves identifying with the monster, there might be a reason for that.

(Ahem)

I’m just saying, that’s fucking powerful, and we need more stories that say it.

Anyway, in case you missed it during that tangent, issue #1 closes with the symbiote having torn Eddie’s heart in two itself free to go hunting brains without him.

I’m trying not to get too sidetracked at this point talking about Kaminski’s take on the symbiote itself. Suffice to say there are broadly two schools of thought on how it ought to function while separated from its host: the traditional ambulatory-slime-puddle version, and the more recently popular alternative where anything-you-can-do-with-a-host-you-can-also-do-without-one. I’m not much of a fan of the latter, personally: if your symbiote doesn’t actually need a host, I feel you’ve sort of missed the point. (The movie takes the route of saying symbiotes can’t even process Earth’s atmosphere without a host, which is a great new idea that appears nowhere in the comics, and I love it. Hosts or GTFO, baby!)

Kaminski has his own take, and I can only wish it had caught on. Without Eddie, the symbiote becomes an ever-shifting insectoid-tentacle-snake-monstrosity, driven by an animalistic hunger. It’s many things, but it’s never humanoid.

If you absolutely must have your symbiote operating minus a host, I feel this is the way to do it: semi-feral, shapeless and completely alien (uncontrollable violence and cravings for brains to be added to taste).

Issue #2 comes to us primarily through the perspective of the mild-mannered Dr. Thaddeus Paine of the Innsmouth Hills Sanitarium (yes, really).

Yeah, he’s not fooling anyone. Meet our official villain! He joins our story after Eddie is picked up by the police and handed off to the nearest available institution, on account of how completely sane and rational he’s been acting.

Naturally, Dr. Paine soon has copious notes on Eddie’s ‘crazy’ story about his psychic link to a brain-eating alien monster. Fortunately for Eddie, Paine also runs some tests and makes an interesting discovery.

Congratulations, Venom: the ‘vitamin’ you were missing officially has a name!

Finding the right meds isn’t always this easy. I got lucky – the first ones my psych put me on worked pretty well – but I have plenty of friends who weren't so lucky. In fact, the treatment for Eddie's problems is so straightforward it arguably has more in common with, say, endocrine disorders like thyroid conditions or Addison’s disease, which differ from clinical depression but present many similar symptoms (but can sadly be just as much of a bitch to get correctly diagnosed – please do read author Maggie Stiefvater’s account of the latter when you get the chance, because forget Venom, that is a horror story).

‘True’ depression remains much less well understood by medicine, either in its causes or how to effectively treat it. But simply having a name for what was wrong with me made so much difference, and that’s an experience I imagine anyone who’s dealt with any long undiagnosed medical condition could relate to. It put my life in context in a way nothing else had in years.

(I can’t speak to the accuracy of the way phenethylamine is portrayed in this comic – a quick google suggests there may be some real debate that phenethylamine deficiencies have been overlooked as a contributor to clinical depression, but having no medical background, that one’s well beyond me. Either way, scientific accuracy really doesn’t matter in this context – it’s how it works in-universe for story purposes that we should pay attention to.)

Since this issue is mostly from Paine’s POV, we don’t get Eddie’s reaction to having a healthy amount of phenethylamine sloshing around in his brain again, just the assurance that treatment appears to be ‘completely successful’.

He’s still a paranoid, hostile bastard though. Meds can turn your life around, but they won’t make you not you.

But even if Eddie’s feeling better, he’s still psychically linked to someone who isn’t. Symbiote-vision still comes through drained of colour and edged in viscera.

That’s the thing about meds: they won’t solve all your problems overnight. If you’ve been depressed for a while, there are good odds you have problems stacking up. But working meds can be a godsend when it comes to getting you into a space where you can deal with your problems again, whether said problems are doing-your-laundry or all the way into not-giving-up-completely-and-just-accepting-you’ll-die-alone-on-the-street.

For Eddie, ‘dealing with his problems’ begins with stealing a keycard and busting out of the asylum.

Of course, that’s the easy part. How do you solve a problem like a feral symbiote? Like any good 90′s comic book protagonist, Eddie tackles it by putting on his big-boy camouflage pants and kitting himself out with weapons and pouches while quoting “If you live something, set it free. If it doesn’t come back, hunt it down.”

We can add this to the list of things I love about this comic. Even if The Hunger is a weirdly-stylistic tract about depression at heart, it’s also still a goddamn 90′s Venom comic, and not ashamed to be.

We’re into issue #3 now, and back to hearing the story from Eddie’s POV.

Eddie is very much aware that his symbiote has murdered innocent people while they’ve been separated. Even if this is the result of extreme circumstances, there’s a good case to be made that the symbiote is too dangerous to be allowed to live. Plenty of heroes would treat it like a rabid dog at this point.

But Eddie isn’t a hero, he’s a mess of a character and an anti-hero at best, so we don’t have to hold him to the same standard. He’s well aware his symbiote may be too far gone to save, that he may have to put it down – but that’s only his backup plan. He wants to help it. He wants it back. He’s down in that sewer with screamers and a flamethrower because he knows all his symbiote’s weaknesses, but he’s also carrying a large jar of black-market synthesised phenethylamine, because if he can just get close enough...

Depression can’t make you a literal monster, but it can make you an asshole. Miserable to be around, lacking even the energy to care who else you’re hurting. The depression doesn’t excuse that, but it makes everything harder, and it’s that much easier to sink back into your spiral when everyone around you has given up. It can make you think everyone around has given up even if that isn’t true.

So to have Eddie here say, in effect, I don’t care how many people you’ve eaten, I know it wasn’t your fault. I still love you. You’re still worth fighting for – god, does that get me right in the id.

There’s still a whole issue left at this point – we’ve still got to deal with our real villain, Dr. Paine, who we’ve just learned is into eating brains himself and torturing his patients recreationally, and who wants to capture the symbiote for his own purposes. There’s the scene where Eddie and his symbiote finally bond again, and Venom beats up all Paine’s goons while singing David Bowie because like I said, this is still a 90′s superhero comic and this is what Venom does.

But for our purposes, I'm going to skip to the penultimate page of the story, because the way it mirrors our opening page is really lovely.

Remember that shot of Eddie dealing with a beggar back at the beginning of the story, thinking about how these people would 'get their despair all over you'? Here he is again, cheerfully forking over the last dollar in his pocket to the next man to ask him for change. For all the gothic atmosphere and gore, it’s moments like this that make The Hunger easily one of the most positive, uplifting Venom stories ever written. Funny, that. (I could probably write a whole other essay on sympathy for the homeless as a recurring motif in Venom stories, but that... well, whole other essay and all that.)

What’s Eddie learned from this experience? Don’t take your symbiote for granted. Is ‘symbiote’ a metaphor for mental health here, is paying attention to its needs an allegory for paying attention to your own? I still don’t know how literally Kaminski meant us to take this, but it’s a lovely note to end on no matter how you parse it.

At the end of the day, The Hunger isn’t flawless. The conflict with Paine ends on a thematic but slightly unsatisfying note. Eddie makes much of his symbiote's loneliness and desire for union, but when the two of them are finally reunited, the only reaction comes from Eddie's side. In fact, the symbiote seems to have no response to being able to return to Eddie at all, and that’s an omission that bugs me.

But Kaminski is more interested than any other writer of the era in the truly alien nature of the symbiote, in its relationship with Eddie from Eddie’s side, and though plenty of others talk about the symbiote's love/hate relationship with Spider-man, no-one else had the guts to portray their relationship this much like a romance.

And Venom: The Hunger is no less interesting in the context of Len Kaminski’s other work. You don't have to look far into his Marvel and DC credits to pick up that the guy has a real thing for monsters. (“All of my favourite characters are outlaws, misfits, anti-heroes,” he says, in one of the very few interviews I could find with him, “I wouldn't know what to do with Superman.”) He's written for vampires, werewolves, victims of mad science, and all of three at once, littering his work with biochemistry-themed technobabble, melodramatic monologues, gratuitous pop-culture references, and protagonists who must learn to embrace their inner demons. So The Hunger represents more than a few of his favourite running themes.

For our context, his more notable other work includes Children of the Beast, in which a werewolf must make peace between his human and animalistic sides, and The Creeper, in which a journalist must make peace with the crazy super-powered alter-ego sharing his body. In fact, The Creeper and The Hunger share so much DNA (including an evil doctor posing as a respected psychiatrist who uses hypnosis on our hero while he's trapped in a mental institution) that it’s quite the achievement that they still feel like such very distinct entities beyond that point.

The human alter-egos of both werewolf and Creeper even use prescription meds while wrestling with their respective dark sides. The difference, in both cases, is that these are stories where meds play their traditional fictional role – and that's a role that could be as easily filled by illegal drugs or alcohol without making any substantive difference. You see, if a protagonist is using them, it's a sign of unwillingness to tackle their 'real' problems. Even among work by the same author in the same genre, The Hunger represents an outlier. And that's just a little disappointing – at least to me.

In real life, of course, prescription meds are no magical cure-all elixir. Depression meds that work for one person may not work for another, or may not keep working in the longer term. Everyone has heard stories about quack doctors who prescribe them to the wrong patients for the wrong reasons, about lives ruined by addictions to prescription painkillers, or the supposedly-damning statistics about how poorly SSRI's perform in rigorous clinical trials. The proper way to treat depression is obviously with lifestyle and therapy. People will still airily dismiss medications that we all know previous generations got along just fine without, or suggest that figures like Van Gogh would never have created great art if they hadn't been mad enough to slice off an ear. I mean, the fact you think you need those bogus mediations is probably the best possible sign of just how broken you are, right? Who do you think you’re kidding?

Our popular fiction loves stories about manly men who bury their trauma under a gruff, anti-social exterior and come back swinging at the world that broke them, bravely refusing even painkillers that might dull their manly reflexes. Other genres make space for broken people confronting their demons in grand moments of catharsis, finally breaking down into tears when someone gets through to make them face their problems. "I could barely make it out of bed in the mornings until I found a doctor who started me on this new prescription" is not only wildly counter to the accepted social narrative, it's a hard thing to know how to dramatise.

Even other Venom comics have been guilty of this.

Believe me, I recognise all of this, and just how much progress we've made in the last few decades. But I haven't the slightest doubt that for so many vulnerable people, the stigma against prescription medications does infinitely more harm than those same meds could ever do. And just having the right to externalise my problems into it's not you, it's your brain chemistry, may have helped me more than the meds themselves.

(And again, no, being prescribed SSRI's didn't fix me overnight, but I honestly don't know if all the talk therapy and tearful conversations with family members in the world could've got me as far as I've come without them.)

I love Venom: The Hunger. It's no-one's idea of high art, but it doesn’t need to be. There is a whole other post’s worth of things I love about it that I’ve already cut out this one as pointless tangents, and that may actually be it’s biggest drawback as a go-to example: I fully recognise that I would not be making this post if The Hunger hadn't also also grabbed me as a great bit of Venom canon, being the massive fan and shipper that I am. Other people who are just as desperate as me for more stories with the same core theme, but not into weird 90's comics about needy goo aliens, probably won't get nearly as much out of it as I have.

But if it sounds anything like your jam, maybe you'll enjoy it as much as I did.

If nothing else, it proves that you can make a viscerally satisfying story out of a message that shockingly unconventional. And you may even have people still discovering it and falling in love with it 25 years after the fact.

#Venom: The Hunger #Venom #depression #SSRIs #Symbrock #Venom meta #meta #Venom comics #Len Kaminski

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anastasiabeaverhousen87 · 4 years

Text

Make wise Choices Part 1:

Hold me (baby Danvers)

Never have I ever written something in my life (except for Christmas cards for Santa when I was a kid or you know the regular affidavit when I lose a ticket for my expenses report from work, and that should count like poetry itself 🤓)

Anyways after reading for a while in different platforms I became quite curious about writing something myself. I noticed a lot of Baby Danvers fics and developed a sort of attachment to the concept of a third sister. Also I’m a sucker for fluff and sick fics. Even though I do have a dark side I wanted to try something tame first.

I have no idea if its any good and also take into consideration English is not my native language, I’m sleep deprived and using an iPhone because I’m too lazy to get my laptop and it’s like 3 am and I’m supposed to be at work in 3 hours LOL 😂

Without further ado I leave you my first story with baby danvers going through some painful wisdom teeth surgery recovery (so not an original idea but this actually happened to me and I can relate, impacted teeth sucks big time )

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PART 1

You had to get your wisdom teeth removed and you knew it was perfectly normal to experience some anxiety prior the procedure. In your case, your anxiety levels were through the roof. Your sisters knew this and of course they wanted to be there for you, and you couldn’t be more grateful for that; However, you were very nervous. Because of your anxiety you had to be sedated for the procedure and the effects very rough on you. You felt just awful and very loopy. Kara had to carry you from the dentist office to the car and up to her apartment. You were practically a rag doll in her arms, drooling saliva and blood on her sweater, because of course you were disgusted by the gauze and you took it out. Kara didn’t mind that at all, she felt bad you were feeling poorly after your surgery. You just cling to her like a koala and nuzzle your face in the crook of her neck.

Kara: “Careful there little one, don’t press your cheek into me so hard or you will hurt yourself” - Your sisters felt awful to see you like this, but you knew they were going to care for you during the following days after the procedure. Even thought you are a big baby when it comes to pain and doctors, the procedure was indeed very difficult, your teeth were impacted and required surgical extraction.

You just grunted in response and kept rubbing your face into your sister’s neck and shoulder. Until you did it too hard and felt a sharp pain in your mouth. Y/N: “Ow Ow Owie!” -You cried out and tried to move into a more comfortable position in her arms, you felt exhausted and wanted to sleep, but due to the weird feeling in your mouth and the odd sensations due to the medication you couldn’t quite find a proper spot to feel comfortable.

Alex: “Come one Y/N, don’t press your face like that and just hold on a few more minutes, we are almost home, and you can take your pain meds and sleep for a while. Don’t fall asleep before that, just hang on a little longer baby”

The three of you were in the elevator waiting to reach the apartment your shared with Kara.

Y/N: “Nooooo! I want to sleep now and eat a corn dog” – once again you rubbed your face into Kara and again, it hurt. – Ow Ow Ow!” You cried once again and tried to pout miserably, feeling just bad. You had tears in your eyes and you just looked like an overtired toddler with your big hazel teary eyes and rosy cheeks.

Alex: “Damn it Y/N, be careful you’re going to reopen the stitches and we will need to take you back to the dentist so she can patch you up. And no, you can’t have a corn dog just yet. It will hurt trying to eat something hot and solid”

Apparently, that was the worst thing to say because you just looked at her with big scared and hurt eyes and started to cry. – Y/N: “I’m sorry, but I just feel so awful and can’t get comfortable I just want to sleep. This suck! Dentists sucks, stupid wisdom teeth and stupid stitches! And I really want a corn dog Alex, pleeeease!!!!” - Moving your mouth to complain and speak your discontent made your incisions to bleed more and that of course made you cry more.

Y/N: “ugh blood taste awful!” – Kara tried to adjust you into a more comfortable position in her arms and rubbing your back in a soothing way to calm you down. While Alex tried to clean the slobber and blood from your lips and Kara’s shoulder with a handkerchief. Both gave you a sad smile and just felt sorry for you. You were clearly in pain and felt just awful.

Alex: “Oh sweety please don’t cry, we’re almost there. Damn elevator it´s taking forever!” – she gave a frustrated sigh while trying to keep you from falling asleep and avoided mentioning the corn dog in order to make you forget about eating one.

Kara: “I know, I think there’s something wrong it, but we are almost there. Shhh… little one, we are almost there, and you can rest after your taken your meds. Ok?, Lena is waiting for us already with lots of cold juice and ice cream so you can feel better pretty soon”

You perked up at the mention of the green-eyed woman. Y/N: you sniffled and asked your sister- “Lena is here?”– It was no surprise for the Danver sisters that at the mention of the younger Luthor you would cheer up. You were very loved by your sisters and their friends, but it was no secret that you had the young CEO wrapped around your little finger. Lena was your sister Kara’s girlfriend, but she was enamored with you and she was very protective of you as well. She is like a hero to you; you admire and look up to her so much. Not that your sisters weren’t amazing as well, but the relationship you have with Lena is very special and strong. She is always pampering you and spoils you rotten. You never take advantage of the way Lena is with you and her affection. You are not a brat, you are a very easy-going person, a ray of sunshine and everyone was smitten with you. But when your feeling down or sick you get cranky and you can be a little annoying. You know that, but you feel no shame whatsoever.

Kara: “Yes! She is waiting at the apartment and she said she was going to be prepared with lots of yummy things you can drink, and some things you can eat. We can watch movies after you rest for a bit if you want. What do you say?” – your bubbly blonde sister said while stroking you back and trying to make you stay alert for a bit more until you reached the apartment.

Y/N : You just gave her a tired smile and rubbed at your eyes with a fist and said- “Ok, that sounds nice.”

The elevator dinged and the door opened in the hallway. Alex and Kara, with you in her arms, stepped out of the elevator and walked to the apartment door. Lena was already waiting at the door with a big smile on her face, however she frowned a little when she saw your pained face and teary eyes. Your cheeks were starting to swell, and she knew the first couple of days were rough after that specific dental procedure. She also hated to see you in pain, so she just holds the door wide open to let Alex and Kara walk into the apartment.

Lena: “hi sweet girl”- she presses a kiss to your forehead while greeting Kara and Alex as well. She gave Kara a peck in the lips and asked her to put you in the couch. She walks to the kitchen to grab a bowl with cold water and a cloth to help reduce the swelling to your cheeks while Alex read trough the indications given by your doctor and sort your meds at the table.

Meanwhile Kara tries to lay you down on the couch, but you refused to let go of her and you just cling harder with your arms circling her neck and your legs into her hips. Kara just chuckles and rubs your back: “come on little one, let me set you down on the couch, you will be more comfortable laying down and I’m just going to bring your blanket and some pillows and bring a pair of comfy pajamas so you can be more comfortable.”

But you, feeling poorly and cranky, shed some tears and asked to be held by your sister. You just felt so clingy. Y/N: “Noo… please Kara don’t go. Just stay with me I don’t need a blanket or pajamas.”

You were beyond exhausted and being up since early in the morning and since you didn’t get that much the sleep night before, you were just so nervous about the whole thing. Now that it was over, you felt all your energy drained, and in addition the pain meds were staring to wear off and that made you feel even worse.

Alex: “Sit down with her Kara, I’ll bring the blanket pillows and pajamas. Let me just grab the meds, and hey Lena can you bring a glass of water and – oh you already have a bowl of water and cloth that’s perfect, thank you. Go and sit down with Kara and set those on the coffee table. I´ll just change real quick and we can give Y/N the meds and make her more comfortable so she can take a nap.”

Lena just nods and walks to the couch carrying the tray with a bowl with cold water, a few clean hand towels and a glass of water with your meds on it. She set the tray on the coffee table and takes one of the smalls towels and dips it into the cold water in the bowl to make a cold compress for your cheeks. She then turns to Kara and speaks softly to you.

Lena: “Y/N is it okay if I hold you for a little while so Kara can go change into more comfy clothes? What do you say, want me to sit with you for a bit?” - she gives you a big smile and you just nod and make grabby hands toward her. Kara chuckles once again at your antics and transfers you to Lena’s lap making sure you are settled alright and gives you a kiss to your forehead.

Kara: “I’ll be right back”- you just hum in approval and rest you head into Lena’s shoulder while the green eyed woman smiles down at you and brings the cool towel to your fast swelling hot cheek to make you feel better.

Y/N: “That feels nice”- you say in a sleepy voice while clinging to Lena.

Lena: “This will help with the swelling, I’m sorry you feel so poorly sweet girl. But don’t worry we are going to make sure you are comfortable, and you can take a nap after you take your pain meds. Look, Alex is here, come one just sit a little bit so you can take the pill. Alex walks into the living room carrying several items in her arms.”

Alex: “Y/N come on kiddo I have your comfy jammies. Please sit for a bit for me baby.” You sit with your back to Lena’s front and you hold your arms up while Alex works fast removing your current top and bra and pulls the button-up pajama top on you, while Lena keeps a hold of you supporting your hips and shoulder so you don’t fall from her lap. Next are your jeans, you let yourself fall backwards into Lena and she just chuckles and holds you close so you don’t slide down to the floor while Alex works on removing your jeans and putting the pajama short on you. Once you are in your pajama set, Alex smiles at you and helps you try to lay in the couch, but once again you refuse and you move sideways on Lena’s lap so you face is nuzzled on her upper chest and sitting on her lap with your legs in the couch. Alex is about to try and make you move, but Lena just holds up her hand: “Its fine Alex, she is not heavy I can hold her and once she is asleep, we can move her to the couch or switch turns, because I think someone is going to be very clingy for the next couple of days.”- She says while looking down at you and giving you a soft smile.

Alex sighs but knows what you are saying its true, when you don’t feel good you turn into a koala bear and refuse to let go from your sisters or Lena’s arms. But you’ve been like this since you were little, and your sisters love to provide any comfort you need. And right now, you want to be cuddled and sleep. So, Alex gives you a nudge and brings a small pill to your lips and hold a glass of water so you can swallow the medication. Alex: “Good job baby, now close your eyes and rest for a bit.”

You let you head fall back into Lena and close your eyes mumbling something about corn dogs being soft. Alex smiles down at you while giving Lena the cool towel so she can press it down to your cheek and walks to the kitchen with the tray and to figure out diner for Kara, Lena and herself and something soft and easy to drink for you. You won’t be able to eat anything solid for a few days, so that’s going to be a challenge. You love food as much as your alien sister. You don’t really like bland food nor drinking smoothies but that’s a fight for after you wake up from your nap. To say you are going to be an unhappy and very grumpy camper it’s the understatement of the century.

Kara took the opportunity to take a quick shower and walks into the living room in sweatpants and a lose top. She smiles when she notices that you’re almost asleep with a small smile on your face while resting on top of her girlfriend. She spots your favorite blanket next to Lena in the couch, she drapes it over you and Lena and presses a quick kiss to your forehead and a kiss to Lena. Kara sits next to the both of you while surfing for something to watch on Netflix while Alex is busy in the kitchen. Lena is watching you fall asleep and still holding the cool rag to your cheek. After few minutes you are completely passed out and a little bit of drool and blood starts to spill from your lips.

Lena: “Kara, honey can you pass me one of those clean towels on the coffee table, please? Kara notices the little bit of blood and takes the clean small white towel and tenderly cleans your lips and chin. Kara takes away the other wet towel Lena was using for your cheek and leaves the new one so Lena can put it in between her shoulder and your chin. You sleep peacefully while being hold be Lena and Kara in the couch. Alex finally returns to the living room announcing she made diner, actually she made a phone call to order take out because she didn’t feel like cooking or cleaning dishes. She brings refreshments for everyone, a glass of wine for Lena, a glass of chocolate milk for Kara and a beer for her. She also brings a sports bottle with juice and ice, the ones that have a little rubber tip so you can drink easily and can keep the liquid cold. So once you´re awake you can drink something cool and remove the taste of blood from your mouth.

Yes, the next couple of day are going to be a little hard on you, but you have your sisters and Lena to keep you comfortable and dot on you while you recover.

Next chapter: Y/N wakes up from her nap. And so, it begins…

#baby danvers #baby!danvers #b!d #kara x reader #lena luthor imagine #lena x supergirl #supercorp #supergirl #reader imagine #kara danvers imagine #alex x baby danvers #fluff

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princepestilence · 3 years

Text

NYR: October in review.

Post-October horoscope: "And like the moon, we must go through phases”

It says something of the month it’s already been that I haven’t gotten around to this until now. Everything happens so much, etc. etc., ad nauseum. Here’s some of what happened in October:

reading. A lot of the reading has been comfort books, devoured late into the night when I couldn’t sleep, but it’s been nice.

board of management. I’ve officially had my interview and sent in my paperwork and been accepted, so that’s neat. I’ll meet with everyone for the first time next month.

poetry submission. I don’t think it’ll lead anywhere, because I feel like I have some growing left to go in this space, but I wrote a poem and sent it into a poetry anthology, so that’s an achievement.

paper submission. Managed to get this paper written, recorded, and submitted almost on time, which given how unwell I was for most of last month is not too shabby.

got diagnosed, started medication. Finally got a diagnosis for bipolar mood disorder after fifteen years or whatever it’s been, and I’ve started trying some medication. The first fortnight I was very unwell, but it’s come good now. Now to wait and see.

apartment lease renewed. Not an achievement or anything but definitely a relief. Did not want to go back on the rental market again so soon.

work going well, mostly. The new conference is a headache that has me stressed but it’s nice to have the other two basically wrapped up with nothing left to do until actually running them next year. I’m trying to take it as a compliment that my boss wants me to lead on this one, but it’s going to be a challenge and I just hope he’s prepared for it to take a while.

In November, I will:

have an important work chat + good performance review. Already happened but I got confirmation that my boss is keeping me on after probation ends in January and really likes me work etc., and also we talked about my meds + some practicality stuff and overall I am cautious optimistic about long-term prospects here.

saw my family for the first time in four months. Also already happened, but it was nice. I spent most of the time sorting books and talking to my mum, and eating my favourite noodles in the whole world. Ideal weekend.

fish game! Also already happened, but one of my favourite games got a very cool new DLC that’s really going to make a big splash (ha) + I’m keen to build some gorgeous new aquariums.

turn twenty-eight. wow. Happened a few days ago. I don’t feel any different, but you never do. Inching closer to thirty, which feels completely unreal. I do like how my life is turning out, though. That’s pretty cool so far.

get new shoes, update wardrobe. Did this a few days ago. It was long overdue, but I’m genuinely stoked with some of the nice new things I’ve gotten. I think it’ll do me a lot of good to be able to dress nicely when I go out and about. On that note...

start working at the office (scary). This has been making me nervous since I got the job about four months ago. I don’t typically enjoy being in an office space with other people around, so I’m concerned about adjusting to that environment. Also, the commute is going to be a lot. We’ll see how it goes, but I think it’s going to be a bit rough for a few weeks at least.

write book review. Really got to get onto this one this month. Definitely one of the higher priorities.

chapter three of thesis (start, but if I finish it, cool). I have some reservations about even suggesting this, but I would like to at least get this next chapter off the ground. If I can get it done by the end of the year, that means I’ve only got about 1.5 chapters left to go of the full first draft, so I’m really energised to get it done with. Once the thesis is finished, I can start on major creative works, so I have additional motivation and I want to capitalise on that.

keep reading. Given how much time I’m going to be spending on trains for the next while, I think this will be an easy task.

leave more comments. Something I’ve thought about for a while is that I’d like to be a more responsive enjoyer of things people make. To be fair, I haven’t engaged with fanfiction or mods or anything for ages and ages, but I know how much I like to hear when people like what I do, so I’d like to put more of a concerted, thoughtful effort into doing the same for other people going forward.

work through the film backlog. There’s a lot of films (especially now that I scooped up a lot of my family’s old DVDs they were going to donate) that I’ve been interested in watching, so I’m going to maybe pick an evening a week to sit down and watch a film.

#2021 resolutions

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arthurflecksgirl · 4 years

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Hi sweety❤️ Can I have a fic where Arthur helps x reader who's having a panick attack? him calming her down, cuddling her... thank you so much 😘

My dear friend. Thank you sooooo much for your request. I really really hope you like the result.

Summary: You`re greateful for how far you and Arthur had come in your relationship, how much progress he made to experience true happiness. But then you discover one of his journal entries. Is he still in the same dark place he was before? Just the thought of him suffering is giving you a panic attack. But Arthur is right there with you...

The dim light from the tv screen was the only light that filled the living room. Murray Franklin was talking to a well known comedian. You watched Arthur resting on the couch. He was falling asleep during the live show, even though he was looking forward to this episode all day, he was so tired, his eyes got heavy when Ellis Draine and his Jazz Orchestra started playing already.

"One day" you thought watching him breathe in and out like it was the easierest thing to do when you suffered from waht he had been through. One day he will be sitting on Murrays couch and telling his own jokes. And his idol will be proud of him like a father. Because he deserved it. He deserved the world.

Arthur seemed at peace with himself sleeping. That was new. Which made you proud of how far you two have come in your relationship. He was getting better.You felt it every morning waking up, receiving your good morning kiss from his coffee stained lips and cigarette tasting breath. He was making baby steps but looking at it now, over a year later it was a total different world he was living in. The one you created together. Ever since you met him you wanted to cure him. To support and comfort him through everyday life. To help him out of his mindset which was all that he had known since he was little.

People kept telling you that it was impossible to heal wounds like his. To heal someone that experienced his kind of trauma. That all he needed was proffessional help. But you knew that they missed out at something. Just because he needed his meds didnt mean that love wasnt the key for his cure. You knew that there were some scars hidden inside of him, buried so deep that it would take years to get through and be able to work on that. But you also knew that being loved was the only thing in this world that could ease Arthurs pain and make him the man he always wanted to be. He was destined to be.

And every single day spent together was proof that he was making progress. His smile became more and more genuine. His laughing fits didnt happen as often anymore and if so they wouldnt last that long because you would hold him and help him breathe until it was over. He also told you about his journal entries and how they changed. His therapist was also seeing the changes. He was talking about how much more poetry and beautiful thoughts filled the pages.

You gently stroke his hair. Watching him sleep always felt pretty intimate to you. He was so vulnerable and unaware of his beauty. But you knew that even in his sleep he was aware of another thing- your love. Thats why he was even able to get some sleep.

You took another close look at his face. You could never get enough of him. It was risky to give him a kiss on his closed eyelids. Arthur had a very light sleep and could wake up any second but there was no way to fight the urge to do so. His eyelid fluttered under the soft touch of your bottom lip, but he didnt wake. You let your index finger travel over his dark eyebrows. They were shaped so perfectly, matching his piercing eyes and the slight circles underneath them. His body was still stressed out from work. His fragile body which was trying so hard not to break down while starving.

His stomach problems caused by his meds was another thing you had to work through. You looked at the bowl on the table. he almost finished his soup today, which was a good sign. You smiled, got up from your knees and walked to his desk to get the empty cups of coffee from the morning. It was time to make the dishes.

But the moment you grabbed the cups his journal distracted you. It was opened. You wondered about his last entries, the ones he wanted to show you because he wrote some new poems lately.

It took you a moment to think about if it was even okay to have a look at the opened page but it was already too late. One sententence was marked, the letters thicker than the rest of the written words. It caught your eye without a warning. And when you read it, your heart stopped for a second.

"I just hope my death makes more cents than my life"

Why?

Why the hell would he write something cruel like that?

The letters started to blurr through your tears. One tear was falling upon the page. Right on the word HOPE.

Shit. Now he would notice that you came near this page. You nerveausly grabbed a handkerchief and pressed it on the spot where the tear was soaking through the page. It was too late, making it look even worse.

You started to cry , throwing the handkerchief on the floor.

Why?

Yo thought he was getting better. There was so much proof.

Did he felt like his life was worthless?

Didnt make any sense?

Was he feeling like all of this wasnt making sense?

You thought you helped him.

Was it al in your mind? His proress? Him becoming a happier version of himself? Was it all a lie you told yourself?

The possibility of Arthurstill being the same tortured soul as when you met him simply broke your heart.

Why was a beautiful and gentle soul like him suffering so much? How cruel can the world be to him?

Was he still wishing he was dead? Was he still lying in bed at night, fantasizing about ending his own life? Would he ever hurt himself again? Risking to being locked up at Arkham, so there was no chance to share a bed together? Just visits with him being handcuffed on the other side of the table? Was there still a chance he was that unhappy inside?

Tears fell like rain.

The pain inside your heart grew with every thought that crossed your mind. If life was still torture to him, why wouldnt he talk about this to you? Didnt he trusted you enough? Was he embarrassed about how he felt? Or was it simply because he didnt wanted you to get worried about his condition?

It was all too much.

You started to feel like your throath was getting tighter. Like the walls were closing in. Everything inside of you screamed. There was this nameless fear inside of your guts. Possesing you, hurting you. It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

Dizzyness overcame you with all its power. Cold sweat. All of the sudden the happiness you felt while watching him sleep was being sucked out of your body. And now all you knew was fear. Liek it was the only emotion left in the world. Pure, naked fear in its rawest form.

A panic attack.

You had experienced this before but never this intense.

You sat down on the chair, trying not to look at the opened journal again. It hurt so much. All of it did. Your body. Your heart. Mostly your heart. And your head. Both heavy from tears and the thought of Arthur being suicidal.

Your breathing got heavier as you started to sobb.

And then you heard Arthurs footsteps. His naked feet on the floor. You woke him up. He was finally resting and you woke him. This made you feel even worse.

"Oh my god Y/N, darling. What happened?" He noticed your tears and heavy breathing.

"Dont worry....Arhur....please....just go back to sleep okay? You need your sleep. You`ve been working hard today...."

Arthur checked your pulse "Oh shit, your heart is racing. Did you took any medication? "

"No..."

"Did something else happen?" He checked your forehead, noticed your shaking hands. "Looks like you`re having a panic attack. I know the symptoms very well. I had so many in the past when I woke up from nightmares."

You nodded. Still sobbing like a baby. Arthur gave you one of his handkerchiefes and started to stroke your hair "Oh darling, I kow this feels terrible. But it will pass. Just try to breathe. Breathe with me okay. Remember when you helped me breathe during my laughing fits? I will do the same with you now okay?"

"Okay"

Arthur lifted you up and carried you to the couch.

"Is that okay? Is it comfortable?" you nodded. He was so caring it broke your heart. He cared so much about you, while inside he was suffering from so much pain.

He positioned himself behind you, resting both of his hands on your tummy and told you to breathe in and out like he did. Until you felt your breath becoming one with his. Just as calm and deep.

"Good" he whispered, his gentle fingers under your shirt. He knew that skin on skin contact helped calming you down.

"You`re doing great" his voice was everything you needed to hear.

"Oh Arthur....I feel like I cant breathe...."

"Shhhhhhtt.....baby I know. I know how it feels. Your body is telling you lies. You can breathe. Just do it with me."

"You felt Arthurs chest lifting up and down, his warm breath in your neck. He was everything to you. You needed him to be happy.

Arthur placed thoughtful kisses all over your neck. As soft as a butterflies wings. You tried to concentrate on the details. His long , dark eyelashes crossing the spot behind your ears. The tip of his nose tickeling you. His muffled "I love you`s".

"I`m sorry I woke you up"

"Dont be!"

"There was this sudden fear coming over me. It was like....I thought I was dying."

"I´m right here with you Y/N. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, I promise!"

You nodded. Knowing he was right. Nothing could harm you with Arthurs arms around you. You just wished it was the same the other way around. Wasnt it the same?

His journal said it wasnt. His written words hitting you like a knife.

"Do you know what triggered this?" He asked you, while his hand was caressing your chest.

Should you tell him? He would notice the wet spot on his journal page anyway.

"Arthur I am so scared to tell you this but...I was ...oh god....I was looking at your opened diary page. It was lying on teh table when I was getting the coffee cups and there was this sentence that caught my eyes......" you started to sobb uncontrolable.

"What page?" he asked "Please dont cry. Ohhhhhh please ...." he pulled you closer to his chest so his heartbeat was pressed against you.

"You wrote....."I just hope my death makes more cents than my life...." Arthur. This hit me so hard. I didnt knew you still felt like this. I dont know.....what to say....I`m just.......oh Arthur....." you pressed yourself against him as if your life depended on it. Arthurs white shirt was now soaked with tears.

"Ohhh nooo darling. That was my old journal. My therapist wanted to bring it back to her to proof how much progress I made since I met you!"

You loosened your embrace to look him in the eyes "W-What?"

"Yeah" he shrugged "I just marked the darkest pages to see how far we have come and stopped at this one before going to sleep."

The weight of the world was falling off your shoulders "Really?"

"Yes.....oh Y/N I am so sorry you had to go through these emotions just because I was so stupid to leave my old journal lying on the table. "

"You are not stupid Arthur!"

"Well this time I was"

"It was my fault....I shouldnt have looked at the page in the first place".

The air was finally coming back. Your body was starting to relax again.

Arthur held you close in his arms "That was the old me. And yes sometimes I´m still having dark thoughts but its just.....echoes from the past. Its not part of our reality anymore. Its just ghosts. They`re not real. Just trying to tell me lies. So I am not listening to them . I´m listening to you. To your words of love and comfort. I`m save with you. And you are save with me. Remember?"

"I remember Arthur. I love you so much!"

"I love you more"

"Thats impossible" you smiled, kissing his upper lip.

Arthur rested his head in the crook of your neck whispering "If I`ve learned one thing from being loved, its this: Nothing`s impossible - with you in my arms".

@impulsiveclown @will-you-be-there @jokerownsmysoul @missjoker96 @arthurskitten @lynnesm @nonnymousse @gwynplaine89 @ajokeformur-ray@damnrightobsessedwithim @sgtsavoytruffle @duhliriouss @flowerglitterwoman @thirstforfleck @spookyhome @iartsometimes @you-cant-cry-in-here @bustafatclownnut @jokerismyhubbie @check-out-this-joker @darknessisafriend @arthurhappyclown @neon-umbrella-for-stella @call-me-harley-quinn @arthurjokersgirl

@aarthurfleckk @mylovelycrazyworld @clownalog @ajokerfangirl @the-one-who-is-chaos @sabrinaeileensnape @raven-romanoff

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