#tw mental health

[losver07]

guys i really need a title for my fic jdbfkdnckd so ima tell you aaaaall about it and you tell me 1. wether youd read it or not and 2. what the hell i could use as a title because i have absolutely no idea

ok this is probably going to be long so under the cut :)

okay! marauders fic, of course. muggle au (because im not ready step that far out of my comfort zone yet lmao)

the main characters will of course be the four marauders, and the story is set in a hospital, where all of them are residents in the mental health ward. so after sirius attempts on his life, he is hospitalised by his brother and put in a room with james, peter and remus, who have all been accepted in the past couple of months for several but not so different reasons.

there will be a looot of mental health talk involved as you may imagine, as well as some juicy drama and very very yummy angst.

ships! wolfstar (unexpected, i know), jily, jegulus (ohhhh there's a lot of drama involved on that one), rosekiller probably, and many more that i'll improvise because let's be honest i do not control these characters.

also! no need to mention that i do NOT support jkr's transphobic, homophobic, racist, etc. views and that the goal of this fic is to make me and anyone else who enjoys it happy. i do not wish to offend anyone and even though there can be some triggering subjects involved (suicide, sh, eating disorders, etc.) they will be tagged so people who may be affected by them are safe. i really just want to write something that keeps my delusion going guys.

okay!!! so i think that sums it up well enough :) feel free to ask me anything or correct me if i messed up (i still have a lot of research to do on the british healthcare system), and give me ideas if you have any! i've got most of the plot outlined but i am willing to add/change some scenes if i get a good suggestion ;)

thanks for reading <3 ill let you know when i start posting chapters tho school is making that quite difficult lol

[writingmyheartsout]

Nobody's Soldier - a Bucky Barnes story.

(chapter 2)

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first of all i have to apologize for not updating all these past months, me head wasn't in the right headspace to do that as intrusive thoughts kept telling me this was bad.

second, i literally rewrote the whole chapter, because i wasn't feeling it anymore as I used to be, it's still very much angsty but I had the feeling I was going a lil too much OOC (but you'll tell me that if it still are)

third and last, imposter syndrome at its best...

i'm truly sorry for made you wait this long

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This fic is also on wattpad and soon on Ao3

Nobody's Soldier playlist on Spotify

CW: talking about trauma, PTSD, nightmares, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning himself), trauma, unexpected feelings, obsession, anxiety, denial, mention of manipulation, slight mention of sa, crying, desperation, unhealthy attachment, limerence, fighting over unrequited feelings, reader has female pronous.

(chapter is 8k words more or less)

chapter 1 is here

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Ch. 2 - Popular monster

Bucky kept checking on his phone, expecting a text from you, an update, anything that would let him know you were ok. But the phone remained silent.

It took you a while to gather the will to leave your bed and eat something, but as soon as you stepped out of the bedroom and looked around the living room, you nearly cried again.

The tv sat there, broken and half torn apart, as a reminder that what happened was all too real.

Your first instinct was to go back to bed and cry until you passed out, but your brain thought otherwise as your body moved on its own. You began picking up random items all over the room and throwing them into large black garbage bags, tv included.

This behaviour wasn’t new or unexpected; you often reacted this way when you were nearing your breaking point, and right now, you were very close to it.

After spending part of the day and night back and forth from your apartment to the dumpster, you finally began to feel exhausted again, your mind finally empty.

But the moment your head hit the pillow, the screen of your phone lit up with a notification. 

It was Bucky

Bucky cursed at himself with every word he knew as thoughts slowly began to swirl inside his mind. The clock continued ticking, and the phone lay untouched on the table in front of him.

Should he message you? Would you even want him to? When exactly had he started to care? He pondered these questions as he picked it up once again, debating whether to send you something or not.

But before he could process it all, his fingers acted on their own, opening the chat and typing something, much to his dismay. 

-From Bucky: Hey... are you okay?

You probably stared at the preview of his text longer than you'd like to admit, resisting the urge to open it while still grappling with disbelief that he had actually done such a thing.

On the other hand, you didn't want to give him the wrong message, especially since you suspected he had feelings for you.

Yet, the growing sense of relief settling in the pit of your stomach was unmistakable, and you realized something so simple yet so terrifying.

You cared about him. A lot actually.

Bucky's heart raced in his chest as he stared at the chat, waiting for your response. He felt a wild range of emotions, going from a sense of guilt to utter shame.

Shame for not being able to control his growing feelings or for pushing you to the brink of an episode. Still, he couldn't shake the fact that deep down, he knew you were right. That he shouldn't feel this way...and yet, he did.

But all he needed at that moment was to know you were okay.

However, you didn't answer him. Sure, you were about to, more out of habit than anything else, but you were still very much in shock. The thought that the situation was utterly crazy wouldn’t leave your mind.

Nonetheless, you had to stop this, whatever this was, from spiralling into something you couldn't control.

You didn't sleep much after that. By the time you crawled back into bed, it was already early morning, so you decided to resume reading.

Maybe this would help to distract you for a while, you thought. But as soon as you went to pick up a book, memories flooded your mind.

You remembered that time when Bucky called you after a nightmare and how you helped him calm down by reading him your favourite story.

This whole situation felt like torture, and the strangest part was that you couldn't stop thinking about how, with just a simple hug, he had made you feel better than you had in years.

On the other hand, Bucky felt a sense of despair welling up in his chest when no answer came, as anxiety gnawed at him.

You were the one suffering the consequences, and he was the only one to blame. A frustrated huff escaped his lips as he ran his metal hand through his hair, then collapsed onto the couch with a loud groan.

Thoughts flooded his mind, too many to be healthy. In an act of desperation, he unlocked his phone again, texting you... again.

-From Bucky: Please... say something.

You eventually fell asleep, your reading glasses on and the book resting on your chest. When you woke up later that day, your phone screen was lit with yet another text.

...say something... the message read, simple as that, making you feel guilty for not responding earlier. You knew you didn't have to reply, but you couldn’t help but think that maybe you were exaggerating the whole situation. Perhaps it was just a slip-up and nothing more.

But another part of you, the rational side, kept reminding you that this was how everything had started.

The manipulation, the controlling habits, the abuse. It all started with someone developing feelings right when you were at your weakest.

You couldn't do this anymore, not when you had worked so hard to get to where you were now.

You chose not to answer again, confident that somehow he would get over it.

Bucky's mind raced as he stared at his phone, willing a reply to appear on the screen.

All he wanted, was some sort of sign, anything that let him know you were okay. That you weren't as mad at him, at least not completely. That you still felt comfortable enough to talk with him.

But when hours passed and you hadn't answered, his heart sank as more thoughts started to creep in.

The realization that he had lost you overwhelmed him, leaving him feeling numb.

His eyes started to prick with tears as he cursed himself for letting his emotions get the best of him. He couldn't wallow in despair, not over you, not over someone he barely knew.

But someone who seemed to understand him.

No, he couldn’t go there. He had to distract himself and focus on something else.

So, with a deep breath, he stood up and turned on the tv, trying to fill the silence of his apartment, which had become too loud for him in that moment

After that incident, nearly three weeks passed. You returned to your usual safe routine, but it felt like something was wrong, like something was clearly missing.

Then one morning, just after breakfast, your phone rang and Dr. Raynor's number appeared on the screen.

It was strange, she had never called you before. When you answered and she asked where Bucky was, you felt confused.

It turned out he had stopped showing up for his therapy sessions without saying a word. She had tried to reach out to him, but he didn't pick up.

He was alive, that much she knew, yet you could clearly hear the concern in her voice.

After you explained what had happened between the two of you, how he had come over and the incident that followed, she added something that left you stunned and altered the perception you had of him up to that point.

His whole history, the abuse, the manipulation, who he was and the... arm.

“The arm?” you curiously asked, not quite getting what she meant.

“He has a prosthetic arm, a vibranium one...” the doctor began to explain, her tone careful “...although it's not the same as the one he had, it's a harsh reminder of what happened to him and what he did.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention this sooner, but it’s already complicated as it is,” she added.

At her words, the pieces started to fall into place. His behaviour, the way he addressed you, how he looked around the apartment as soon as he walked in and the… gloves he hadn’t taken off that day.

Another hour passed as Dr. Raynor continued to explain that Bucky still saw himself as some kind of monster, an experiment and how losing himself for so long had inevitably changed him. It only made sense that once the call was over, you texted him without thinking twice.

You were worried and maybe a little furious.

-to Bucky: your doctor called me. Why did you stop therapy? You know you have to go.

Then you quickly added a second one.

-to Bucky: she also gave me the whole story, your story I mean.

Bucky was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to get himself to relax enough to sleep. He had been feeling exceptionally crappy, for lack of a better word, having spent the whole night awake when his phone went off.

His mind was in a constant battle, and all he wanted was some peace and quiet. So when he lazily picked up his phone to check and saw your name, the first thing he felt was relief.  

However, as he eagerly sat up, he almost dropped the phone when he read your texts, his heart nearly stopping.

The doctor told you everything... Those words echoed in his head as his thoughts spiralled out of control.

He had been lying to you for the most part. He hadn't meant to keep things from you, but deep down, he knew you would see him differently from now on. You would look at him with pity, unable to see him as a person anymore, but rather as... a monster.

He desperately wanted to text you back, but he felt stuck, unsure of what to say or do.

So he just lay on his bed for the next half hour, his phone still clutched in his fingers as he tried to come up with something that wouldn’t push you away again.

All he needed was to see you, but he was terrified of how you would react now that you knew about his secret.

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes stretched into hours as anxiety began to eat him alive, until he finally pressed send.

-from Bucky:..It’s complicated... can we talk tomorrow? I’ll come over.

You didn't expect a fast reply, hell you didn’t expect a reply at all.

So when he texted back after hours of leaving you on read, the content of his message startled you.

 ...I’ll come over... The words ran through your mind, almost triggering your panic as you tried to come up with a polite reply. 

You knew you had to start somewhere, but you felt torn.

You were caught between wanting to give him a chance to explain and the absolute fear that something worse might happen if you saw him again.

-to Bucky: we'll see about that..but you can call me, we can still talk…if you want.

You suggested instead, thinking it would be better for both of you, at least for now.

Bucky stared at your words for a long minute, a small smile grazed his lips while his heart did a weird flip in his chest.

You hadn’t said a definitive no to his request, you were still willing to talk to him. But those words, that we'll see about that lingered in his mind, giving him a glimmer of hope while leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

As he fought the growing urge to call you right then and there, he decided to send a message first.

-from Bucky: I’ll call you in ten, alright?

He sent the text and hastily placed his phone on the bedside table, letting out a shaky breath.

If you agreed, there was a good chance he would get to hear your voice, something he hadn’t realized how he missed so much until now.

For a long moment, after his last reply, you stared at the short message almost as if it were some kind of riddle waiting to be solved. A smile crept onto your face at his eagerness without you even noticing it.

What the fuck were you doing? Why were you smiling? You chided yourself, shaking your head in confusion as you tried to suppress the knot forming in your stomach.

With ten more minutes until the phone call, you thought distracting yourself would be a good idea, more to calm your nerves than anything else.

Instead, Bucky's call came a few minutes early, and you didn’t pick up, your phone lay on the bed while you were in the next room.

Bucky had to resist the urge to call you again immediately after he sent the text.

His mind wouldn’t quiet down, racing with thoughts about a million things. About hearing your voice again, the possibility that maybe you weren't as mad at him as he thought, and how nervous he suddenly felt.

And the ten minutes felt like an eternity. 

He tried to keep himself busy and away from the phone, but as soon as the ten minutes were up, he found himself with his phone in hand, calling you... only to be sent to voicemail.

He was not panicking, absolutely not.

His thoughts immediately spiralled into worst-case scenarios. maybe you had changed your mind or maybe calling you was indeed a mistake.

But he tried to push those feelings aside, convincing himself that you were probably just busy.

And while those thoughts filled his mind, he found himself in the middle of his fourth time re-dialling your number. The ringing sound the only thing echoing in the room.

On the other hand, you had lost track of time while focusing on cleaning the apartment, a standard behaviour when you were unable to concentrate and something clearly upset you.

When you finally checked your phone, you nearly dropped it upon seeing five missed calls.

"Damn it Bucky, you wasted no time," you mumbled with a sigh.

That alone should have served as a warning sign, but you ignored it completely. Thinking nothing of it, you called him as you sat down on your bed, waiting for him to pick up.

Bucky was startled when his phone suddenly rang. His eyes fixed on the screen as your name appeared, causing his heart to leap into his throat and almost miss the call.

When he finally answered, a shuddering breath escaped his lips before he said anything.

"Hey," he said quietly, a nervous smile tugging at his lips while anxiety fluttered in the pit of his stomach, waiting for an answer… craving it even.

His soft exhale, the hushed hello and his gentle tone caught you off guard, making your cheeks blush slightly.

It had been long since you heard his voice you thought, still reluctant to admit you missed him…in a way. 

"Eager much..?" you joked, attempting to break the awkward silence between you and hide your distress.

"How are you?.." you added then, genuinely asking. It had been weeks since his last therapy session after all, and even though you both had a setback, you wanted to check on him, making sure he was okay.

Bucky chuckled lightly at your words, the small smile on his face widening slightly.

"Sorry for the multiple calls. You didn't answer so I was..." panicking the hell out. He almost confessed, then he cleared his throat and continued, not particularly keen on discussing how worried he had been up to that moment.

"M'fine, mostly. How have you been?"  he asked instead, quickly dismissing your question, trying to stay calm and hoping you wouldn't notice how strained his voice really was.

"You don't have to justify your worry, y'know?" you said honestly, understanding where his words were headed. Then he lied, probably out of habit.

"And…I know you're not, if you were, why did your doctor call me this morning?." you stated, your tone soft yet firm, not wanting him to feel at fault. 

Meanwhile, if you had to be completely honest, he didn't seem that dangerous. Maybe a little eager, but not a total red flag.

Bucky's breath hitched the moment you called him out, and he cursed himself for it.

Of course you’d noticed, he should have expected you to be more observant than most people.

"Right.." he said, running a hand through his hair, letting out a tired sigh as he did so.

"The good doctor called you, huh?” he asked ironically, unable to hold back a bitter remark. 

"C'mon she's not that bad" you playfully replied, still sitting on the bed as a light huff left your lips.

“She’s just worried…” you added, your tone gentle yet firm “...and to be honest, I am too”

Bucky let out a small chuckle as you teased him about his doctor, rolling his eyes even though you couldn't see him. But then you said more, catching him off guard.

Were you worried? Did that mean you probably cared? Right? 

He immediately shook that thought away, it wasn’t the right time, not now, though those words kept lingering in his head.

“You? Worried? About me?..” he asked, genuinely baffled by your comment as a slight frown crossed his face.

"Yeah, Bucky...y'know like a normal human being would.." you bit back, not really annoyed, at least not that much, as it wasn't entirely his fault...or so you thought.

"There is so much going on lately, like being affected by someone trying to help you?” you stated honestly, not wanting to scold him but rather hoping to settle things.

“Maybe we can talk about that? " 

From honest discussions to fights, you had learned not to shy away from confrontation anymore. It was something you picked up in therapy. Now, when a problem presented itself, you just went straight to the point, only to find out that most people couldn't handle a simple conversation.

Bucky's heart picked up once again when you hinted at his behaviour, and he honestly had no idea how to deal with it.

You really didn't hold back, did you, sweetheart? he thought, nervously running his metal fingers through his hair as he tried to come up with a decent answer.

Finally, he let out a weary exhale before speaking again.

"It's not that simple. But yeah, we can talk about it..." he said quietly, as the weight of shame settled back in.

After his answer, after sensing his evident reluctance, you couldn't help but feel a little guilty about your words. However, it was no use dwelling on it.

"No? Then talk to me. Believe it or not, I'm not mad at you" you urged him, your voice still gentle.

What you were trying to do was reassure him and help if possible, even if it meant confronting an uncomfortable truth.

“I've been there before, I know how it seems… " you added, showing him that you understood what he was going through. 

You? So you weren’t mad at him. Why? You should have been, it's what he deserved. 

Bucky was speechless for a moment longer as your words sank in. He had made you uncomfortable and pressured you, this was his fault.

His throat felt constricted, and he had to swallow once, then twice, before he could answer.

"Y'mean, someone... had feelings for you? In therapy?" he found himself asking instead, unnerved by the thought of someone becoming obsessed with you, knowing deep down he was doing the same.

You should have seen that coming, still, yet it still took you by surprise.

"It's.. it's one the reasons I'm still dealing with the program, Bucky..." you replied, your tone growing quiet.

You understood that, as your therapy partner or former one, he should have been informed about the situation. Still, it was hard to articulate.

"It was straight-up manipulation, as my doctor put it. This other person, he..well...he… he used me" you tried, but the words wouldn't come out. Staring into nothing, you felt too scared of another episode happening. Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself as you felt panic building inside you.

"I honestly thought it was real, I thought it was love…” you added, your voice barely above a whisper by the end.

Bucky felt his heart sink the moment you began to explain. Those words were all too familiar, and they hurt him as guilt washed over him again. 

"I'm sorry for what happened to you...."  he only said, his jaw clenching as he spoke, yet his voice sounded almost gentle.

He wanted to say much more; he wanted to express how much he hated himself for nearly doing the same to you. But the words got stuck in his throat, leaving him feeling like a coward.

I'm sorry I did that to you, he thought, as guilt consumed his mind.

"You... you know I would never do anything like that to you, right?" he asked carefully, trying to change the subject while feeling nervous about a possible backlash.

At his words, you let out a light scoff, noticing how tense his voice had suddenly become.

"No shit, Buck..." you joked after a moment “.. I would hope so” you added quietly, shaking your head in disbelief, hoping it was true.

For Christ's sake, you even found him attractive, you thought, as a small smile tugged at your lips. 

"But I'm at fault too, I should have thought better than to hug you like I did, no matter how bad I was feeling..." you stated, genuinely believing it was your fault as well.

"It gives off the wrong idea...most of the time”

After everything that had happened, you blamed yourself? Thinking you caused all this? He thought, staring at the floor as he processed your words in his head, feeling even worse.

Good job, Bucky. Really great job. he chided himself silently.

"You... didn’t know where you were. You had a panic attack..." he said, hating the idea of you taking responsibility for something like that. He knew damn well you weren’t in control of your actions during an episode. He had been there before, more times than he could possibly count.

"I'm the one at fault... not you," he said firmly, remorse coursing through him with every word he spoke.

"Bucky...I.. " you started to say, feeling the need to try and justify yourself once more."... I was just grounding myself " you confessed, falling back onto the bed with a frustrated groan as you ran a hand over your face. 

"Still, I...I got you what? Obsessed? Addicted? Whatever this is..." you added, not really asking any actual questions but rather stating a fact."... surely something went wrong here”

Bucky’s thoughts momentarily halted as you spoke. 

"No!... no, no, no. You didn't do anything." He shot back, his voice laced with disbelief at how much you were taking the brunt of his mistakes.…"..you didn't ask me to feel this way, sweetheart. I did it myself, it’s on me.”

He hesitated, mentally scolding himself for letting that term slip out so easily. Yet, he felt compelled to make sure you understood that none of this was your fault, that you were innocent and he wasn't. You were simply trying to be kind, nothing more

"Do you really think you're responsible?” he honestly asked again.

"Well...yeah?..." you replied, your voice uncertain. That little name didn’t go unnoticed, leaving you taken aback as your cheeks dusted pink instinctively. "...I mean, my first therapy partner thought I led him so..." you added quietly.

And it was the truth. In the very early stages of the program, before Bucky was involved and before you were even paired with anyone, you met a lot of people.

Most of them complete idiots.

"It's one of the reasons why I flinch when someone suddenly touches me when I'm not myself.." you confessed, feeling a wave of shame rise within you. "...that's why I reach out and hold onto whatever I can find most of the time”

Bucky's heart tightened uncomfortably as you referred to the people you had met before him.

Led him on? Seriously? Why was your first partner such a jerk? Did he even have any issues? he thought, listening to your explanation.

Bucky felt horrible. He was already upset about his slight obsession and how he had made you uncomfortable, but now,  hearing you open up about your past and how others had treated you, he felt even worse.

He was no better than all of them.

"Then... why did you hug me?” he asked simply, letting out a deep sigh as his tone grew quieter, almost apologetic.

"Because you were there and felt safe..." you blurted out without much thinking, your gaze fixed on the ceiling.

“ And I... I was weak.." you added, feeling embarrassed to admit the truth as you tried to find a rational explanation for your behaviour.

But then, you remembered how terrified you had been right after when irrational fear took over.

Bucky's heart fluttered at that. Did you feel safe with him? Could he calm you down? You trusted him? The realization took him off guard as his brain processed the information.

He had to take another deep breath to steady his heartbeat while a small smile appeared on his face.

But then he remembered your reaction afterwards and that same smile faded, making him want to scream in frustration.

"I felt safe?..." he asked, more to himself than to you, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. But you were on the other end of the line and heard anyway…

"But you? You flinched away..” he added, trying to make sense out of your words.

"That's how irrational fears work usually.." you said bluntly, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Trusting you as a person? Yes absolutely, I could do that..." you tried to reassure him, hearing silence on the other end.

"But as a man? it's a little more complicated, to put it simply” you explained, trying to make it as clear as possible and leaving no space for misunderstanding.

If that meant you wouldn’t hear from Bucky anymore, so be it.

“I still don't know if you want something out of me..or not" you added quietly. 

But those words stung him more than he would like to admit, though he wasn’t surprised. No, he clearly understood your point; still, it hurt to hear you say that, even if he was the one at fault.

He ran a hand through his hair again and swallowed hard as you continued, feeling as though he was being accused.

You knew him well already, because your words hit the mark as you called him out once again. An irrational anger welled up inside him, and he swallowed hard. 

He didn’t want you to be scared of him, after all, he needed you. You were the only one, after so many years, who finally understood him and made him feel calm.

"Why would you even think I want anything from you?” he said, a slight edge creeping into his voice, his tone turning unexpectedly cold.

The change in tone genuinely frightened you. You hadn’t seen it coming.

"With the way you got so obsessed, so quickly...” you started, trying to keep yourself as calm as possible, relieved there was a phone between you both.

“Or... how you already sound pissed,  even after I’ve tried to reason with you..." you continued, sitting back up at the edge of the bed.

This whole situation started to scare you more than it should. You just wanted to live your life peacefully, nothing more, nothing less.

"I'm sorry Buck but...I don't.." you added, fear and guilt plaguing your mind at this point, wanting nothing more than to put an end to this conversation already. “...I don't think we should speak again, not until you work on these issues by yourself…”

Bucky felt like someone had stabbed him right in his chest with a rusted knife. All the guilt and shame he felt earlier were soon replaced by anger.

You? Wanted to stop talking? Cut all contact? What about him then? What would be of him without your soothing voice? he thought. He couldn’t do that, not now, not ever.

"We're not doing that.” he snapped. The very thought of never hearing your voice again, not talking to you, triggered something deep inside him.  His heart was racing in his chest as he spoke through clenched teeth.

When he spoke again, his tone had grown slightly more threatening, and that's when you reacted. Although calm and collected most of the time, there were times, usually when someone crossed a line or something felt off, that another side of you came out.

"You don’t realize it, do you? Even now? You’re so desperate to be accepted that you can’t see how you're behaving?..." you said, your voice raising a little as your tone sharpened.

"Can’t you see how your little addiction is clouding your mind? It’s really a simple concept to understand..." you continued, frustration edging into your voice.

"Having feelings for someone doesn't mean forcing that obsession on them. And here I thought you were smart, but clearly, I was wrong.”

Bucky was taken aback by your sudden outburst. You spoke with passion and determination, far from the calm and gentle demeanour you usually showed him, and your words stung.

However, they also made a few pieces click into place. You were right, you had been from the very beginning. 

But that realization only infuriated him even more.

"How dare you judge me? You're no better than I am.” he retorted, his voice rising with each word that left his mouth, still reeling from a mix of anger and blame.

"You have irrational fears and trauma just like I do. Don't you dare pretend that I'm the bad guy here."

Deep down, he knew he was taking out his anger on you, even though you didn't deserve it. But it felt like he couldn't stop, his mind tangled in a haze of angry thoughts. Above all, he was terrified of losing you.

You might have laughed when he snapped back, if the situation hadn't been so tense and if you weren't feeling so scared. But that didn't mean you had nothing to say in return. After all, it wasn’t the first time someone had used your situation to hurt you.

"Really? I’m judging you now? " you repeated in disbelief, scoffing slightly as you didn’t quite believe what you just heard.

"I never said I was better than anyone, not even you. I know my problems, but at least I can manage my own feelings.." you added, not even bothering to defend yourself against his accusations.

"So how dare you speak to me like that …”

Your words only turned his anger into desperation, and Bucky stopped making sense. You were taunting him, teasing him, mocking him even and he knew It was only his fault. Unfortunately, even if he understood, that realization did nothing to ease his feelings in that moment.

"You really have no idea how you affect me? How you make me feel?" he spat out, guilt overwhelming him along with hurt.

"Why do you think I became obsessed in the first place, huh?” he added, taking a deep breath and trying to calm his racing mind, his body tense with emotions.

"And now you're telling me you don’t want to speak with me anymore? Just banishing me like that, without a second thought?"

He could attend all the therapy sessions possible, and it wouldn’t change a damn thing. How you made him feel, how you made him laugh, smile, and long for more.

And that was the one truth that terrified him the most.

"You really think I can stay away from you?" he suddenly asked, his voice both distressed and unsteady, almost on the verge of tears.

The pain in his last words made you pause for a moment as remorse began to creep in.

Was he truly hurting that bad? Did he really not do it on purpose?

"Then tell me.." you started, your tone softening as you sought a way out of this pointless fight. 

"If I have no clue as you said, talk to me…… let me understand,” you added, trying once again to reason with him, hoping it would be the last time.

But even now, your first instinct was to distance yourself from him as much as possible. You thought you understood, but you were still very much afraid, unable to shake the feeling that this situation would only worsen.

Bucky felt his jaw clench as you asked him why. He didn’t know how to answer, his mind was working against him, and the right words eluded him.

He knew he was going too far, but it felt impossible to stop. The prospect of rejection and blame weighed heavily on him.

"What about…” he started “...what about the fact that just hearing your voice drives me crazy? That, the more I talk to you, the more I want you? ” he confessed, his voice quiet yet edged with emotions as his heart ached.

“I'm… I’m obsessed with you, happy now?”

He was obsessed, and he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t change the fact that he was feeling something he hadn’t felt in years. And if this was what obsession felt like, then so be it.

"The problem is wanting to control me, Bucky..." you retorted “...the problem is shoving all your sudden feelings onto me”

“The problem is making me feel guilty" you went on, your voice growing serious, sounding angrier than you intended.

At that you stood up, nervously pacing up and down the room, your jaw clenching as you tried to keep the anger down.

"I should be yours no matter what, that’s what you’re saying? Just because you are hooked on my voice?" you bit back, almost as if you were accusing him, stopping in your tracks as a frustrated sigh left your mouth.

Bucky hated the way you described his feelings. But the more you talked the more he realized, for real this time, how he was acting. How he let his desperation, his fears control him as soon as you said you didn’t want to speak with him anymore, that you wanted to stay away.

You were being reasonable, he was the one who started acting crazy.

"I wasn't trying to control your actions, doll. I just..." he only said then, stopping only to better collect his thoughts as the little nickname slipped out his lips without realizing it.

"I need you. You have no idea how calming you are for me, how I find myself craving to hear your voice..." he continued, speaking in a low frustrated tone, his anger now mingled with his inner desperation as he felt his eyes starting to sting.

"You're the first person that understands, how do you expect me to stop needing you?”

"This is not the right way to do it, clearly.." you replied, still slightly pissed at his stubbornness, but noticing how he was starting to calm down. 

"The thing is, emotions are never wrong, you just learn to manage them..." you went on while now pacing back and forth in the living room. 

Still, you felt stressed, on edge even as the whole discussion brought up some unresolved issues that you completely forgot about. You could only hope that it wouldn’t bring up a panic attack as well. 

"When you have feelings for anyone, or supposed to have..." you started, mostly annoyed now "..you don't need them, to the point of feeling sick"

Then you stopped for a moment, sighing heavily and closing your eyes, your fingers went to pinch at the bridge of your nose as you tried to think about what you were about to say.

"Jesus, I can't believe I'm explaining this.." you huffed then, calming down your nerves.

"When you feel something, you want to spend more time with them” you then started explaining, hoping it would break down into his stubbornness. 

”Needing someone is a coping mechanism.." as your voice wavered a little “...you know what a coping mechanism is, right? " 

Bucky clenched his jaw even more when you spoke. He did, in fact, know what a coping mechanism was. 

He also knew that you were absolutely right with what you were saying.

His obsession, was a coping mechanism, an unhealthy one. He had gotten obsessed with you because you were the first person that made him feel something good, so he latched onto it, not wanting to let go. 

He felt a pang of guilt in his chest.

"I know what a coping mechanism is..." he muttered through gritted teeth.

"But I didn’t do it on purpose. I just couldn’t help it. You make me feel calm, you make me forget about everything. You make me want to try again."

Now the hint of anger, the bite he had in his tone had disappeared almost completely, replaced with pure panic.

"How am I supposed to deal with that, huh? You feel so so good to me.”

Hearing the change in Bucky's voice made you stop suddenly as your heart clenched at the fear now evident in his tone. You felt bad with the way you were speaking to him but at the same time you didn't, given the fact that, maybe, you were able to knock some sense into him.  

"That's why I.." you started, voice now more gentle than before "... I told you we should be apart for a while"

It wasn't ideal, not even for you since you were at fault too here. With the way you acted when you hugged him or with how dangerously comfortable you were getting with him.

Feeling so calm and safe with someone you barely know shouldn't be happening. You reminded yourself more than once.

"If I'm the trigger here, you should understand how much of your feelings are real and..." you stopped for a fraction, realization dawning on you as well.."...and how much is just an unhealthy obsession.."

If you were just a means to an end in this absurd scenario, just something to help him cope with, then you don't want to be. You wanted to be seen, for yourself, as a person.

Bucky's heart was beating faster in his chest, your words, your reasoning filled his mind and he found himself agreeing with that. Still, despair and guilt filled his heart as the sole thought of not hearing from you anymore felt so wrong to him.

"You're not a trigger..." he protested, weakly so as his voice wavered slightly.

But you were once more right. What he was feeling towards you wasn't normal, wasn't right. He was obsessed with you because you made him feel calm at a time when he was at his lowest.

"I want you..." he mumbled, his voice lacking the greedy, possessive edge he had before.

"I don't want to lose you…please” he pleaded with you, desperate to make you agree to stay, at least, in touch.

"I'll do anything. I'll work on myself, find a way to deal with this obsession." he insisted, absolutely hating using that word, even if it was the truth.

"Please, don't cut me off. I'll lose my mind if you do.”

You exhaled deeply, moving to sit on the couch and taking the phone with you. He was doing it again, begging you. But again, it was just the addiction talking.

"Then what, Bucky?.." you asked then, after a long moment, exhaling deeply as you closed your eyes..."... every time you need a fix, you call me?.." 

You know you didn't have to be so harsh right now, but you truly wanted him to realize how deep he was in this and how bad it was affecting him.  

"It's the addiction talking here.." you added as another deep sigh left your lips...

"You're not even asking yourself if I feel something for you..." you stated as your stomach churned the more the anxiety grew…

"You only see what I can do for you..."

Guess you weren't that lucky. But with the history you had, that didn’t surprise you much. Maybe it was really your fault. Maybe you really led them on. Maybe they got obsessed because you did something.

You really don’t know, but everytime you tried your best and this time you truly believed he could have been the right therapy partner for you.

That was a low blow, but Bucky knew you were right.

He really hadn’t even thought about the possibility that you might not feel something for him, that he was hurting you by acting like this.

He had been selfish… no, he had been damn greedy. He was using you as his own personal drug, his only way to feel better.

He wanted to protest, to fight back, but he couldn’t.

"That’s not true..." he muttered, his voice even more laced with guilt and desperation now.

He wanted to tell you that he actually cared for you, that it wasn’t just about what you could do for him. He wanted to tell you that he saw you as a person, not just as a way to feel less alone but he couldn’t.

Because he had been treating you like an object, like a goddamn cure for his loneliness, he was using you exactly like others did. 

And the worst thing was that, deep down, he knew what that felt like and that made him feel even more horrible.

"I thought I was doing the right thing..." He protested weakly, still trying to convince you, still trying to bargain his place in your life.

"I'm not..." you started, stopping mid-sentence soon after to recollect your thoughts, trying to find the right words.

But his words, his final candid confession, his regret, all this made your heart ache, probably more than you could have imagined. But, at least, he finally saw the whole picture.

"I'm not blocking you Bucky, that I can do but you need to go back to therapy.." you stated, a slight tremble in your voice betraying how you really felt as you were questioning yourself if it was the right thing to do.

"Go back to your doctor, talk with her about everything but not for me or anyone else..." you added, your voice now gentle.

"Do it for yourself, to feel better..."

Hoping that your final advice would suffice, that your words would be heard once and for all, and that he would finally try to understand why he was acting like this.

Bucky remained silent for a long minute as he listened to you. Deep down, he knew you were right about everything, realizing he had been selfish and obsessive without a valid reason, treating you poorly and being a terrible therapy partner.

And the thought that you might despise him for it hurt his heart the most.

"I will, I promise." He answered finally, taking a deep breath as his voice was still shaky and broken.

"But, what about you?" He dared to ask after another minute of silence, still the idea of letting you go tearing his heart apart.

"What about me, what?.." you chuckled softly, caught off guard by the sudden question.

You were aware he just wanted you to keep talking to him, that he just wanted to have your voice in his ear. Maybe there was a small part of him that cared about you, about what you would do without him around but still.

He was a goddam addict right now, acting desperately like one.

"I'll just keep with mine I guess.." you said honestly, sighing heavily as your voice went soft. The whole so-called fight had drained you, making you even more tired than you already were.

"Still, i don't know what I'll do with the program though, for now at least"

To be fair, you weren't sure what you were going to do next. If you would find another partner or quit the program altogether. But saying it out loud, voicing the inner thoughts inside your head, definitely helped making a decision.

"Uhm listen, Bucky..I...I have to go.." you suddenly said then, trying to find a way to close the call without hurting him further. 

"But as I said, you still have my number, just...if you message me I can't assure you a reply, ok?" you added, reassuring him still even if your brain reminded you how stupid this decision was.

The words struck him harder than any bullet could have. He felt the jolt of panic, wanting desperately to keep you on the phone, feeling his eyes welling up. No, he knew he couldn’t explode with everything he was feeling or he’d lose you forever.

He knew he needed your voice in his ear, needed to hear you talk to him, needed you like air to breathe. 

But his hand was shaking as he held the phone to his ear, struggling to stop himself from begging. He swallowed, realizing he’d been silent while you assured him you wouldn’t block his number even if you won’t text him back. 

That gave him the tiniest reassurance, but the doubt nagged at him almost instantly. Would you stick to your word? What if you didn’t? Panic lapped at his heels again and he clenched his jaw, forcing his words down.

"I understand." He whispered, his voice low and uncertain.

Don't beg, don't beg, don’t beg...Bucky repeated to himself as he felt a familiar sense of obsession creeping back in.

He had to fight it, he had to stop this before it consumed him completely. After all, he had promised to return to his therapist, to try and deal with this issue, to begin feeling better.

After that heartfelt call, he reached out to you the very same night. However, as you mentioned, you chose to ignore it, not wanting to give him a false sense of hope or start another discussion so soon.

A week went by, and then his doctor called you again, asking for your side of the story. At that, you recounted everything that had happened, sharing every detail you could remember of without placing the blame on him, convinced it wasn’t entirely his fault. 

And what she told you helped you understand the situation better. She explained that Bucky had an episode of limerence, a state characterized by an intense infatuation that bordered on obsession most of the time, and that it was dangerous for the current state of his mind.

She also advised you to maintain some distance for the time being, a decision you had already considered, since she wanted to break through the patterns deeply rooted in his mind.

"James' not a bad man, it's just that people had shown him very little kindness for a long time," she added. She suggested that while some of his feelings might be genuine, she wasn’t entirely sure, encouraging you to act according to your feelings when you heard from him again. 

“Just be honest with him, for both your sakes,” she concluded before ending the call with another thoughtful piece of advice.

After that conversation, you felt a sense of relief, to be honest, as much as an unexpected happiness.

Why were you even happy? 

Why were you so relieved that his feelings could be real? 

Did you actually have feelings for him?

Regardless, you followed her advice, until more than two months later when you finally heard from Bucky again.

It had been a long, hard two months for Bucky.

His therapy sessions focused on helping him work through his feelings and analyze his behaviors. He realized he had become obsessed with you, but it took him a while to understand the root of that obsession.

After much reflection, he discovered that his desire for you stemmed from a deep need for connection. Unlike many others, you had seen him not as an asset or a monster, but for who he truly was. This realization helped him make significant progress.

It was tough for him to go without talking to you, as his thoughts continually returned to the conversation you shared and your words.

However, he was working hard to manage his feelings, control himself, and learn to understand the difference between obsession and genuine emotions.

Finally, when his therapist gave him the green light to reach out to you, he didn’t hesitate. With a somewhat clearer mind, he picked up his phone, his hands shaking. After what felt like an eternity, he sent you a message.

-from Bucky: Can I call you?

_____________

If you're here so you read it all, and for that I thank you (let me know what you think about it)

Again, i'm sorry for the wait, i want to promise you all I'll do better next time, and I want to keep it that way, I just hope my brain won't fail me again.

Also, there will be a bonus chapter later next week, it's something I wrote as literally a...bonus...so you're free to read it or not, it doesn't change the story <3

[tofumarinado]

it's so funny to me when i see pearl-clutching articles about how "teenagers are diagnosing themselves with mental disorders via tiktok" because like. this is not happening in a vacuum. teenagers are severely and i mean severely medically neglected. i cannot stress this enough. teenagers do not have free access to medical care. those same news outlets would be clowning on women with housewife psychosis in the 1950's.

i sometimes go pale when listening to some of what my friends have gone through in their childhoods and teenagehoods. they talk about it so nonchalantly, things that would be considered straight up torture if done to an adult, can't fathom the effect this has on children. they are on multiple anti-psychotics and several antidepressants and anxiety meds now that they are adults. medical neglect has legally and effectively disabled them. a timely diagnosis and intervention could have saved them.

of course teenagers are self-diagnosing using tiktok. if your knee-jerk reaction is to scoff at the idea and dismiss it as dumb teenager shit instead of being radicalized because the best shot young people have at attaining the mental health support they need is a fucking dancing videos app, you're categorically a political enemy of the youth.

[imbecominggayer]

Writing Advice: How To Trauma

In seeing the recent explosion of my "How To Write Trauma With Humanity" post, I have decided to jump back into this topic!

This cute post will be covering how to write complicated individuals with Trauma. From the good, the bad, and especially the ugly since people tend to assume that victimhood is inherently seperated from assholehood

A) Being A Person And Afraid

In my experience, the majority of people with trauma have simultaneously existing fears and desires that often contradict, complicate, or outright hurt themselves.

I call them "fear combinations"

It's these fear combinations that cause people with trauma to often act in ways that seem confusing to outsiders.

For example, the person that's always on the hunt for a relationship but whenever an opportunity for romance strikes, they create relationship havok so the relationship can end

Or a person tries to always sincerely bring attention to themselves but whenver the attention is on them, they just shrug it off as not being worthy of it

This behavior seems kinda weird until you stop to take a closer look at their psyche.

Example 1 is based off of my character, Monday Vũ who has a tendency of jumping into relationships with a sincere desire to find romance until the honeymoon period ends as Monday realizes that if the relationship continues they might have to settle down, forgo their entire identity, and all of their freedom. Then they sabotage the relationship under the guise that it's a selfless endeavour.

Example 2 is based off my character, Niko Preyr who uses grand public gestures and his friendships to prop himself up as a person to be known but if you ever spoke to him then you would quickly see one of the most insecure yet attention-hungry individuals you have ever seen.

"Fear Combinations" are an excellent device in making your characters complex. In my opinion, the trauma-writing scene is just a little bit too neat in it's displays of trauma. It's too logical. It doesn't feel real to my personal experiences.

"he has trust issues because of trauma" What if he also had issues with being clingy to people he sees as trust-worthy?

What if your characters weren't so easy to understand? But I hear you wondering.

How? How do these people manifest such confusing behavior? Why should I add this into my characters?

I'll tell you

B) Instinct Vs Terror, Fighting Against Yourself

In my opinion, "fear combinations" are either caused by the distortion of a human fear or the event in which an intrinsic desire is contrasted against a "survival method".

Humans are born with certain "intrinsic" fears and desires. Humans are born with a desire for belonging, a desire for vulnerability, a desire for self-fulfillment, a desire for independence, a desire for security in themselves.

And with desire comes the fear of "missing out". The fear that you want something that everyone wants but for some reason you won't be able to get it. The fear that you'll loose it. And the fear that your desire might put you into danger. What if you get rejected? What if you never find that group? What if you never find freedom?

In not-traumatized individuals, while it may take some introspection, people can and often do reconcile their fears and desires in a movie-montage when they're children with the help of a strong support system.

In traumtized individuals, what tends to happen is that either the fear of lose and the fear of gain tend to be increased to unpredencented levels

Either that, or a lack of a strong support system doesn't allow the child to safely confront their fears in order to get what they want.

This causes "fear combination"

Niko Preyr has the natural desire to be validated as "good", as "special", as "worthy". A desire we are all born with. However, his upbringing convinced him that he is underserving of what we all need. This causes Niko Preyr to use attention as validation. However whenever he receives this attention, his gifted fear that he is undeserving causes him to reject the attention. But he continues searching for attention to serve that need for validation. A hellish cycle.

Monday Vũ has two understandable fears that we all have. The fear of losing two necessary things: indepedence and security. Monday fears being abandoned, fears being engulfed into relationships. While children and adults can often reconcile those fears in their childhood through a strong support system, Monday never had that. Instead she had her father who emotionally left her and her mother who literally left her. Monday only had herself to rely on, at least thats how she felt. And now, as an adult, Monday wants to fulfill that desire we all have. To be loved. To be connected. But she's afraid. Afraid of being blindsided. Afraid of not having the last laugh. Afraid of being apart of something.

What if that loner wolf found someone who they think is perfect. Someone worthy of their trust. Do you really think that all those years of yearning for love, for connection, are just going to be smothered when they have the perfect person to unleash their childish, half-developed, horrifying emotions onto?

But what next? After we have our character's contradictory fears and desires, after we have the justification for why they feel like this, what's next?

It's this:

C) Self-Destructive Habits: Why We Understand And Can't Change

Let me tell you, unless in very specific conditions such as certain personality disorders and so on, people tend to understand that their behavior is foolish, illogical, and hurting other people.

Monday knows that betraying other people, hurting their trust and faith in their relationships, and entering relationships when she understands her history is bad. It makes her a bad person.

Niko knows that their habits are actively hurting their chances at finding worth.

That "Lone Wolf" understands, deep down, that no single person can handle the high expectations and emotions.

They know it because they can see it. Many times. Monday can see that characters in movies who have their relationship history tend to be casted as the antagonist. Niko can hear the gossip. That "Lone Wolf" can see the way that their loved ones cracked under the pressure and guilt.

So why do they do it? It feeds into their idea of the world. It feeds into what they want to be perceived as. It feeds into their stagnancy.

If Monday can ignore how they hurt others, then they can live under the Martyr label for the rest of their life without having to come to term with the fact that this isn't selflessness, it's called being pathetic.

If Niko can ignore how deep that hurt goes, then they never have to actually make the effort to change. To take that potential and make themselves into something. To be responsible.

If "Lone Wolf" can ignore how nobody can meet their expectations without crumbling down, then they use everyone's failure to feed into their cynical, self-hating notion of how nobody's trustworthy. How they don't have the responsibility of being considerate.

[21stc3nturyd1gitalb0y]

a lot of you got a kick out of my service dog’s battle jacket, so i thought i’d share some more pictures of the man himself.

i know people have a lot of stereotypes about what service dogs and their handlers are “supposed” to look like, and it confuses people to see a young, seemingly able bodied punk rocker with a service dog.

but i share this to say, that if you as a disabled person don’t see a life for yourself, you can create one. when i started to realize i was disabled almost 10 years ago, i certainly didn’t imagine this is where i’d be now. in fact, i didn’t even plan to making it to this point.

but a diagnosis doesn’t have to mean the end of the world. sometimes your world is just beginning. some people are of the belief that everything happens for a reason. me, not so much. i’ll never be grateful for the suffering i experienced in this world, but i will always, always be glad i chose to stay in it.

[aboutthatcandy]

The last thing I wanted was to be alone in a room with my fucking thoughts.

[winte-ry]

I'm sorry

Masterpost

Next

Previous

[maarlena]

Idk if thats a bpd or a me thing

[jubileemon]

Ragatha covers up her true feelings with a veneer of positivity and acts like nothing bothers her for the sake of avoiding conflict. Not only is this a coping mechanism to prevent abstraction, but this doesn't actually have the intended effect on her relationships with others.

While she dotes on Gangle and sticks up for her against Jax's bullying, Gangle sees through it; she notes that while she means well, it's difficult to tell when Ragatha is being genuine or when she's just trying to make someone feel better. Tellingly, when Stupid Sauce removes her filter, she speaks the most openly about others. She explicitly states her dislike of Jax but doesn't want him to dislike her, derides Zooble as a grouch, and even calls Gangle annoying when she's wearing her comedy mask, practically saying she prefers her depressed. In trying to maintain a perpetual state of positivity, Ragatha's kindness comes off disingenuous and doesn't actually help those around her.

Oh, she’s definitely gonna regret saying all that once she sobers up.

[incorrectbatfam]

[therapy]

Leslie: You have a lot of self-awareness.

Tim: Yes, I actually think that is part of the problem.

[ismellpestilence]

Bob Bryar wasn't a nice person, but still. He was last seen on November 4th and was only found today. 22 days later. By animal control. After a major social holiday. They haven't announced the cause of death but it's obvious that he died alone.

It's pretty clear that he struggled with his mental health, and I feel bad for him. Not in the sense that everyone with mental health problems isn't responsible for their actions, but in the sense everyone should get the chance to pull through and have a good life, and now he's never going to get that.

[4threset]

"The Water Rabbit"

[pastorpresent]

When the dust settled of what Wade dubbed their 'super awesome Madonna world saving sacrifice', (don't fucking ask, god knows Logan doesn't) the TVA had offered to hire their services to round up variants that incorrectly stumbled into their universe. With a fucking paycheck.

Logan had been trying (and failing) to find work for a few weeks by that point. It was sort of difficult when he had no tangible work history in this universe, with no references that could actually be called. Or a social security number. Or a bank account. Or any form of ID, really.

Wade had already quickly agreed on both their behalfs, and Logan got the feeling he just needed a valid excuse to put the suit on now and again between his monotonous shifts at the dealership.

The only catch was that they had to undergo a physical and mental health assessment before hand.

He'd passes the physical with flying colours. The mental one... not so much. They'd still 'hired' him, but when he was given a folder with information regarding each fucking problem he had mentally, they'd heavy implied he needed to work on it to keep his job.

His plan had been to chuck it in the trash, or burn the fucker, but it'd slipped his mind to do either by the time they'd gotten home because Wade started trying to cook pasta for dinner and almost set the entire place on fire, somehow.

He left it on the side and Wade, being the nosy fucker he was, had of course read it.

There was a lot of shit Logan expected to find in there - depression, ptsd, alcoholism... stuff he didn't exactly need some fancy fucking doctor to tell him he had. A six year old could probably glance his way and identify that he needed antidepressants.

The one that he'd thought was odd, and the one Wade seemed to latch onto, was 'touch deprivation'.

The thing was, Wade was a shithead. He practically made it his goal whenever he walked into a room to be the most annoying person in that room. Usually successfully.

But he was also... good. He was a good person, despite what people might say to him. He wanted to help him, which was... sweet, he supposed.

A lot of the stuff in there was a bit tricky to 'fix', probably requiring some sort of medication or therapy (Logan point blank refused both) but a couple of things, Wade seemed hellbent on helping him with.

There was never any liquor in their apartment, for starters. Whenever Logan would buy any, it would go mysteriously missing the following day. Al didn't even know it had been there, and Wade was a shit liar with his innocent little shrug when Logan would ask.

Ar first it pissed him off but, well, Wade was just trying to help, and he was - helping, that is. Logan was actually sober more than he was drunk these days - which hasn't happened in at least a decade.

The 'touch deprivation' was another Wade seemed hell bent on helping with.

The merc was already tactile with his friends. Logan had seen him drape an arm over their shoulder, side hug them as they walked somewhere, hug them goodbye.

It seemed he dialled it up to a thousand with him, though.

If they both happened to be in the kitchen, Wade was brushing up against him every few seconds, murmuring apologies as he all but pressed against him under the guise of trying to move somewhere or reach something.

When they were out, Wade would let their arms and hands brush up against each other. If Logan was pushing the cart in the store, Wade would 'accidently' rest his hand over his on the handle bar.

It was little stuff, things that somebody on the outside of them would probably not even notice, until one night on the couch.

They'd been running around for the TVA all day, and Logan was irritable and exhausted. He felt about ready to claw his own skin off out of general frustration, built up from a day of shitty, all over the place missions.

They'd both showered and were sat watching gossip girl, but he just couldn't settle. He was switching position every few seconds, growling under his breath every time his discomfort returned, and he must've been annoying the fuck out of Wade, he thought.

After maybe an hour - and Logan wasn't going to cry, but he damn sure felt like it, Wade sighed next to him.

Logan immediately found himself growing defensive, ready to argue that it wasn't his fucking fault his skin felt all tingly and wrong, and that the couch was too soft, or that there was a dumb ache in his chest that he didn't understand.

Wade didn't start arguing though. Instead, he lifted an arm in invitation.

Logan stared at him like he'd lost his fucking mind. How many hits to the head had he taken today? Could his regenerative abilities repair concussion or should Logan be taking him to a fucking hospital?

"Come on, peanut. Let me help," Wade said, which only confused Logan more. He didn't even know what was wrong- so how did Wade reckon he could fix it?

"I'm fine," he gritted out with a glare, trying to keep still to prove his point but fuck, his skin felt painful and tight.

"Alright," Wade held his hands up in surrender before letting them drop, turning back to the TV.

Logan watched him for a few seconds, then scoffed loudly, moving to lay a bit more on the arm rest.

It felt like it was digging into his ribs. He scratched his arm, barely resisting the urge to unsheathe his claws. He adjusted to lie back into the cushions. He sunk in too much, and the soft cushions felt like sandpaper against his on-fire skin.

Something dangerously close to a whimper escaped his lips, and he had to blink back a dampness building in his vision. Fuck, what the hell was wrong with him?

"Lo," he thought Wade had went back to focusing on the show, but apparently he'd been wrong, because the merc was staring at him with soft, concerned eyes, and Logan wanted to scream.

"What?" Logan snipped, but it was missing any of the intended edge.

"Let me try and help. No one else is here, it's just us - and if you don't like it, you can just sit back up," Wade lifted an arm again, an invitation for Logan to curl up against him and... it pissed him off how nice that sounded.

He hesitated for a few moments longer. Too long, really, and he expected Wade to rescind the offer entirely out of impatience.

He didn't. He just adjusted himself to be more sprawled back against the couch cushions, parting his legs a little and keeping his arm raised.

Logan made a defeated noise in the back of his throat, crawling closer. He hovered awkwardly between Wade's legs, unsure how to proceed, and Wade just gently pushed on his shoulders to get him to lie down, his head and upper torso covering Wade's chest and lower body.

He worried he'd be too heavy for Wade, but the younger man didn't seem bothered whatsoever. Perks of him being built pretty indestructible, probably.

"Good boy," he praised quietly, running his hand through Logan's hair. Essentially petting him, really, and Logan couldn't explain it but it's like everything in his head and everything with his body quietened down. He could breathe again, and he found himself going boneless against the younger man.

He wrapped his arms around Wade's torso, nuzzling into his stomach with a content sound, his eyes slipping shut as Wade continued to play with his hair, stroke over his back, brush fingers over his neck, calming the burn of his skin wherever they went.

It became a regular occurrence after that. Every night when they settled down to watch TV, Wade would wordlessly lift an arm, and Logan would wordlessly crawl over to lie against him. Sometimes they reversed it, because Logan discovered that having Wade lying atop of him felt incredibly grounding. Usually though, he'd be the one pressed up against the merc, tangled around him like some sort of extra clingy and extra heavy octopus. Wade would always 'pet' him, mumbling occasional praise as he ran gentle fingers over his body, scratching his scalp or dragging blunt nails over his back and arms.

Logan didn't realise how desperately he needed the touch until it was gone.

They'd been arguing all day. It was all stupid shit, really - moreso driven by the fact they hadn't had a mission in a while. Wade grew antsy if he'd been out of commission too long, and if he had to work so many back to back shifts at the dealership. And Logan grew irritable being stuck in the tiny apartment with no real purpose all day.

He'd went to the store and bought himself a bottle of whiskey to occupy his mind, to stop the thoughts of his old found family dead on the ground from a fight he could've aided in leaking into his brain.

Wade, as usual, had poured it down the drain. Something that, ordinarily, Logan would've been pissed about but let drop fairly quickly- because despite what others may think of him, his sort of almost sobriety did matter to him. It mattered to Wade too, which is why Logan never usually got all that mad at him for pouring perfectly good alcohol down the drain.

Maybe it was because of the irritation already brewing within them both, or maybe it was because Logan had really been relying on loosing himself in that bottle, but the argument quickly spiralled out of hand.

"You can't just pour out my shit, Wade!" Logan yelled, gesturing to the now empty bottle.

"Yeah, I'm being totally unreasonable. Next time I'll let you drink yourself into a stupor, pinky fucking promise!" Wade yelled back.

"You had no fucking right!"

"Do you think I want to, huh?! You think I just love having to control your alcohol intake like your some sixteen year old girl who discovered fucking smirnoff for the first time?!"

"Then fucking don't! I don't need you to do anything for me! I managed by myself for two hundred fucking years, I don't fucking need you, and I certainly don't fucking want you!" Logan shouted, probably loud enough that they'd get complaints from the neighbours later.

The ensuing silence felt even louder.

He regretted it immediately. He didn't mean it, and he knew that as soon as he'd said it. Because yeah, he might be able to survive by himself- but that's all it ever was. Fucking survival.

Wade showed him how to live.

He was still too angry to take any of it back, though. To admit he'd crossed a line.

"Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want, Logan," and Wade left, their bedroom door slamming echoing throughout the whole apartment.

They avoided each other for days. Even when they were together, there was silence. Wade didn't crack any of his usual jokes. They ate in silence. They stopped waking up tangled up in one another, and Wade no longer opened an arm in invitation when they were sharing the couch alone. No hand over hand on the cart, or arms brushing in the street, none of it.

Logan didn't give a shit, obviously. He bought ridiculous amounts of alcohol and drank until he passed out on their kitchen floor, waking up a few hours later cover in his own vomit and Mary Puppins peering at him curiously. Even the fucking dog was judging him.

It was the week mark, and Logan actually hadn't had a drink that day. Only because he had ran dry on money to buy any, and he'd considered stealing some but thought it wouldn't be worth losing his job with the TVA. He did maybe try drinking some of Al's nail polish remover, but he was halfway into the bottle when he realised she used the type that was fucking alcohol free.

Not his proudest moment.

His body already felt weary from the slight pulls of withdrawal when he sat on his end of the couch, purposefully not glancing Wade's way. It was very much like how he'd felt when he stopped drinking so much in this universe. The tiredness that ate down to his bones, the cravings niggling his brain constantly.

He already didn't feel great - but then the itching started, and it got intense fast.

His efforts to keep still were futile. It was so much worse than the first time around, and worse still because he knew what was missing, and it was his own fault he didn't have it anymore.

What the fuck was he supposed to say? 'Hey I know I said I didn't need you and to stop treating me like a child, but if you don't cuddle me right now I might fucking explode'.

No. He couldn't do that.

Everything hurt. He couldn't draw a breath in properly, and even the feeling of his clothes against his skin felt fucking wrong. Like it was too... light.

The final straw was when one of those tears welling in his eyes actually escaped, rolling down his cheek. He wiped at it harshly, and got up without another word, heading straight for their bedroom.

He couldn't let Wade see him like this. He was fucking pathetic.

He stripped down to his boxers, needing the stupid fabric to stop touching him, and got onto their bed. The covers felt scratchy, and he kicked them away with a growl. In the process of his aggressive attempts to find a comfortable position, he got a whiff of a familiar scent.

Wades. Wade's pillow smelt exactly like him.

It was the first time since the itching feeling started that he felt some sembelence of calm. His skin still burnt, but he could sort of zone it out for a moment.

He tried to turn away. To ignore it, because it was fucking stupid, but he didn't last long before he was grabbing the pillow and pulling it towards him, pressing his face into it and inhaling deeply.

He didn't remember when he started crying, but the pillow was soon wet with tears. He was so fucking stupid. Utterly fucking ridiculous - a grown ass man crying into a pillow because, what? He didn't have someone playing with his fucking hair?

He was so, so beyond furious at himself. At how ridiculous he was, and at how massively he'd managed to mess everything up.

Wade was good. He was bad. He should've known from the get go that he'd fuck it all up.

"Jesus, Logan," the soft gasp startled him from his thoughts abruptly, and he panicked. He sat up, shoving the pillow aside despite the fact Wade had seen exactly what he was doing.

Maybe he'd get lucky and one of those stupid ring portals would appear beneath him and send him elsewhere. Anywhere, really- he didn't care, it would be better than this.

"What?"

The biting tone wasn't all that effective when he had to scrub at his eyes to get rid of the tears.

It didn't even work anyway. They wouldn't fucking stop now that he'd let them start, and the fact Wade had caught him sitting there breathing in dredges of his scent while fucking crying - maybe part of it was just the utter humiliation of it all.

"Oh, Lo. It's alright," Wade murmured, and then he was shutting the door and crossing the room, climbing onto the bed.

He reached out, but seemed to hesitate, his arm dropping, "can I touch you?"

Logan only cried harder, his body practically vibrating, as if it was attempting to force him to move closer even unconsciously. He gave a jerky nod, "please."

Wade was on him in an instant, pulling him in so tight that to anyone without super strength and regenerating abilities, it would probably hurt.

Logan didn't care. He needed more. The fire was tamed, but it was still there, the embers tickling his body and threatening to overtake him again.

His hands tugged at the hem of Wade's shirt, seeking permission. He needed the stupid itchy fabric gone. The press of it was too soft and gentle. He needed skin. Needed something solid. Needed Wade, now.

"Shirt off?" Wade clarified, and Logan nodded where his head was tucked into the crook of his neck.

He hadn't accounted for the fact that they'd have to break their embrace to do it.

Wade tried to pull back, but Logan gasped, digging his nails in and keeping himself plastered to Wade's front.

"I'm not going anywhere, peanut. I'm just taking my clothes off, alright? I'm not leaving you, I swear," Wade put both hands on the side of his face, lifting it so he could look into his eyes as he spoke, the pad of his thumb wiping away his tears.

Logan reluctantly let go, shivering violently when everything hit him again.

Wade made quick work of stripping off his shirt and sweatpants, leaving him in his briefs. He lay down, and opened his arm.

Logan could've started crying again in relief. He all but dove at the younger man, burying his face away in his chest, wrapping his arms tight around him. Wade held him tightly, pulling him in enough so their bodies were pressed together solidly.

He lifted a hand and started stroking his hair, shushing him softly and rocking their bodies a little.

"I'm sorry. 'M so sorry, I didn't mean any of it," and ordinarily he might very been reluctant to say it, never being all that good at swallowing down his perceived pride, but it felt too important not to say.

Because despite everything, Wade had came in here to check on him. He could've just continued to watch TV. He could've so easily made fun of him for what he'd walked into, mocking how fucking stupid he was, and walked straight back out. He could've and should've done all of that, but he didn't. Because he was Wade, and he was good, and Logan would never fully understand what positivity he put out into the world to earn him.

"I know, me neither. Just calm down, Lo. It's all good now, I've got you," Wade assured, squeezing tighter, and Logan made a small satisfied sound, nosing at Wade's chest and then his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo and body wash.

The itching had ceased, but he still felt like he needed more, like it wasn't enough until he sliced Wade open and crawled inside of him, curled up contently next to his beating heart, burrowed beneathe his ribs.

He didn't verbalise it, but Wade seemed to understand, as usual.

"On your back, baby," he directed, and Logan did so without complaint.

Wade moved with him, lying on top of him completely, tangling their legs together, a solid weight pressing him into the mattress, and ironically enough he finally felt like he could breathe again.

"Good boy. You're so good, peanut," Wade hummed, running fingers over his shoulders. Logan disagreed, but he was too out of it to really argue. He felt like he was floating on a cloud, hovering out of his body.

He didn't realise he was biting until Wade let out a soft sound above him, and the metallic taste filled his mouth.

"Fuck, sorry I... I didn't realise," he tried to move away, eyes wide, but Wade shushed him again, his expression something fond.

"Does it help?" Wade asked simply, and Logan swallowed. It did. It was... it was like Wade felt closer to him, somehow.

"Mhm, but don't wanna hurt you," he felt almost drunk, his words slurring a little as he watched the small wound on Wade's shoulder close up.

"I'll heal, angel. Have at it," Wade tilted his head in invitation, and Logan nosed at his neck for a moment, still not entirely sure, before sticking out the tip of his tongue and licking experimentally. He moaned softly at the taste of Wade on his taste buds, pressing his nose against his adams apple simultaneously to breathe him in. He let his teeth sink in lightly, nibbling at the sensitive area.

Wade groaned atop of him, and Logan went to pull away, but the merc held him there by the back of his head, "keep going. Please, Lo," and he sounded breathless and needy, and it made Logan growl with animalistic possessiveness, biting down a bit harder, blood running to the surface, which he quickly lapped up.

He couldn't really tell who connected lips first, he was fairly certain it was him, but it didn't really matter ultimately. They were high off one another, Wade grinding down while Logan rutted up, both of them rock solid against each other.

Logan bit at his lip, drawing blood before licking it away filthily, dragging his nails all over every surface of Wade he could reach. He needed him. He needed him so fucking badly. He wanted to worship every square inch of him then crawl beneathe his skin and make a home there.

He reached between them, wrapping a hand around Wade's length, but the merc caught his wrist, using the other hand to grip Logan's jaw and direct their eyes to meet.

"Logan," he knew vaguely that Wade wanted him to listen, but he was too busy whining beneathe him, pushing his hips up trying to chase the friction that every cell in his body was fucking screaming for. He didn't want to stop, and he didn't get why Wade was making him.

"Logan. Hey, eyes on me, peanut," Wade ordered firmly, and Logan finally reluctantly ceased his movements, blinking Wade's face into his focus.

"How are you feeling?"

And Logan huffed, glaring a little, because did Wade really stop what they were doing just to ask him that? Seriously?

"I'm fine," he replied shortly, trying to go for Wade's mouth again, but found himself held down by a hand against his bare chest.

"I'm going to need a bit more than that before we go any further, peanut. Especially with how upset you were just twenty minutes ago," Wade was stroking a hand through his hair again, and the calmness that filled his body from the touch was enough to get him to settle down just a little, sinking into the bed and giving up his valiant mission of jerking off against Wade's solid form.

"I just need to know you're okay, and I need to know you're doing this because you want it, not just because you feel like you need it."

"I want it. I want it a lot," he said after a few seconds, looking up at Wade. It was the most vulnerable he'd felt in forever, and all he could do was hope that Wade took that and handled it carefully.

Wade smiled, kissing Logan firmly. Logan gasped into it, letting his mouth open wider, inviting Wade in to explore as he pleased.

Wade pulled away suddenly, and Logan very almost ripped his head off of his shoulders in order to keep him close.

"Easy, boy. I'm just trying to sort you out," Wade explained with fingers teasing the waistband of his boxers.

It was ridiculous, but he wasn't certain he could handle the younger man's body weight leaving him. That press, being able to feel every inch of Wade against him, it was the only thing keeping him tethered in reality. He couldn't handle his skin setting alight again. Especially not when he had went a whole week without Wade's touch.

"Baby," and something about Wade calling him that made him want to crumble. Want to get onto his knees and suck him off and worship him like he deserved, because he must be a God- that's the only explanation as to how he can breathe a single word and make Logan unravel. Because he'd never been that. He'd never been anyone's 'baby', because no one ever bothered to be tender with him before. He was The Wolverine. He was supposed to be rough, and rugged, and maybe 'handsome', but never 'pretty'. Never 'baby'.

And yet everytime it rolled off of Wade's tongue it was so genuine, so sweet and caring, and it was almost like a permission slip for Logan to let the gruff exterior drop just for a minute, and be somebody's 'baby'. Be Wade's 'baby'.

"You don't want me to leave, peanut? You want me to stay on top of you?" Wade asked, because he was genuinely bothered by the idea of Logan not being one million percent happy with this experience.

Logan found his mouth and kissed him again. This one was gentle. So, so gentle. No blood or biting or back and forth - just a barely there press of lips. A thank you, sealed away in a kiss.

"Please," he answered quietly, speaking it into Wade's parted mouth, "I just... I need to know you're here, I think. I need to..." he trailed off, unsure how to finish.

How could he verbalise that he needed to feel him so completely, that he needed Wade everywhere all over him, all at once? How could he say that without scaring him away entirely?

Maybe that would be for the best, in all honesty. He couldn't be so damn reliant - not when Wade had a fucking life to live. A future to build. Why should he put that on hold just because Logan crash landed into his reality?

He should be going on dates with Vanessa right now, trying to fix things. Or hanging out with his actual friends. He should be doing a lot of things- but trying to fix something in Logan that had been irreparably smashed to pieces years ago was not one of them.

"I need- we need to stop," he spoke, even as every cell in his body was screaming no, fuck no.

Wade frowned, the hand that had been tracing over his arms pausing.

"What?"

"I can't. I can't do it. I can't."

He couldn't drag Wade down into the fucking abyss. He couldn't force him to live out his eternity like this.

"Okay, that's okay peanut. You want me to get off of you?" Wade offered, and Logan nodded.

It killed him, but he nodded.

Wade lifted up, manoeuvring onto the edge of the bed.

Logan wanted to throw up, that cold and empty feeling returning to his gut, spreading through all of his limbs like poison. 'This is good, Wade is good, you are bad' was like a mantra in his head, growing louder and louder until all Logan could hear was the rapid thumping of his own heart and those words, screamed, being etched across his organs like a warning.

Maybe the repeated frying of his brain was finally catching up to him.

"Logan, what's wrong?"

Logan wanted to tear his own fucking skin off.

"Did- was it too much? Did I go too far? I'm sorry, I just thought it's what you wanted," Wade was apologising, he was fucking apologising, and Logan was barely holding it the fuck together, his chest tightening.

"No. No, it's... I need to be alone," he choked on the last word, as if his body was physically fighting him from saying it.

Wade was looking at him with a small frown, reaching out for his hand resting on the mattress which Logan quickly moved away.

He'd never forget the look of hurt etched onto the others face. He might very well of tried to hide it, but he caught the flash of upset that filled Wade's features so intensely for just a moment.

"Of course. Yeah, sorry. I'll just," Wade gestured vaguely to the bedroom door before all but racing out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Logan sighed shakily, curling up on himself and trying in vain to stop the tears coming.

Part 2 up now

[the-real-loser-otaku-girl]

Erm chat i think that girl covered in sh scars and drinking straight from the bottle may be mentally ill...shes trying to hide is sm tho...

Guys i think the person who openly talks about their mental health struggles may be unwell...thats just a theory tho....

No hate 2 the creator im just saying those subcultures r very open about having issues. Its not a "dark truth" that we're sick. we're very open about it.

And like yeah theres fashion 2 it but like? If u wear stuff like yami kawaii ur most likely got mental health issues. You wouldn't wear blades as earings or have menhera chan buttons if u were mentally stable if that makes sense.

Edit: i haven't seen the video i just got the screenshot from a moot/friend

[virginsuicidgirl]

i’d rather be dead than be fat

[so-worthless-so-empty]

There was a time where I was a child, sobbing in my pillow begging God to help me. Begging him to take my life because I couldn’t take living anymore. I was a child. I’ve been fighting depression my whole life.

I’m so tired