#trying to get back to posting!! temporarily taken out of commission by a hand injury

[outer-stars]

TIS I, SPRUUEG PLANTOIR, YOUR NEMESIS! EN GUARD !!

[rayofsunas]

s/o has a mental/nervous breakdown.

A/n: hello everyone! I hope your day is going alright, and that you’re doing well 🥰 I recently hit 300+ folllwers, like Sunday morning, and omg, that was the best thing to wake up too 🥺❤️ thank you those new and old for following and taking a chance with my account and sometimes trashy works 🙃 I’m gonna make a longer post at some point saying my thanks and discuss what I plan to do to celebrate 300 followers. It would really mean a lot to me if you guys chimed in if you have any ideas, after all, this is a thanks to you and I want you all to be involved! also, if you saw my recent rambles about how a draft was deleted, it’s referring to this post... what I had written got deleted TWICE in the span of FIVE MINUTES. gosh I was so pissed, I almost screamed. mobile tumblr is not it 😔 but here we are. I hope you like this. I tried to write this three times.... 🤡 also, since I am not a doctor or anything, I put a link to possible symptoms/what a “mental breakdown” is, that’s in the warnings, just click the link, it helped with my accuracy. 

Summary: s/o has a mental/nervous breakdown.

Parings: Xiao/Reader, Scaramouche/Reader, Albedo/Reader, Childe/Reader (all fem reader)

Warnings: angst, mental breakdown (panic attacks, stress, anxiety, ptsd, hallucinations, insomnia) fluff, swearing, mentions of death, mentions of injury

Word count: 3.5k (whew after tumblr DELETING this draft twice here we are folks ;-;)

requested by @mintyhuening​ 

​

Xiao

he knew you weren’t okay at all

Xiao knew the moment you locked yourself in your house

at first he thought maybe you were just temporarily feeling this way, but as the weeks passed and you hadn’t come out, he decided maybe not

coming from someone who enjoyed silence and solitude he could understand the distancing part, but it had been weeks, and even he needed socialization, so why hadn’t you come out?

you spoke to him through the door a few times, letting him know you were alright

he didn’t believe that though, sure you were alive, but not alright, he was mainly checking for confirmation to see if you were still alive while he thought of a good way to approach the situation

he didn’t want to invade your privacy, but he also hated the fact that you wouldn’t come out, not even to see him

it was lonely without you, he concluded

even for someone who enjoy solitude 

you were a careful creature, but never this careful and cautious...

were humans always like this?

eventually, he couldn’t stand it, and did find other ways to get into your house

he grew antsy after pacing outside your door for days

he found you huddled in your bed, a heap of pillows and blankets surrounding you

you were shocked to see him when he’d sat down on the foot of the bed, causing it to dip significantly 

“How did you get in?” You snapped once you saw who it was. 

“I have my ways.” He said raspily. With a huff of annoyance, you were back to facing the wall, away from the Adepti. 

“It’s dark in here.” He announced matter a factly, looking around the nearly pitch-black room, windows and doors covered by sheets and hefty duty curtains. “It’s how I like it.”

“It’s not healthy.”

“I don’t care, go away.”

Xiao was starting to grow impatient surprisingly, he truly just wanted to help, why couldn't you see that?

“Being passive is not going to help the situation, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing, I’m just tired.”

He worried. If he said the wrong, would you push him away even further? If he said the right thing, would you even care? Did you want help?

Xiao moved closer to you, hand going to touch your leg, although it was underneath the blankets, you felt it and did have to admit the affection was comforting.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Xiao said. “Your friends miss you, I miss you as well.”

Maybe if you weren’t cooped up here anymore, you would start to come around. The room and house all together were very stuffy, dark, and depressing, he despised it.

“It’s beautiful outside, come with me,” he'd whispered. “At least if you don’t want to be around people, could you allow me to take you to a secluded area?”

“The fresh air will do you good.”

You were thinking about it, you had to of been if you still cared. 

“Fine, mother.” He watched with hope in his eyes as you slowly rose from the bed, and began

The outside world was very very bright at first, enough to induce a headache. But you became used to it the more you were out.

Xiao stayed true to his word like you knew he would unless you wouldn’t have come. You were taken to a very secluded area, there wasn’t even a path or road to it, just green luscious grass, and crystal core everywhere, beautiful blue and orange ones; Anemo and Geo respectively. You weren’t sure where you were, somewhere between Mondstadt and Liyue, you assumed. 

The fresh air did wonders, Xiao had noticed. You seemed to open up. Telling him a little of the problem. You had told him about how life was just stressful right now, you hadn’t taken any commissions in weeks, spoken to any of your friends Mondstadt, hence why they had come to him, accusing him of kidnapping and brainwashing you. He was offended, nonetheless let them know that wasn’t the case. 

The ever so secluded Xiao would take you out more, slowly introducing you to crowds of people, and would still take you on daily walks to that secret place you now called your special spot.

It would take a while, he knew that, and you wouldn’t be comfortable doing everything that others around you did, maybe not for a while. He could respect that, as long as you allowed him to help and encourage you.

Scaramouche

being a harbinger was HARD, Scaramouche knew that, even if he didn’t admit it

admitting it was challenging, could lead to always being doubted or seen as incompetent. therefore, no one mentions how hard it is

he had been off doing his duties when he got news that you had lashed out at a few lower rank fatui on your team, resulting in you being called in to meet with The Tsaritsa... let's just say she went easy on you because you were one of her highest ranking soldiers, if not, she would've severely punished you

you were forced back to your sleeping quarters immediately to calm down, told to stay put until you could stop “lashing out like a child” as she had put it

you weren’t one to argue against The Tsaritsa, everyone knew that was common rule... so you walked back as calmly as you could without snapping at anyone else

when Scaramouche had heard how you acted, he was annoyed

the always so calm and calculated Y/n, lashing out at her fellow members? he couldn’t help but be annoyed, despite it being completely out of character of you

he had finished his duties relatively quick, wondering why you were acting so out of character 

when he got back, he found you in your sleeping quarters, pacing in front of the large windows near the furthest end of your room

you were still wearing your typical combat gear, though your hair disheveled and body language looking extremely anxious, he hoped it was not yours...

“What did you do this time?” Had asked the violet-eyed man, carelessly throwing his hat on your bed, lean arms folding across his chest.

No response. 

“Excuse me, I believe I asked you a question.”

A loud irritable huff.

“Be quiet for once in your life, Scaramouche.” You hissed, anxiously biting at your nails. “Sorry- I’m just trying to calm down, but my heart can’t stop racing.”

Scaramouche wasn’t the most in-touch person with his feelings, and out of all the harbingers, he was one of the more difficult ones to deal with.

Surprisingly, he had shut up, despite finding it difficult to hold his malicious comment back.  

“What’s wrong?” Your lover asked, more softly this time. 

“My mission today was... hard. I know you said it’s important for missions to just be a one and done; no hard feelings. And you know I’ve always been that way. But this one was different.” His eyebrows furrowed, his forehead creasing in annoyance. 

“I can’t help but think about what they did.” 

“Did you get what you went for? I heard you sought after information regarding that Knight, Aether.”

“Yes, but-”

“I’d call that a successful mission,” He stared intensely, casually moving to sit on the comfort of your bed. Of course, he wouldn’t take this seriously. “Any casualties?”

“None of our men, but-”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“There were children, three little children, and those idiots just slaughtered them.”

“Ah... I see.”

Despite stating he understood, he really couldn’t sympathize with what you were saying. Those children were enemies as long as they worked against The Tsaritsa. 

Your voice suddenly cut through the silence, staring directly into his eyes, “What if those were our children?”

“They weren’t.” Your eyes rolled at his comment. 

“But what if!” He rolled his eyes, mocking your previous action. 

“But they weren’t.” He mocked for a second time.  

“You’re not helping, Scaramouche!”

“You’ll never understand, unless you see what I saw,” He knew you were right to some degree, but even then would he feel bad? A mission was a mission after all.

“They were begging me to protect them, and the youngest, she would not let go of my arm and then the next thing I knew, they were dead.” You continued, left hand going to grip your right, he assumed to show him where and how the said girl had gripped you. You were still shaking, this time being closer, he noticed how bad it was. 

“They were pleading, I told them I would try my best, and then-” He had long ago stood, making himself present in front of you. His warm hands had grabbed your shaking ones harshly, ceasing the trembling momentarily. 

“Please, be quiet,” The sixth harbinger snipped. “I don’t like seeing you upset.” Although it sounded harsh, he was trying his best to make it sound how he felt, even if those feelings were minuscule towards this specific topic. 

“Although, I don’t agree with you about this particular concern of yours- I will do whatever you need to help you.”

Albedo

now, he may just be an alchemist, but trust me, Albedo sees the signs before anyone, he has some sort of familiarity with them due to his incessant reading

and it may have taken him longer to see the signs because of how busy he was, but he saw them

he was no fool to the likes of insomnia, in fact he knew it very well, often staying up very late into the night and morning, sometimes for days at a time

he was cooped up in his lab and it wasn’t as if his body wasn’t tired, cause hell he was, there was just s much more to learn and discover, his brain WOULD not stop, 

Albedo hadn’t known how long this had been going on for, but he was seeing signs now

ngl, he didn’t notice that you hadn’t been sleeping properly until one night he decided to accompany you in bed earlier than usual (It was three a.m, yikes), and found that you were awake still

you were lying still on your side of the bed, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that he reached over to kiss your cheek, only to see your eyes open, he would’ve assumed you were alright and asleep

“You’re awake?” The ashy-blonde man asked, sliding into bed next to you. 

“Can’t sleep.” You shrugged nonchalantly, scooting closer to him, seeking his warmth and comfort. 

“You should’ve come to get me, I would’ve come to bed earlier with you.”

“It’s alright, I peeked in to see if you were still alive,” You joked, he chuckled. “You seemed very busy.”

“Yes, but, I thought I told you to remind me when you need attention, I often get sidetracked and enamored with my work.”

“It’s quite alright, Albedo. As long as you’re sleeping.”

He hummed, whispering tired words of adoration in your ear. That carried on for a while, as long as talking about the day's work and whatnot, until you eventually questioned, “Can I play with your hair?” The gesture was sweet, and that did sound amazing right about now since he was on the brink of sleep, but just needed that little push. But weren’t you tired?

“Aren’t you tired?”

You sat up, climbing behind Albedo, gently placing his head in your lap. “I’ll go after you.” A soft smile adorned your beautiful face. “You need sleep, you stay up for Archon knows how long.”

He selfishly allowed his eyes to close and waited for sleep to accompany him while you began untangling his two braids and ponytail. You played with and braided his hair until he’d fallen asleep as you said. You stayed up the rest of the morning though.

Eventually, probably out of boredom, you fell asleep for an hour or two around five a.m. Though, unfortunately, you were back up before six. You busied yourself while Albedo slept, starting with cleaning his lab. Albedo often did not like people touching his books, paperwork, and findings, but after instructing you how to properly take care of his stuff, he welcomed your help with open arms, seeing as though his lab was ALWAYS in shambles from not having enough time to take care of things himself.

Albedo surprisingly woke up around nine, wavy hair surrounding him like a lion, you chuckled to yourself at the sight. “How did you sleep?”

“Alright, considering my sleep schedule is nonexistent a lot of the time.” You nodded, bumping shoulders teasingly. “How about you?” 

“Okay,” You said, immediately changing the subject. “I woke up early, so I cleaned your lab, I hope it’s to your likings, Kreideprinz.” You teased, bowing at the waist.

The alchemist waved you off, with a smile. “We’ll see about your organizational skills after you eat.” 

How had he known?

“You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Albedo asked, heading in the direction of the kitchen.

“That obvious.” You wondered trailing after him. 

“You always wait for me, darling.”

- 

“You look exhausted.” Albedo’s concerned voice cut in through the smooth Mondstadt breeze. You had been so distracted with the discovery in front of you, you hadn’t realized your boyfriend was staring directly at you. “When was the last time you slept?” He glanced back down at the discovery, still listening, but if you didn’t speak soon he’d be lost in his world again.

“A day or two, but-” Albedo probably got whiplash from how hard he’d snapped his head to face you, but now he was staring at you with features reading nothing but shock, cerulean eyes blown wide.

“I think your bad sleeping schedule is contagious.” You joked, trying to make the situation lighter-hearted. He didn’t laugh. 

Albedo was more serious this time, proving it when he faced you completely. “What’s been going on?” His voice was soft, but he was extremely worried. 

Nervousness built up in his lover's body. “Nothing! I just-” You sighed. Might as well tell him the truth, he’d coerce the answer from you no matter what it took. “It’s been harder to sleep after my injury from that ruin guard. When it hit me, I banged my head against the concrete, and ever since I guess it’s been hard to sleep.” 

“You could've told me sooner. I would have stopped everything and anything for you.” Yes, that was true, that was the problem though. You didn’t want to be coddled like a baby

“I know, I’m not sure why I didn’t... Naturally, I don’t want to worry you.”

He moved closer to you so he could cradle your face in his hands. “You can always tell me anything you know that.”

“I understand that. You’re a busy man so-”

“From this moment on, my work will be dedicated to finding a cure for you.”

You panicked, not wanting to stop his work for the likes of what you were dealing with. “What? Wait no-”

“You can’t stop me, darling. You take precedence over everything.”

Albedo made it his goal to do whatever possible to help you. Whether it be spending days in his lab making concoctions in hopes of creating something that could safely aid you with sleep. Or he’s in the libraries, reading all the books on the wellness and health of humans. He’s already on top of it the minute you expressed your concerns. In the meantime, he’s going to make sure he goes to bed with you much earlier, and won’t go until you do, to ensure you’re resting.

We love sweet caretaker Albedo.

(I understand insomnia can have other causes, not just a mental or nervous breakdown, but it’s kind of implied when reader hurt her head that she’s not well.)

Childe

Childe is simply not going to know your not well, he just won’t, it’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s more so the fact that he has a hard time paying attention to anything other than his missions and duties, he does not want to slow down

you have to show signs or tell him to realize

he decided to take a break though, seeing as he did promise you dinner tonight. he told you it would be his treat, since he did have a bunch of Mora lying around that he simply had no other use for

he figured a nice dinner and trip to one of the nicer cities with more to offer would be nice, he would buy you anything you desired

it was nearing the time for dinner though, and the reservations had already been made, so when he was left waiting, let's just say he was irked...

if you didn’t want to show up, you would’ve told him, so maybe you forgot? he concluded that couldn’t be it

the last time he’d brought it up, two days ago, you had been so excited you couldn’t sit still nor stop talking about it

asking a few people around town if you had been spotted anywhere, some said you had wandered off to Luhua Pool, something about there being a myth about special healing properties within the water

now he was even more confused

one, you NEVER went to Luhua Pool, there was never a need to do so

two, special healing properties? why would you need that? were you hurt in his absence?

you were his family, and he loved his family more than anything, so if something was wrong, he’d do whatever it took to help you

he traveled from Snezhnaya to Luhua Pool in record speed

he did find you eventually, the sun was setting, but thanks to the glowing water he could make your form out easily

you were hunched over, in what looked like to be some simple greenish cloth dress, he couldn’t see what you were doing, and called out your name

no answer

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” The orange-haired teen asked, crouching down beside his lover to see what was wrong.

“Cleaning.” You had said. That’s when his dull blue eyes traveled to what you were doing, watching with a confused stare as you scrubbed at what seemed to be clean hands.

“Hmm, I see...” He couldn’t tell if this was a prank or not, you usually played along with his teasing nature. “Are you ready for dinner?”

“Was that really today?” Your head lifted, leaving your hands to momentarily hanging in the air, water droplets dripping off into the pool.

Okay... so you did forget it seemed, which did shock him seeing as though you were over the moon, less than seventy-two hours ago.

“Uh, yeah, did you really forget? That’s unlike you! I’ve learned women don’t forget anything.” He teased, hand going to his chin. You hummed, turning back to do whatever it was you had been previously.

The harbinger frowned. “Do you still want to go? We can make it if we’re fast.” You sounded like a robot, much like a ruin guard, he concluded. 

“I’m sorry, not today, I’m dirty...”

Childe couldn’t help but chuckle, “Dirty? Sweetheart, you’re cleaner than most people I’ve seen, what’re you on about-” 

“The blood, it’s stained my hands, can’t you see?” Even after holding your hands to show him, he saw nothing resembling blood. 

“Are you playing games with me? Sure, it would’ve been funny any other day, not today though-” 

“You don’t believe me?” You sounded hurt, but whatever was going on, he wouldn’t feed into these... false hallucinations. “The townspeople said the same thing, they called me crazy...” You scrubbed even harder at your hands, letting out a frustrated huff. 

“I don’t see anything, I’m really sorry,” He said gently, reaching into the water to grasp your warm hands in his, “But if you continue to do that...I will see the blood.”

Childe was not sure what was going on, maybe some sort of PTSD? Although, he wasn’t sure where it could’ve come from... you’re not a harbinger or fatui, or anyone that is engaged in battle, etc. so it didn’t make sense. Unless something happened that decided to resurface now. 

He immediately took you home, hand in his to keep you from further scratching your hands. On the journey, you often asked, “Why are you even touching me? There’s a lot of blood.” 

He didn’t want to have to feed into whatever was going on, worried he’d damage you somehow, and he didn’t want to make you sound crazy, so instead he said, “Because I love you.”

When you both arrived home, he’d immediately laid you in bed, saying you appeared tired before going to search for a doctor.

Child will see every and all doctors in Teyvat and will pay whatever amount necessary to figure out what’s wrong, that’s for sure. Doesn’t take orders from the harbingers (not like he was anyways) and opts to stay close to you at all times. 

He decided to keep his teasing to a minimum, though he found that sometimes things slipped out accidentally, he’d do anything in his power to help you.

1.18.21, rayofsunas 

[thelordfool]

When The Sun Rises - Chapter Two

Stripped Away

The Courier stared up into the morning sky, Mojave dust tugging at the hems of his jacket, cracked, dry asphalt beneath his boots. Something about being back in the Mojave - back home - brought a great sigh of relief to him, a sigh that shuddered deep throughout his body. Long had he walked, long had he been exposed to the dangers that lay outside the wastes he had grown to know, and finally, he was home.

Home, he thought, blinking upwards at that same morning sky, sun hidden behind endless layers of charcoal clouds that hailed down the storm, is where he would like to be most. Laying down on his bed in Novac, shaped to the curve of his body, fiddling with a Dinky the Dino plastic figure and wondering how hilarious it would be to turn it into a grenade. Pop the head, toss over a wall, hear a solitary moment of confusion, then, boom!

“Ahem,” an impatient cough interrupted his thoughts. Aberdeen turned his head to stare at the figure in the tent beside him. The woman inside was waving him in. “Come on, get out of the rain already!”

He obliged and stepped underneath the canvas. Buckets were strewn about, catching drops of water that fell through in areas where the tent had been chewed through by moths.

“Sorry about the mess,” said the woman. She was a frazzled looking person, like the stress had sunk deep into her skin, but she still wore a genuine smile on her face. The hair on her head had looked like it once had a mohawk, but had been flattened by the onslaught of rain and was now slicked back. Her eyes shone bright green, even in the dimness of the tent. She wore, much like many of the Followers, a doctor’s lab coat. “My name is Julie, and I’m the leader of this branch of the Followers of the Apocalypse. Are you in need of any medical attention?”

“One could say that,” croaked out Aberdeen. He removed his helmet to give her a proper look. “Not in the physical sense, though.” Julie seemed taken aback to see his face. Aberdeen was not handsome by one’s standard definitions - his travels have caused scars, more than just on the surface. Across his dark brown skin stretched a bright pink, fresh scar, temporarily blinding his left eye. It ran up into his scalp, stopping just before the scar where he had been shot just three months prior. Fainter than them both, unnoticeable if not by where the hair could not grow, the scar from his lobotomy in the Big Empty. “Pardon my manners. I’m Courier Six.”

“An interesting name,” she commented, looking him over. “Are you the courier that everyone has been talking about?”

“One and the same.” 

“My goodness. And here I thought all the celebrities had been stolen away to the Strip.”

“I’ve got an invitation from a man named Benny up there,” he grimaced, “but I’ve decided to leave it for another day.”

“I see. So how can we help you today, Courier?”

“I’m looking for a therapist.”

“Well, you’re quite forward.”

“Takes a lesser man to not admit when he’s down.” Aberdeen was not one to be afraid of opening up to people, or showing his emotions. While some people become tough and an impenetrable wall when facing bad times, he had turned softer and knew that this was his only life. So to speak, having risen from the grave. Speak true, speak kindly, but take shit from no-one. It’s done him well thus far, and goody-two-shoes as it may seem, treating others with kindness makes their lives that much easier and gained him that much more in return. All in all, it was a selfish way of life.

“Well, I’m sorry to say, but I don’t think we have what you’re looking for here. The Followers specialize in some forms of mental health, mainly addiction, but we may not...” She trailed off, seeing the pained look on Aberdeen’s face. Julie thought a moment. “Actually, we might.” Julie turned to point in the direction farther into the Fort. “Head into the tent just past the one next to this. In there, there’s one of our doctors. He’s less of a doctor and more of a researcher, though. He might be able to figure something out to help you with your problems.”

“So... you want him to experiment on me?” Aberdeen arched an eyebrow, a sarcastic smirk on his lips. Julie opened her mouth to retort but caught onto his tone before giving a disapproving grunt, narrowing her eyes. 

“I take it you’re the type to express his pain in the form of humor.”

“Ring-a-ding-ding!” That smirk grew into a shit-eating grin.

“Get out of my tent.” Aberdeen let out a short laugh, threw back on his helmet and trotted to the tent, Julie watching him disappear into the rain. They’ll be a good fit, she thought, then swore at how much water was pooling at her feet.

*

The courier stepped into the tent. This one was much smaller than the one that Julie had hurried him into, and only occupied a single person, sitting at a desk, fiddling with a barrel cacti. The sound of someone stepping in was enough to startle the man, who dropped his succulent and spun around to face the courier. Blonde hair that had been made unusually curly by the weather framed at the top of the man’s face, followed by rectangle glasses that shadowed green eyes - though a duller shade than those of Julie’s. 

“Uh, hi,” Aberdeen waved awkwardly. He once again took off his helmet, this time, sticking it on a nearby, unoccupied chair. “Julie sent me over here? I’m, uh, Courier Six. What are you...”

“Oh,” the man seemed to swallow what may have been a lump in his throat and cleared it out. “You know. Finding treatments to common illnesses and injuries. Simpaks out of barrel cacti, and other fantastic improbabilities.” He nodded his head back to the succulent, eyes rolling so hard they’d’ve been better off on a New Vegas betting table. “As far as fruitless wastes of time go, this one is quite noble in its aims.”

“I see,” Aberdeen nodded. He had quite the knowledge of medicine after having to patch himself up so much and all the magazines and books he’d found, reading them during long, boring nights of nothingness. “She had told me you were a researcher.”

“I’m not much of a people person. So I’ve got no qualms with Julie sticking me back here.”

“Yeah, no shit, I don’t even know your name yet.” 

“My apologies. My name is Arcade Gannon.”

“That doesn’t sound very real,” Aberdeen eyed him with suspicion and amusement.

“The situation we live in currently doesn’t sound very real, yet, here we are!” Arcade threw his hands up in annoyance. “Now, why did Julie send you over here?”

Aberdeen eyed the doctor over a little more carefully. Looking at the shape of his nose, the way his hair made perfect circles, broad shoulders and legs that went for miles. He found himself being hit with the initial feelings of a crush - love at first sight. Being the rational person he is, he swallowed that and planted his butt firmly on some dry ground up against a metal shelving unit.

“Turns out I need a good-looking doctor to help take care of me in the big, bad wastes,” he said with a smirk. Arcade scoffed at this, the slightest hints of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and a quick flash of red washing over his face.

“Overt flirtation will get you anywhere, you know,” he finally forced out with a chuckle. “Seriously, what would Julie send a courier to me for?”

“She thought your research might have helped you come across something for my mental health issues. Unsurprisingly, I have depression, but have found myself unable to cry in recent memory.” Aberdeen tapped the top of his head on his bullet wound. “Might’ve been able to before this magical eraser, but all I could remember when I woke up was my name and the face of the man who shot me.”

With this, Arcade made a hard face. His mouth twisted at trying to find the right words to say. But the look said enough for Aberdeen.

“I’ll take that as a no, then.”

“I wouldn’t say that-”

But Aberdeen was already standing up, moving to put his helmet on. “Sorry to waste your time, doc,” he muttered in a frustrated tone. How many more days would he have to suffer with this? Strange as it may seem, it had effected his other emotional responses, too. How much longer would he have to think about how he would be unable to properly mourn? Laugh? Did he even truly feel anything? 

Arcade leaned over, grabbing the courier’s wrist. “Don’t,” he said in a stage whisper, barely audible above the rain. “What you really need, I think? Is a friend.” Aberdeen stared at Arcade with marvel. The doctor’s face screwed up and he released his grasp, face reddening with either ire or embarrassment. He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixated on his feet. “I’m sorry. You’re free to go as you wish.”

Aberdeen hovered for a minute, then put his helmet on, and stepped into the rain. Arcade didn’t even watch as he went.

*

Exactly two hours later, around 11 a.m., the courier returned to the tent. The rain had persisted relentlessly, forcing Arcade and the other residents of the Old Mormon Fort to the inside barracks. Aberdeen swore and rushed into the nearest tower and set search. When finally he came upon Arcade, he was slowly picking at an early lunch of cold grilled mantis.

“Courier,” he said in shock, “I didn’t think you’d return.”

Silently, only panting, Aberdeen sat and pushed a tightly plastic-wrapped, large, oddly-shaped package at Arcade. It made an audible thump as he tossed it on the table. The doctor looked down, then up to Aberdeen questioningly. 

“God damn it, just open it.”

With no further words, Arcade carefully tore the package open to reveal a set of armor not unlike that of the courier’s. Upon Arcade examining it, Aberdeen spoke again. 

“Why don’t you come with me?”

*

This is part two of ? of a slow-burn Courier Six (Aberdeen)/Arcade Gannon fic. If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or donating to my PayPal. If you need any artwork done, here is my commissions post.

If this is your first time seeing this, you can start here with chapter one on tumblr or on Ao3.

[oldadastra]

Night falls: losing myself in the dark

Sometime last year, a funny post listing the Myers Briggs personality types of characters in The Force Awakens made the rounds. I happily reblogged it, partly because it made me laugh, but mostly because I was tickled that the OP had labeled Kylo Ren as INFP, the same type as me.

Comments on the original post expressed doubt that Ben Solo could be this personality type, and of course, this is an analysis of a fictional character, so it’s silly at its base. Nevertheless, Star Wars has always presented a lens through which we can explore elements of our culture and ourselves, so I found it useful to think about.  

To me, the INFP assignment felt like it could be true; an introverted type, driven my deeply-held beliefs, with a tendency to go all in on causes which felt important. An ability to see multiple positions on an issue. Emotional, moral, poetic, impractical.

Without going too far into the weeds of personality tests and types, here’s a link to a test I took recently, and a link to the description of the INFP personality type.If you aren’t familiar with or interested in the Myers Briggs, you’ll probably want to scroll on, as this post is going to focus on politics and my own struggles to come to terms with the dark, using Ben Solo as my metaphor.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot in recent weeks, as the political environment grows darker here in the United States. Each day unleashes some new horror in our civic realm, and I feel myself getting lost in the gathering darkness. 

A little bit about myself: Most people who read my stuff know I’m old within the fandom (I’m 50). Here’s what I do for a living; for most of the past 25 years I’ve worked as a sculptor (in collaboration with my husband), creating artwork for pubic spaces. It’s an arts job that has taken us to diverse communities around the US where our process is to spend time listening to people to try to understand what makes their particular place special or important to them. We then create artwork which makes those values visible; inviting people to spend time together in their shared civic spaces, and hopefully, creating a more inclusive, beautiful, and lively environment in our towns and cities. Our work shows up in libraries, town squares, universities, transit stops, veterans homes, hospitals, parks, and other public spaces.

In my spare time, I’m part of our town plan commission, and president of the village merchant’s association. I lead rural arts activities, help out at our local museum, history festival and art fair, teach community education classes, and rescue stray and feral kittens. In short; I try to be a nice person, not an asshole.

To use a Star Wars analogy (which also works for me as a self-identified witch): I serve the light. I always have.

Until lately.

Aside: If you want to know more about me and the place where I live, here’s a link to an article in Politico in which me (and a bunch of my neighbors) are quoted at length. It was published on the day of the Inauguration. 

Here’s a picture of me, taken by the photojournalist who came out to document my little part of the world. It was a sunny morning, about 15 below zero F, and I am feeding my sheep:

  What does it feel like when a good heart goes bad?

I have lots of time to think while I’m caring for my flock of sheep and goats. and occasionally, insight strikes while I’m working at these mundane tasks. My whole Bloodline thesis? While flinging hay. The convictions that show up in my Jedi Killer essay? Hauling buckets of water to and fro. The explorations of the new saga as a possible meditation on universal themes of war and an exploration of moral injury? Those were late-night ruminations during lambing season last spring. 

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the American political situation, and my response to it. I’ve been working on an essay about the ways in which Rogue One provides templates for contemporary resistance, but this other thing has been in the way, and I need to write about it first: the darkness. 

One of my friends, another handspinner who is also a therapist, was the one who told me to take a Myers Briggs test. When I told her I was INFP, she clapped her hands and said, “Ha! I thought so.” This was probably only a year ago, so it’s a new idea for me, but the category feels right. All those traits of an INFP personality - they feel familiar and true. Embracing the ‘label’ has helped me to better understand myself and the ways in which I prefer to engage with the world.

Which brings me back to Ben Solo. Kylo Ren.

In the weeks since the election, and in the days since the inauguration, I have felt myself falling to the dark side. As the process began, I thought about asking my friend, the therapist, 

“What does it look like when an INFP goes bad?” 

Then I realized I knew.

Kylo Ren is the template for a personality with a vivid moral code warped into violence. His is the pattern for strong emotion congealed into explosive rage burning, burning, burning, just beneath the surface; heavy, corrosive and hot in your chest. It is the outstretched hand twisting into the clenched fist. 

I know because I can feel it happening to me. 

In the Politico article, one of the local people interviewed by Michael Kruse said, 

“It’ll be turmoil for four years. [Trump]’s like a firecracker in a keg of dynamite.”

Why, then, I wondered, did he vote for him? He put down his brandy in a plastic cup and looked at me.“Why not?” he said flatly. “Let it blow.”

This, and the guy’s other hateful comments, are part of what’s stoking my rage; my fall. In the darkness, I disagree with everything he says, except for this:

Let it blow.

I voted for Clinton. I was never excited about her candidacy, but Trump represented then, and is demonstrating now, that he is a clear and present danger to democracy, and I voted against that. Now that the worst has come to pass, in a strange way I agree with the vile man in the article; I saw the threat Trump and his cabal represent and voted to maintain the status quo. My neighbors (some of them might have been my friends) chose a different path, and here we are.

So be it. Let it blow. 

And why not? The world is in trouble. If we are to build new ways of living, the old ones must pass away, yes? It feels as though the collapse is upon us; a self-induced crisis of epic proportions to which we must all respond. We’re invited to sweep the ground clean of everything that went before and start anew.

I know in my bones that these are dangerous times which demand the absolute best from all of us if people and institutions we care deeply about are to survive, and yet, every day I am failing. I am falling to the dark. I can feel it. and cannot find my way out. 

Hate, deception, and cruelty are the markers of the new regime, and it is so easy, so very easy, to meet hate with hate. 

Star Wars is helping me try to make sense of it. I spent much of the past year trying to understand the story of a fictional character, writing about the reasons he might have fallen - been seduced by the dark side, we like to say here in the GFFA - but I never really got it until now. 

Surrendering to the dark side is easy. When war is brought to your doorstep, it feels simple and correct to meet it with war. When the people around you display their ignorance and bigotry, how else should one meet it but with righteous fury?

I’m lost. I thought I was Jedi, but it turns out I’m Sith.

Or not. 

I’m struggling against this, the darkness. Even that is a revelation; the intensity of the struggle in my psyche, in my soul. It’s exhausting. I feel it as a heaviness in my chest, the hot buzz of too much blood in my veins. 

I am a shepherd, perhaps the most cliched pastoral and peaceful job a person can do, but these days I tend to my flock and fight fantasies of violence as I tear gobs of hay off the bales to carry to my gentle animals.  The steel tines of my pitchfork are polished with moving summer’s grass in winter, and they glitter in the guttering light of my headlamp.

I’m doing what I can; writing this helps, perhaps. Stepping out into the cold air of winter clears my head, if only temporarily. Marching helped. Speaking out and taking action helps. I’m talking to the wise ones in my circle; my friend Richard, a veteran activist who is headed back to Standing Rock this spring, and who seems to have cracked the code of non-violence. All the voices around me that feel less lost. I’m looking for the light. It’s there, I know it.

I’ve written so much about Ben Solo because I love him. He’s Han and Leia’s boy, after all. I’ve thought of him as though he were one of my own children, and the question of how to bring him out of the dark, how to get him home, has felt urgent for these reasons.  Now for the first time, I realize he’s me. 

Save Ben Solo