#usually my dreams are trauma. and me dying. sometimes both.

[robotsafari]

i had a dream where something was off with riku’s shadow…

(this art is so sucks i made this when i was tired and less experienced which ended up making riku look so much skinnier than how i normally draw him post-kh2 can you stop engaging it with pretty pweeease)

[beforetheendowo]

Nightmare headcannons ✨

These are just headcannons I have for my favorite goopy boy. Some are from other people but a lot are from me.

(Trigger warnings- mentions of abuse, maybe body horror, animal death and eating, cannibalism, trauma, eating and sleeping disorders, self h@rm)

- Nightmare is FtM and uses he/it/king pronouns (I image he loves the idea of neos and xenopronouns to). He is a gay man, and is aro-specrum. To be more specific he is aro-specrum and cupioromantic, along with queer platonic. He is also ambiamorus.

- He is married to Cross, is dating Killer, and is in a QPR with all the Bad Guys+ Error, Lust, and Blue.

- Nightmare is generally very quiet and doesn't engage in conversion unless invited. He prefers to listen to others. His main love languages are quality time, physical touch, and giving gifts and acts of service. With the last two though, he doesn't like it when others give him gifts or do things for him. He likes to be the provider.

- Before his corruption he was pretty short (5'2) and is still short in his Passive form. After his corruption he grew to 7'6. He can change his height but prefers the height his goop makes him naturally. He has gotten very used to others being scared of how tall he is and doesn't care very much anymore.

- Because of his corruption, he is kinda uncanny. Certain features about him aren't normal looking. He has really long fingers that end in extremely sharp claws. His bones kinda clash together, an example is his ribs, which are melted together kinda, so he doesn't actually have individual ribs. His eye is also slanted and looks exactly animal-like. He has sharp teeth, and has rows and rows of smaller sharp teeth that go down his throat. He also purrs and growls like an animal. In all he looks less skeleton-like the longer you look at him.

- Nightmare use to be very abusive to the Bad Guys. After years of being a complete ass, he began to recognize his behavior and turned it around. He is now past his abuse and has made up to them all. He still has a lot of guilt from it, but knows he is better now. He started changing his behavior before Cross joined, so Cross beaver really got the bad part of Nightmare's behavior.

- Nightmare is made of two beings. There is the host body/soul which is Nightmare. And then the goop. The goop is an older creature that had followed Nim when she first came to the Undertale Multiverse. The goop and Nightmare live together as one, and can't separate without both dying. The goop can retreat back inside Nightmare though which makes him become passive. Nightmare has named the good Corrupt. Corrupt is a hive mind though, and is just the whole 'hive' acting together. Each of Nightmare's tentacles are part of this 'hive'. Each tentacle is named. They are named Jupiter, Venus, Orion, and Reginald.

- Nightmare is kinda animalistic. Thai is mostly because of Corrupt though. Nightmare purrs and growls, along with other noises like squeaks and chirps. He also makes nests sometimes. Nightmare also can ( and craves) meat. Usually he gets this from small animals like mice, rats, and bird which he can eat in one bite. But he has been know to eat just about anything fleshy. This includes dead deer, dogs, rotten meat, and sometimes human or other monsters. He still acts very proper though even as he eats a half rotten deer.

- The only reason he has eaten human or monster is to help Horror. Horror, like the rest of his au, had become addicted to the taste of humans and monsters. He hates the fact he craves is and Nightmare is trying to get him off it. But because it is such a strong addiction, he has to do it slowly. Sometimes, to help the process along, he will tell Horror he is feeding him human, while feeding his something like pork. The actual human meat Nightmare has eaten himself.

- Nightmare sucks at understand most social norms. After Dreamtale and Dream being trapped in stone, Nightmare pretty much locked himself away for over 20 years. During those 20 years he forgot how to be a normal person. It isn't uncommon to find Nightmare walking around the castle in little to no clothes, or have him walk in while one of the others are changing and just sit down and start talking. He doesn't care about norms very much either, so as long as the others are comfortable, he will do just about anything he wants.

- Nightmare has a lot of mental health and physical health problems. He has insomnia and hates sleeping also because of past trauma. He has a purging disorder, which is not binging but still forcing yourself to throw up. Nightmare is trying to get better about both of these things and is slowly making progress. He also has seasonal depression, C-PTSD, anger issues, and self harm tendencies. He is slowly getting better though.

- Nightmare loves gardening, and has a giant garden filled with flowers. He loves his roses though, which he takes great care of. He has an area of flowers dedicated to certain events, and will plant a flower if something good happens. He also plays the piano and has an old one in his study. His study is what he calls his library, which takes up an entire tower in the castle.

- Nightmare is very protective of the Bad Guys and considers them first before anything else. If he had to choose between them and the whole multiverse, he would let the multiverse die and teleport them all to a different Multiverse. He loves them dearly.

Ok, that's all I have for now, hope you enjoyed. :))

[jessmalia]

heartless | 06. only fools

pairing: henry mills x oc a/n: you’ll need to remember some details from this for a certain future chapter. jo this is just a giant puzzle i’m giving to you to solve.  warnings: it’s the therapy chapter, guys. there will be talk/themes of trauma, ptsd, anxiety attacks, nightmares etc. also mostly unedited.  wordcount: 1195

<<prev || masterlist || next>>

“So, tell me about these nightmares you’re having.”

  “Well, they’re usually pretty much the same,” Max said. Her hand was tracing the spot on her thigh where her dagger had been strapped to the night before. She had to admit that one advantage skirts had over pants was that it was significantly easier to hide a dagger underneath them. She had to keep it in her bag now, which wasn’t nearly as easy to access. “I’m always in this dark forest, and I… have this feeling that I’m in danger. Like there’s something, or… someone, hiding behind the trees.”

  “But you don’t know what?” asked Archie.

  Max shook her head. “No, I have no idea. And whatever it is, it never shows itself.”

  “And what’s the other recurring imagery?”

  “Well… water. I see a really big ocean, and sometimes I feel water streaming around me. My hands start… shaking a lot. And then,” Max swallowed, “there’s the sound of a little boy screaming.”

  “A little boy screaming? Is it Henry?” Archie asked.

  Max decidedly shook her head. “No, it’s not Henry. But I have this feeling that I know who it is, but I just can’t,” Max took a deep breath, and the slightest chuckle escaped her, “remember. Every time I feel like I get closer to discovering his identity… but it never happens.”

  “And what does his scream sound like?”

  Max swallowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I mean, is it a scream of joy? Pain? Or horror?”

  Her hands were shaking again, tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. “His scream sounds like…” she took a deep breath once more, trying her best to calm herself. “He sounds like he’s dying.”

  Whatever answer Dr. Hopper had expected, it seemed that wasn’t it. Shock and sympathy were woven into his expression. Max needed to change the subject before he attempted to comfort her.

  “And then, there’s my panic attacks,” she said.

  Archie blinked. “Yes, of course. When do they happen?”

  “They’re usually… they’re often triggered by things that remind me of my dreams. Like walking in the forest at night, or even just thinking about them sometimes.”

  “And during these anxiety attacks, do you see and hear the same things as in your dreams?”

  Max nodded.

  “And do you ever, aside from the anxiety attacks, see these things when you’re awake as well? Sort of like vivid flashbacks?”

  Max nodded again. “Yeah, how did you know?”

  Dr. Hopper forced a tight smile. “Just a routine question. Could I ask some more of those?” he asked, and upon Max’s confirmation, he continued, “Do you feel detached from others around you or have difficulty maintaining close relationships?”

  “Yes, to both,” she said, finding her answer reasonable since the only close relationship she’d ever had was with Henry.

  “Do you have negative thoughts about yourself and the world?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you often feel emotionally numb and have difficulty experiencing positive emotions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you drink or smoke?”

  Max’s eyebrows rose. “I’m thirteen,” she snarked.

  “Well, that doesn’t stop everyone.”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any trouble concentrating?”

  “Only my whole life,” Max scoffed, watching Dr. Hopper write her answers down. “So, what’s your theory, then?”

  Archie looked back up from his notepad. “Excuse me?”

  Max raised her eyebrows once more, unimpressed. “Those aren’t regular ‘routine questions’, they’re routine questions for the theory you have. Now, spill.”

  “Well, it’s much too early to do a proper diagnosis.”

  Max groaned. “Don’t you think I know that? But isn’t someone usually informed about any thoughts and theories you have before you diagnose them? I know I’m only 13, but it’s not like I have any family around. So just spit it out. I can fucking handle it.”

  “Well,” Dr. Hopper said, quite shaken by her harsh tone, “all your symptoms point quite perfectly to the same thing, post-traumatic stress disorder.

  “PTSD?” Max asked, quite surprised.

  Dr. Hopper nodded. “Yes, the only strange thing is that from everything you’ve told me about your life, you don’t seem to have experienced anything traumatic enough to trigger such a disorder. It’s like you’re haunted by memories that never happened.”

  Max's posture straightened, and her eyes narrowed. “Or like… I’ve forgotten them.”

  “Ah– well, yes,” Dr. Hopper spluttered, “I guess you could put it that way.”

  And then it hit her. The one thing that could explain all of this. Everything Henry was saying about this place was true. She realized how perfect sense it made as she thought over everything that had happened since Emma got there. That, plus her apparent post-traumatic stress disorder when she hadn’t even been through something that traumatic, cemented it for her. There was no way this was a coincidence. And then she cursed herself for not figuring it out sooner. Of course it was true! Henry believed in it. That should’ve been enough to convince her. Only a fool wouldn’t believe in Henry Mills.

  “I need to go,” said Max immediately, rushing out of the sofa and towards the door.

  “W-what? Why? Max, we’re not finished yet.”

  She grinned. “I don’t think therapy is gonna bring back my cursed memories, Dr. Hopper.” And with that, she dashed out the door.

–––

Henry opened his bedroom window, and Max greeted him with a bittersweet smile.

  “Hi,” she said softly.

  Henry smiled. “Hi,” he said back, voice just as low as hers, before frowning slightly. “How was your appointment with Dr. Hopper?”

  Max sighed, before climbing in through the window and sitting down on Henry’s bed. He took a seat beside her.

  “We talked about my nightmares,” she said, keeping her eyes on her lap, “and my panic attacks, and, you know, all the other issues I’ve got. Like detachment, fear of intimacy, the works…”

  Henry nodded, rubbing soothing circles across Max’s back.

  “And, well… Dr. Hopper said that all of my symptoms point to PTSD, but that it didn’t make sense because I’ve never been through anything bad enough to trigger that…” Henry knew where she was going, but that didn’t make it any easier. For once, Max wasn’t crying; her eyes were dry, but… that only worried him even more. She turned to look at him as she continued, “Henry, these dreams I keep having, they’re not just memories… they’re trauma.”

  Henry immediately reached forward and gripped Max in a tight hug. She smiled despite everything and buried her face in the crook of Henry’s neck, letting herself sink into the embrace.

  It was weird, in a way. Max had absolutely no recollection of her previous life, and yet, somehow, she knew that Henry was the best thing that had ever happened to her. She would do anything for him.

  Soon they parted, and Max’s gaze met Henry’s determined one. Henry had beautiful eyes. It had always been her favorite part of him. There was this light in them; this beautiful beacon of hope and good. Max wasn’t the sort of person who opened up easily to people, but Henry was the exception, and that light behind his eyes was the reason she knew she could trust him.

  “We’ll get through this together,” he promised.

  Max nodded. “Okay.”

–––

A/n: I know that it’s common for people with PTSD to repress and forget their traumatic event, I’ve done my research; so Archie’s confusion doesn’t really make sense but sssssssshhhhhhh.  But, I mean, it’s not like he’s actually an educated therapist he’s just some cricket so I guess it does kinda make sense anyway. 

heartless taglist: @jochase​

[the-green-divine]

Bitch has a mild amount of her shit together, courtesy of writing some self-indulgent Jefferson murder fic in which Rachel survives. I am still bananas over Life is Strange: Before the Storm. It might be my new favorite game in the series (previously True Colors, which is also good, go play it.)

So what about it made me bananas? Overall, the way the game shows Chloe’s day to day life in a way Life is Strange (1) didn’t. LiS1 has absurdly high stakes, a moral conundrum (sort of), serial killers, missing girls, asshole adults, oh my! You get a fair few normal moments between Chloe and Max, which typically end in Max rescuing Chloe from dying through her rewind.

We also don’t really know how Chloe got to where she is in the first game, or what she used to be like. We get hints, and Chloe’s core character is definitely someone who loves fiercely but has been hurt so much and so badly that she’s had to withdraw almost completely to survive. Before the Storm (BtS) shows us Chloe, and gives a path for why she is in such a bad place in LiS1.

I thought I might do this by episode, but I really can’t. I gotta take it by character, so let’s get the worst out of the way first: David and Joyce. Fuck I hate them both. David is an abusive piece of shit who manipulates Joyce and Chloe both. When Chloe offers up something about herself, he makes it about him, his trauma and grief, and demands she respect it when he has made it clear he has no respect for her. If she refuses, he immediately turns violent. Fuck David

And Joyce. The enabler to David’s abuse, because Chloe’s such a problem child. At the end of episode one, I saw “You were mean to Joyce” as a decision point and laughed. I wasn’t mean to Joyce, I picked the honest option. To Joyce in BtS, anything that doesn’t support her completely, and her delusion of a happy family is mean and petty. She “both sides” every argument between Chloe and David, and when Chloe tries to tell her how she feels, Joyce shuts her out. Chloe spends several days after getting suspended not at home, and Joyce never asks where she was. She doesn’t want her daughter. She sure as hell doesn’t deserve her.

Moving on: Rachel. I liked Rachel a lot. Mostly I knew her from LiS1 and fics, many of which paint her as a manipulator, some as an outright villain. I didn’t see it. I saw a teen whose smart but easily bored, and has the usual amount of teen stupidity (no offense to any teens who see this, you don’t necessarily get less dumb as you age, you find new ways to be stupid.) She fucks up, but she’s also going through probably the worst week of her life during BtS (so far.) She’s impulsive and (I believe) too prone to lying as the easy way out, but she’s also got James Amber for a dad.

Jimbo is where this game gets confused. They clearly show he IS a liar and a manipulator, but seem to try to walk it back sometimes? I’m certain he’s gaslit both Rose and Sera into believing he (and only he) knows what’s best for Rachel, and did such a great job on Sera she is nearly killed and still tries to defend him as a good father for Rachel. Ma’am. No. (I’m actually headcanoning that Sera did die from the overdose, and Chloe talks to her ghost - seriously, just a short while before she spoke to ghost William, and her journal makes it clear that she’s no longer easily able to differentiate between dreams and waking.) He sucks, but he could have been a much stronger villain.

Really, that’s my thing with all the LiS games: they could be much stronger if they dropped the high stakes sudden conspiracy twist, and stuck to their themes. BtS is about the powerlessness of being a teenager, surrounded by adults you can’t trust because they have shown, repeatedly, they don’t care about you as a person. It’s about the light at the end of the tunnel, if you’re living in an abusive home, as Chloe and Rachel both are. The hope and sweetness of youth, and the way the world shifts underfoot as you become an adult. Where you’re no longer sure of what you once knew.

That’s how I see Chloe. Someone so strong, and brave, and smart, shut down by a world that is increasingly hostile the more she speaks her mind. Despite not really liking the scene with Damon in the junkyard, my mind went to the scene on the beach in LiS 1 where Frank threatens Max. I’m sure she was thinking of how she froze up and it nearly got Rachel killed. BtS enriches Chloe immensely as a character, and shows us Rachel, who before we only knew from others’ memories, idealized or not.

There’s a lot not to like, and some disturbingly out of character scenes, Victoria’s drugging chief among them. But fuck canon, every writer loses their shit sometimes. That’s what fic is for. I’m really glad I played BtS.

i finished my first before the storm playthrough and bring you this live reaction:

AAAaaaAaRrrGggGHhhH

more to follow as bitch gets her shit together

[fyowhore]

Hello! Duck anon here again!

This is weird. A matchmaker who is not loaded with requests? :0

Um, ok, here we go then! (///￣ ￣///)

**

I am a girl, 21 years old.

I prefer men. (There aren't many women in BSD though, so there's not much choice. XD)

I like men who value their family and wish to start one too. I love men who are initiative and have goals that they try to reach. My partner's motive needs to be about helping people, making them happy, because only then a person would strive to be kind no matter how much he/she struggles. I am also not very good with earning money, so I want my partner to be good at it or else we are both dying in some dark alleyway poor and in love. XD

I like to laugh, so my partner's humour shouldn't be bland. Even though I can be serious and most people think I am strict because of my stern face, I don't think that a serious person x serious person is a very good combo.

However, I also know that I am very lazy, so I really need someone who would put me in line to do work instead of anything other than that.

**

I love my sister and we are inseparable. Wherever I go, she goes. Whatever she does, I do. We like to laugh together and our conversations are usually silly and useless. (My mother compares us to birds, because we cheerfully 'chirp' about nothing.)

**

I love writing. I want to become a teacher, but if that dream fails, I will be a children book writer for sure.

I like drawing, but I'm not that good of an artist like my sister.

I like watching anime (Spy X Family, Komi-san Can't Communicate, Yo Boy Kongmin, Mob Psycho 100, Haikyuu are my favourite actually), but I don't do it lately.

I like watching character analysis and theories. Sometimes I listen how a certain author came up with certain ideas.

**

I don’t like people who don't pick sides and change their opinion according to what the others say. They look weak.

I don’t like people who don't accept how they are, yet they tell that they love themselves. To sum it up, I don't like liars who don't want to admit that they have personal problems. I really want to slap them to bring them back to their senses.

I generally don't like liars who refuse to see the truth that stands right in front of them. Lying is OK on some occasions and it can save you from an unnecessary conflict at times, but there's a limit.

Oh, I also don't like rice and pudding. Yuck. I prefer sweets. >:P

**

I have very bad hair (they don't grow well, hence they are short) and they are brown/blonde. I have acne (I have lots of dark postacne blemishes and there are acne scars on my face. Luckily, there aren't as many pimples nowadays.) I am 178cm/5ft9in. I have a very poor eye sight to the point I can't see a person's face two meters away from me, but I refuse to wear glasses because I look like a strict teacher in them.

**

I think that's all. I hope it's not too much! ^^;;

Remember to take rests! :D Have lots of inspiration for your stories and other hobbies! ~✨ I hope you're having fun with your writing! C:

He might be soft hearted but…

I think Atsushi could be quite a nice fit! He probably would also adore the idea of a family and providing for children instead of leaving them alone. His family would be based in peace and reassurance and I think it would be the gentle environment anyone could hope for. He’s a little awkward for sure but I think he’d also appreciate your jokes, and someone sterner who’s better at reinforcing both of your boundaries.

Working at the ADA together would be perfect, he takes the dangerous work and you could either do something similar, or stay behind and work on safer jobs. It’s a good environment for struggling with work, considering everyone puts up with Dazai, you needing a break every now and then is more than fine.

He’s a sappy man and I think you’d only help him grow further past his traumas. Sometimes he lies to himself, which you’d quickly put a stop to. Or at least heavily encourage him to quit it. He’s insecure but I fully believe a relationship is working towards the betterment of yourselves together. It shouldn’t be an Olympian task but feeling like you’ve earned a safety and love can’t compare to everything coming easy. Past that… not liking rice? Fine by him, that’s just more of his favourite food in the world for him! But he’d obviously accommodate for you.

As for your appearance, even if you were insecure about it… it wouldn’t bother Atsushi. Not at all, never could he think to judge such uncontrollable conditions. He’s scarred too, it’s for different reasons but I think he’d find a certain beauty in it. I also think he’d appreciate the fact you love your family. He never had it, and can only hope they’d love him too.

I hope this is a nice result for you my lovely Duck anon! 🦆 You stumped me a little at first but I can absolutely see the lovely tiger man being supportive, and you talking some sense into his trauma fuelled anxiety. He doesn’t mean to be the way he is, it’s just a hard life sometimes ✨

[supremeinlilac]

Greiving for something not lost

Sally Mckenna x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Canon death, mentions of suicide, grief, slight mention of nsfw activities but it’s literally nothing.

A/n: Here’s the exchange gift for @cissa-calls , and I hope it’s not too dark for you :/ I researched a lot of Greek Mythology because you said you enjoyed it so it’s based around a myth, although as always I got carried away so it ended up only being a small portion. I hope you like it :))

Instead of taking the direct route to the Cortez, you idled down the backstreets of LA, one hand stuffed deeply into your pocket as you scuffed feet against stones on the path. It did little to clear the fog in your brain after yet another argument with Sally, it was always too loud in the city and you seemed to never be able to silence it enough to think.

Sally had promised you, time and time again that the next job would be the last, and you clutch at the hopes that each time she’d be telling the truth. Each time you’d fumble with fingers against the hem of her jacket and beg her to stay, and she’d pry them off and tell you not to follow her.

“The Hotel Cortez is not a place for you babe,” she’d say, and then she’d be gone.

Usually, you’d accept that, and would wait by the window for glimpses of her silhouette along the street when she’d returned. Your heart would thrum in protest against your ribs almost painfully until you’d see her safe again. This time, you’d both cried and fumed. Neither understood the other, neither wanting to admit that they feared what that meant.

Your other hand held a small spray of white anemones, and an apology scribbled on paper. You had to rehearse it before you met with her again, she seemed to be able to sense when you weren’t genuine. You’d wanted flowers of a darker colour, they were more Sally, but had had to settle with that of purity and innocence. Not Sally at all, but you were still too proud and stubborn to stalk around more shops to find the perfect gift for her when you’d both been in the wrong.

The detour meant you’d probably find your girlfriend already high, stumbling aimlessly around rooms with that grin on her face that always made you want to kiss it off her. No doubt that tonight would end as it always did. Possessive and passionate in your shared bed. Sometimes you wouldn’t even reach it. Sorry with Sally was always spoken through sex.

The thought of apologising through kisses and softly idle fingertips had your pace quickening, and the guilt heating up within you. You didn’t like fighting with Sally, and you sure as hell didn’t like what you fought about, but you loved to bribe her back to you this way. But as you turned the corner to the hotel, the guilt in your stomach dropped into that of dread, and a lump formed so quickly in your throat that you felt you would choke on it with what you saw.

Aphrodite had warned Adonis about the dangers, just like you had Sally, and yet, here they both lay. It was as if her body blurred into two with your tears, two lovers, separated by the cruel twist of deaths knife in a hollow chest.

You seemed to be able to do nothing but stagger towards her, vision smoky and you prayed it was a dream. That you may stir in the sheets beside Sally, and she’d reach to still your tremors like the silent hand of a god against the rumble of an earthquake. Be still my love, do not fear what can not hurt you. I’m here, reach for me.

Now, you wished for something as merciful as a dream.

Her face paled to grey as you neared, and the world seemed to fall away. Passers by seemed unaffected as hurried feet carried them home, anxious to block out the city with thick blinds and gentle music. Your despair willowed to nothing, a commotion simply on the other side of the road wasn’t a rarity. The city had seen it all before.

It turns out the Hotel Cortez wasn’t a place for her either.

You felt like throwing yourself to the ground beside her, bare knees scraping against the harsh pavement, yet you’d welcome the pain beside your lover. White noise filled your ears, and only the blaring of car horns could cut through its insistent ringing. You couldn’t even hear yourself crying for help to anyone who might listen.

Her eyes were wide, glassy and pleading, but you saw no life in them. The glass gave way to murky water and it was clear you’d reached her too late. Defeated, you crumpled beside her, flowers forgotten in leu of pressing lips to her temple and whispering the apology as if it may be heard by her soul and it might return to her body. To you.

You wanted to close her eyes with gentle fingertips but feared that if she stopped seeing you then it would be the end. That it would mean she was gone.

A flower sprang where he lay, hours after Adonis’ death, a deep crimson anemone that bore the shade of his blood. Born from the sweet nectar from Aphrodite’s hand, the wildflower bloomed. Beautiful trauma.

The flowers on the ground by your side seemed to wilt, sensing the sour odour of deaths passing, they hung their heads in mourning and shrank into their petals. Heavy with grief. White anemones turned red under the suns dying love, its light bowing behind the buildings so it may pretend to have not bared silent witness to souls divided.

Aphrodite pleaded for her lover’s life in the underworld, so he could be with her once again in life. You would have plead as she did, knelt and sold your soul for Sally to be returned. You would have done as Aphrodite did, if you thought it would help. If you thought that someone could see your pain and render it pure enough to grant the impossible.

In the real world, there are no gracious second chances for such a fickle thing as love.

And now, it seemed that the Hotel Cortez would be her place, tied to her always in death.

You stayed by her side until the coroner arrived to take her away. You couldn’t cry, instead just watched through eyes of steel as the back doors of the van were slammed obnoxiously, ringing in your ears long after it had pulled away and been lost to the traffic. You vaguely registered someone’s hand on your shoulder, a soothing motion, talking as if underwater, muffled and unintelligible. You felt like you were barely clinging to driftwood on an unsettled sea, each swell of a wave bigger than the last.

In shock- you heard someone say. Suicide. That broke your haze.

When you’d got home that night, the silence had screamed at you. It had been too quiet to sleep, and you ached for the way she’d blast music loud enough to warrant the neighbours complaints the next day, so you’d have to bake horrendously in the kitchen cookies as apologies. Or when she’d strum against her guitar and the gentle tones would pull you from your work and into her lap to watch her fingers manipulate the instrument into art.

You craved the shrill laughter of Sally when she’d prank you childishly, how she’d pull you towards her and you’d see how joy creased her face beautifully. You’d always want to make her laugh and brush the pads of curious fingers over the dimples formed and make her shy away.

You’d never hear her song again, you realised, blinking away tears when the guitar propped in the corner caught your eye. Chest heaving painfully, you half wanted to grasp it by the neck and slam it against the ground over and over until anger diffused and you could cry into its shards. The other half, the winning half, wanted to pick it up and set it against you, ghost fingers over its strings so the thrum was barely audible. She’d played this tune, taught you this tune, and you vowed you’d never forget it. Fingers in her shadow, you ran them over the smooth wood, eyes closed and head back on the sofa.

She was everywhere in the apartment, and it only served to remind you that she was also nowhere.

The suffocating hands of her absence pressed against you, a ribbon of blackened ash around your ribs, until they threatened to crack under its pressure. Was it possible to miss how she hurt? Your lover, with her wild hair and glassy eyes, you could see her as she was, you would drunk in how she would move. Dancing slowly in an empty room, as if the world were watching her.

Wild hair was born to writhing snakes, and you feared to look directly into her eyes now. Death had claimed her as its own, and you refused to accept her insistent fate. She’d return. You’d look into her eyes and see that of your lover, and not of Medusa. Lungs of stone, how could they swell to receive the gift of a breath without her beside you?

Now you drowned the guilt, drunk in its depths instead of in her eyes.

Stuck in endless loops of questioning what if. What if you hadn’t taken the detour, what if you hadn’t argued, or if you had made her stay instead of letting her leave the apartment? Would she still be alive?

It wasn’t your fault but oh, how that option seemed so sweet in this moment. To be swarmed with an actual reason to hate, how it would be easier than the reality. You’d rather have yourself to blame than have no one. Responsibility for actions you weren’t even sure of. Questions unanswered by police, that would remain unanswered because the only person with the solution was gone. What had happened?

The pressure seemed to build up in your head, an unbearable thickness of thoughts that had nowhere to go but to force themselves down your throat so you’d choke on them, and the feeling of sickness would resurface. They’d swim in your gut like parasite and never still.

It was worse at night.

Distractions were less and your emotions ran so far above you on blackened clouds, so out of reach that you doubted you’d ever be able to wrestle them back into submission. Would they eternally be dancing in mockery and pulling at marionette strings in your limbs? A shell of your former self, only held up by unpredictable emotions that could burn you with their ice just as much as their fire.

After your first day back at work after the incident, you’d returned home exhausted, wanting nothing more than to collapse into yourself on the sofa and cradle one of her jackets. You forgot the lock the door on your way in, and remembered hours later, after the sun had drooped once more that you needed to lock yourself with your thoughts again for the night.

You reached into your handbag, searching for something that seemed menial now, and instead your fingers curled around her packet of cigarettes. You stopped, hand still in the bag, and your breath caught painfully in your throat.

It had been the first since that night, raw and salty tears that burned your eyes red and blurred your vision. The kind of crying that wore you to nothing within minutes and had you clutching bony fingers to your chest as if to pry open ribs and reach your lungs. You couldn’t breathe.

Everything caught up with you, and you felt as if you were falling alongside her, scrabbling to find purchase against nothing. The rational side of your brain knew that you wouldn’t crash to the ground, but you couldn’t help but be brought back to her side in that moment, a whirlwind of emotions that you couldn’t control, circling your head in a way that made you dizzy with your grief.

Her pale face, mottled with the tears of her death invaded your mind, the blood staining the pavement. Suddenly you felt hot with it, as if the sticky blood was covering you, pulling you to drown. You could smell its invasive metallic scent, almost taste its musk in your throat with every breath. It was thick, and you were clawing at your arms to try and wipe it away. It was everywhere, and then it was nowhere, and you wondered why you’d been tricked by grief in the first place.

Shaking, your fingers had flipped open the packet and picked one out. You didn’t smoke, yet trembling hands found the lighter and lips found the filter which already had a smudge of red on it. Almost as if Sally had gone to light it but changed her mind, discarding it back for later use. She never used it again, now it was you that drew in an unsteady breath, drawing the panel door to the side as you took the rest of the cigarettes onto the small apartment balcony you both shared to smoke them, alone.

There was really only room for one person out there at a time, yet you and Sally would huddle together on the nights when the city would keep you awake, and she’d wrap pale arms around your waist and nuzzle her chin into the crook of your neck. Passing her cigarette back and forth you’d overlook the streets below and watch the living.

You’d both used to wonder what it would be like to lead the lives of those people below, those on their way to work before the sun even surfaced over the horizon and set its path for the day. Working before the pair of you had even been asleep. The banality of their routine, oh, how you both pitied them. They’d work boring jobs to pay the rent for the whitewashed walls they’d come home to each night, eat the same meals at the same time, prepared by wives wearing lines of age, deeply set in valleys on their faces. These people always looked older than their years, tired and worn from work and children born to save a marriage already lost.

You’d used to pity them, yet now, you craved the intimacy of a boring life with someone you loved. You’d rather the predictability of this life than the one you had now. Nothing.

On the balcony, you smoked all the remaining cigarettes in the pack. Usually, you didn’t smoke, but you did, just to feel close to her again. Curling your fingers around the butt the way that she used to, and blowing the smoke out, watching it furl and twist into the cold night. You craved the warm roughness of her hands.

She’d kiss you with the lingering taste of those cigarettes, and you’d grown addicted to it. Still, once you’d finished the packet, you’d found yourself unable to rebuy them.

Slowly, you forgot its essence. You felt like you were forgetting her.

In the news, you waited for them to show a photo of Sally, one detached from everything she’d grown to be, beside a headline of death. The low hum of the city news was background noise to your grief, and you ached for someone to care enough to tell about her passing. For weeks, there was nothing. There was nothing and then there was everything, all at once, and in that moment, you knew that you would’ve preferred the nothing.

They said she’d jumped.

They hadn’t known her, and they said she’d jumped.

How dare they when you’d screamed at them until hoarse that she would never, that she promised she would never? The quick solution, one that wouldn’t raise questions, or demand the precious funds of the very system she’d been cheated by, to fork out for justice. She was an addict, they’d said. Painting the sky above her head an angry black, with clouds that swirled with viscous intent. She was a junkie, and therefore the answer was simple.

Death had been an inevitability with a life like that, habits like that. A person such as that.

You wasted grief on your anger, long nights where you’d clutch the phone to your mottled cheek with whitening knuckles, cursing everyone who’d rendered your love unimportant. You’d fall asleep on hold to police that had no more answers for you, no more pitied excuses and apologies for a loss they knew nothing about.

And it was on one of those long nights, when you sought for comfort that could be not offered by the living, that you reach for the memory of the dead. Running fingers deliberately slowly over the clothes that hung in the wardrobe, fingering through her dresses on the railing before slowly closing the door again, leaning against it and sinking to the floor.

You’d opened all her drawers that night, some for the first time. Spritzed her dresses with her perfume that still stood on the mantle, revitalised Sally in the apartment with her smell. It was as if you were back to then, when she’d return from work, stroppy and tired, yet still reach for her perfume and generously sprayed the air that she’d then dance into.

Picking one of her band shirts out of the drawer, you slipped your shirt off and replaced it with hers. It was soft cotton, the one she’d most frequently sleep in, and it brought you warmth like her hugs used to, arms enclosing you and grounding you in moments of fear.

You slept in it that night. Telling yourself that that would be it and then it would return to the drawer. But one night stretched painfully into three, and you found yourself unable to sever the small mercy you’d given yourself in wearing her clothes, the attachment to her that only you would know when you walked the street. No one else knew the chain you wore were hers, the boots, the dress. No one knew sally because there was no one left to know.

It had been a year since that day.

You’d woken with a headache and turned over in bed, wanting to shelter yourself from the day with blankets, sleep until the moon shone and the day turned into the next. You knew you could do that, but guilt had you pulling on the covers and groaning as the sunlight poured like liquid through the slit in the curtains.

It was going to be a long day. You already felt tired.

Pulling one of Sally’s band shirts over your head, you traipsed sluggishly through the apartment, purposefully ignoring the mess, like she would after a night of drinking. Not that it mattered today. You unhooked Sally’s oversized jacket from the peg and slumped it over your shoulder. Today was the day, you’d decided. You were going to visit her grave.

In the past year, you’d planned to visit her grave on several occasions, but avoided it at the last second. You couldn’t stand the thought of Sally trapped there, tied to the soil when she should be dancing upon it with you.

Sally couldn’t be tied down to a single place, she moved freely, without reign. It was how she liked it, and how you’d learned to love her. Labels had never been her thing. And now she was labelled on stone, with a corny phrase that she’d hate, with a date too early, a life too short. Sally deserved to be free.

She was the wind, unpredictable and changing and wild, she would go where she pleased and return on the breeze. Sally would’ve hated being buried, and yet through the selfish need to have a real place to visit her, she had been. You can’t capture the wind in bare hands, can’t collar it or tame it and make it beg. It controls you and you have no choice but to concede to it.

That was Sally.

Even now, a year later, you found yourself faltering. The gates of the cemetery loomed ahead of you, and your hands bunched at the material of your pants nervously. You could feel it calling, begging almost, for you to simply reach out and push the gate open with a metallic creak of protest. To visit the place you’d always avoided.

But just as you always did, you lost your nerve, sighing and peering down the road for a reason to be drawn away. For a distraction, even just for a moment. An excuse to gather your thoughts just enough to face your lover.

A corner shop caught your eye, with the newspapers in the windows just begging for customers. How convenient. Stuffing hands into pockets, you strode over the road with new purpose.

Dragging yourself down the claustrophobic aisles in the store, you distracted yourself with exited colours on packaging, picking items of shelves and replacing them further down the aisle. You didn’t care for tidiness today.

When a shop attendant asked you if you needed any help, you gave him a sad smile in appreciation and picked up a small bunch of white anemone flowers, her flowers. Last year, they’d been a peace offering, this year, an apology. The employee shuffled along again, and you set your eyes down to the floor.

Flowers in hand, you made your way to the till, placing them delicately onto the counter and fiddling for coins in your coat. You hadn’t planned on buying anything, so neglected to bring your wallet. Luckily, this was a coat you’d not worn since Sally’s death, and she was a fan of keeping loose change in the deep pockets.

“Is that everything for today?” the woman behind the till chirped with the voice of someone with long experience in public services. It cried out in tired falsity, in ‘how long have I left on my shift?’ It was a line well-rehearsed and overused.

Just as you were about to nod in answer, your eyes caught the tobacco cabinet behind the bored check out assistant. “What brand?” She asked pointedly, and you stared dumbly past her. Had Sally ever bought cigarettes from this store? Shaking out the thought from your mind, you answered her, asking for Sally’s brand and quickly paying and leaving.

Outside the shop, you held the package tentatively in your palm, fingering at the packaging as she used to when she was nervous. She’d wrap a tune with her chipped nails against the boxes edge, and you’d coax it from her, and dip her under the moonlight in your arms. Now, holding the cigarettes held no comfort for you, feeling both foreign and familiar, it left you aching for her.

Still, you found yourself unable to visit her grave. It was all too real to see where she lay. You needed something tying Sally to you that wasn’t so physical. You laughed to yourself. How ironic it was, to force her into a grave for something so trivial as to have a place to call her resting place, only to find yourself too weak to face your choice.

Instead, you took a left, and then another, and then a right, and continued until you could no longer smell your own fear in the air with the concept of her grave. Deeper into the city, where the pollution stained white houses grey, you could breathe clearly again. Guilt will consume a person, clog their lungs with it until their breathing is laborious and the weight drags them down into their thoughts.

You’d walked this route before, one year before, with white anemones and an apology in hand. You’d never gotten to tell Sally what you’d wanted, but perhaps you’d take her the flowers, and smoke her cigarettes in the window where she’d fell. You’d tell her what you didn’t get the chance to.

The hotel was just as you remembered it, flickering neon 34w`lights that read ‘Hotel Cortez’, and the eery alleys and parked cars that seemed to be in the same position as the year prior. It was as if time had paused, hotel residents left their cars and had never returned to them.

You weren’t really aware of yourself in that moment, feet leading a silent path as you found yourself stuck in a memory. When you reached the place you found her, your feet faltered, and you couldn’t tear your eyes from the paving.

The pavement was clear, physically untainted, and any normal pedestrian would question your loitering. But although it appeared to be clean, you know because you’ve seen, you’ve remembered. The pain that would still remain, deep in the cracks of the paving stone, no matter how much scrubbing the clean up team undoubtably did after Sally’s body was removed, they couldn’t remove. They couldn’t fade the scarring, or the feeling of death that overcame you when you stared at the place she’d laid.

Someone bumped your shoulder as they passed on the street, muttered remarks about people standing in the middle of the street, and you raised your eyes to watch them walk away. When you looked back at the stone, the connection to it had been lost, and you found yourself unable to re-enter the trance you’d been in.

Pressing through the hotel doors, you left the light of the sun behind, left the living, and joined the death of the dusky lobby. Wondering through its room, you imagined Sally doing the same, with confident strides and a purpose. It was a nice place for downtown LA, you had to admit, but you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that came with it, of being watched by invisible eyes in the walls. The feeling one gets when you visit a place where death rules over occupants.

You looked up to the next floor, and swore you saw a flash of an animal print coat moving behind the barriers. No. Must’ve been the lighting change from coming inside.

A woman pointed you towards the bar, and you nodded towards her. Did all visitors come for the hotels bar? She seemed to know exactly what you needed, tired eyes searching for something not quite there.

In the bar, you drank and you smoked and spoke with the woman behind the bar who must’ve noticed the void behind your eyes. She didn’t question you, why you were alone, just slid extra drinks across the table with a wink and a smile. You didn’t return it, opting for a grateful grimace instead.

All of a sudden, the smell of Sally’s perfume seemed to melt into your senses, overpowering that of the cigarette, and the liquor, until your head swam with memories linked with its scent. You didn’t remember spraying it this morning, and it confused you. It was so strong, and real. It didn’t seem like your brain was tricking you with its musk, like it so often would with a silhouette against the apartment window.

Suffocated by Sally. You drowned in its poetry.

Searching for its origin, your eyes roamed the bar. It was real, you figured. Turning on the bar stool, your eyes met those that you thought you’d forgotten, and you found they were exactly like you remembered. Sally stood, leant against the wall opposite you, arms folded at her chest yet wearing cheeks stained with tears and widened eyes. You scrambled out of your chair, and the world fell away from you. You didn’t even try and catch it when she was next to you.

You palmed at your eyes, begging yourself to wake up from what must be a dream. Despite knowing she wasn’t real, you ached for your mind to stay in this fantasy so at least you wouldn’t be alone. Removing your hands, you felt yourself lighten. Sally remained still, unmoving yet she was closer that ever. You could reach and brush against her cheek if only your arms would cooperate.

“Y/n?” she breathed, in that choked up voice, and you were falling again.

As if trapped in a dream, you startled awake with the feeling of cool fingers massaging against your scalp. The room was foreign, and it smelled like her. Foreign, yet startingly familiar as if you’d been there before.

Sally was curled into your side, and your breathing laboured again. You didn’t understand how she was here, you- you buried her. Sniffling broke your doubts, and Sally adjusted her head atop your chest. When you wiggled beneath her, her sniffs turned to coos, and her fingers in your hair and clutching your top were soothing at your cheeks.

“I love you, I’m here,” she flustered, worrying her lip between teeth, and you could see the moon in between buildings outside the window. It watched you with bated breath and shone onto her pale skin until her tears seemed to shine. “Say I love you Sally.”

Sitting up against the pillows, you caught her face in your hands, cupping it so she couldn’t move away as you remembered the outlines of her eyes, lips, the curve of her jaw and cheekbones. “I love you,” you found yourself admitting, tears welling in eyes that couldn’t believe what they were witnessing, “are you real?”

“I’m-” Sally started, faltering as if she didn’t quite know the answer either. “I’m here.”

You wanted to apologise anew, whisper the memorised speech that you’d spoken to her that night, but the words seemed to catch in your throat, sharp like the barbs from barbed wire were caught against the delicate skin. Instead, you pulled her in to brush lips against hers, testing slowly if they actually would meet and not melt through what your mind was making up.

They did meet, and you muffled a wail against hers, all the pent-up grief for the woman you were now kissing resurfacing. Fingers clung to her coat, which was still soft beneath your touch, and you pulled her closer to you. She cried, and you cried, and hands met to brush them away.

“I missed you baby.”

You didn’t stop to think about what it meant that she was here. Focusing only on her hands linked firmly in yours, and how she deserved to feel the taut string of a guitar again. You’d bring it to her, and she’d play her song. You’d hear her voice and feel the vibrations of her throat against your lips as she sang.

You’d do it all again.

Time you thought was lost was now frozen, suspended in a single heartbeat. She hadn’t aged a single day, and yet her eyes showed more trouble than you’d ever seen. You couldn’t wait to return and kiss away her worries, reintroduce yourself and love her and be loved like you both deserved. But for now, you were content to simply exist in her presence again.

You wouldn’t take her for granted.

taglist: @pearplate @pluied-ete @billiedeansbottom @okpaulson @mckennamayfairgoode @lilypadscoven @extraordinarilycelestrial @mssallymckenna @magnifique-monstre @magnificent-paulsonn @darling-dontforgetme @commanderspeach @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @shineestark @amethyst-bitch @ninaahs @bluesxrgnt @germansarechill @d14n4ol @sarahp-stan @natasha-danvers @its-soph-xx @imgayandmymomdoesntknow @lovelypeasantjellyfish @rainbow-hedgehog @paulawand @saucy-sapphic @delias-bitch-craft @loverofallthingssarah @music-addict @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog @in-cordelias-coven @cordeliass @peggycarter-steverogers @stayeviildarling ,, if you want to be added, give me a shout :))

[weasleylangs]

in the summer sun - f.w

Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader but honestly it’s just a whole Weasley family slice of life fic. Summary: The war has ended and the Weasley’s appreciate their family now more than ever. Warnings: Mention of the war, mention of Fred having a near death experience, mention of PTSD, anxiety, nightmares and injuries, opening scene involves an anxiety attack, fuck is said twice by the way. Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This fic is inspired by this ask I received from Kai @weasleyclaw for the ‘send me a made up title game’! The warnings sound scary, but I promise this is a super fluffy slice-of-life fic with Fred and the reader, just existing after the war! Fred lives, obviously but he still had an accident and in reality, he’d be going through a lot of shit and I didn’t want to ignore that!

I am in no way romanticising mental illness and trauma, I myself struggle with a variety of mental illness and trauma and representation is super important, babey!!!!!! Proper support is important!!!!!!

I still can’t decide if I love or hate this but.... [schedules while I’m asleep]

----------------------

Fred sat up quickly. Heavy and ragged breathing coursing through his lungs as he struggled to catch his breath. He couldn’t even remember what he was dreaming of now that he’s awake, only remembering flashes of green and a loud ‘bombarda maxima’ before being shocked awake by his anxiety and fear.

He’s been plagued by nightmares for three months, ever since he was fighting in that seventh floor corridor and the wall came crashing down on him. He knows it’s normal to be haunted by these memories, he almost died, for crying out loud, but he would really like to have one night where he sleeps through it without being jolted awake. 

He could feel the pressure in his chest get stronger as he struggled to breathe as he checked the clock on the bedside table. It reads 6:30am and when he looks out the window he realises the sun is already rising and the summer heat is making it into their bedroom. His girlfriend of five years sleeps in the bed next to him, snoring lightly having not been woken up by his oncoming anxiety attack.

Fred struggles to remember the grounding technique she taught him when he had his first attack. She’s his biggest supporter, always there when he needs her, but he wants to get better himself . He doesn't want to rely on her for the rest of his days no matter how often she reminds him it’s okay and that she wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.

He’s got his legs swung over the side of the bed, his body closing in on himself when he feels the bed move and arms wrap around his middle, “Breathe, Freddie, and tell me five things you can see,” she whispers gently in his ear.

His eyes darts around the room, searching as he tries his best to breathe, “The tree outside our window, the lamp, that chair,” he struggles to speak as his breathing is laboured, “your book on my bedside table, my slippers…”

“Good job, my love. Now, four things you can touch.”

His hands grab hers, “Your hands,” he says as he turns to face her, “the duvet, my shirt and…” His hand moves, from her hand to cupping her face, “your hair.” 

This continues, Fred rattling off three things he can hear, two things he can smell and one thing he can taste before he realises his breathing has slowed down, his hands have stopped shaking and while the pressure in his chest is still there, it’s been alleviated and he knows it’ll disappear in a few moments. 

Y/N whispers soft praise in Fred’s ear as she lays him back down in their bed. She’s so proud of the progress he has made in just a short few months. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

He shakes his head, while he barely remembers, he knows it’s the same nightmare as usual. Hogwarts, duelling, wall comes crashing down and Fred almost dies. It’s more of a flashback if anything, that he’s constantly reliving the worst day of his life.

“That’s okay, we can just lay here and rest before we go to your mum and dad’s… If you still feel up to going?” Y/N knows when nights like this happen, Fred usually wants to stay in bed and recoup his energy and try again the next day. 

“No, no, we have to go,” he says and it’s not because it’s an obligation, he truly does want to. After almost dying, after spending almost a year without knowing if Ron, Harry and Hermione were okay, after Bellatrix Lestrange threatened to kill both Ginny and his own mother and with Percy reconnecting with them all, he appreciates family time like he never did before. They all deserve to have happy, carefree and relaxing days and that’s what today is meant to be for them all.

“If you’re sure, my love,” she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. Fred probably won't fall back asleep, the sun has risen and while he won’t admit it, he’s too scared to try and sleep again. But he doesn’t mind, he’s perfectly content having Y/N fall back asleep in his arms and sometimes, rarely but sometimes, her soft snores lulls Fred into a light, undisturbed sleep.

-

It’s lunch time by the time Fred and Y/N apparate to The Burrow. Fred’s still recovering physically from his injuries - having your entire body crushed by rubble does that to you, so he happily side-along apparates with Y/N instead of solo floo’ing places. 

When they walk into the house, they’re met with a chorus of hello’s and Molly dragging Fred into a hug and kisses his cheeks repeatedly, and then continues to complain that he has no meat on his bones and that he needs to be eating more while shoving a muffin into his hand. 

George is snickering by the table because someone who isn’t himself is finally being on the receiving end of his mothers affection and he has Angelina Johnson awkwardly beside him. When Y/N raises her eyebrows at him, he mouths a ‘I’ll explain later’ before winking and walking Angelina over to her. 

“Hey, Angie,” she says, pulling the girl into a hug. While they were never close at school, considering Y/N wasn’t a Gryffindor, they still got along when the time arose, “didn’t know my little Georgie here got himself a bird.” 

George groans at the fact Y/N completely ignored him and Angelina blushes as she tries to hide her face behind her hair, but Y/N can see that she’s smiling and not at all bothered by the teasing, “Hey, I’m only teasing, come here!” she says as she pulls the embarrassed girl into a tight embrace. While Y/N drops the subject of Angelina and George finally getting their lives together and dating after years of pining, George knows Y/N is going to corner him later and get the answers out of him.

Hermione and Ginny quickly run down the stairs and grab Y/N, pulling her into a hug as well. Soon enough, the entire family is trying to squeeze inside the living room - including Bill and Fleur who always turn up for the Weasley get together and even Charlie has taken extended leave from his job in Romania to stay and spend the summer with everyone. 

Because of the overcrowding, Ron whistles loudly, grabbing everyone’s attention, “Who wants to play a game of quidditch and let mum have some peace and quiet?” Immediately Harry, the twins, Angelina and Charlie are out the door, already fighting about teams and position. Y/N briefly hears Harry whine ‘I want to be on Charlie’s team but he plays seeker’ as their voices fade. Ginny stays back, wanting to catch up with Y/N for a bit and promises to join everyone later.

Fred loves nothing more than spending time with his siblings. Growing up as a twin, he’s had someone constantly by his side, but he loves his huge family more than anything. George and he spend 5 minutes fighting over who gets to be beater until they just decide they’ll just be on different teams before they realise they don’t have enough siblings for a full team anyway, meaning the beaters are out of the equation.

This causes the twins to just start jokingly fighting over who plays chaser before Ron and Harry has to break it up so they can actually play. 

Fred adores flying. His hair has been growing out and the wind through it as he flies is one of the best feelings in the world, he thinks. It makes him forget all his worries, his only focus is snatching the quaffle out of George’s slimy grip and getting it past Charlie, who’s playing both keeper and seeker for the other team to make up for the lack of players.

“Oi, Ickle Ronnikins,” he calls out from his broom, wobbling slightly as he yells to get his brother’s attention, “mind paying attention to the match and not your girlfriend? George is getting every shot in, mate,” He’s teasing of course. They can see the girls through the window and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t sneaking glances at Y/N.

Meanwhile, the three girls sit at the kitchen table chatting amongst themselves and Bill and Fleur are outside in the garden when Percy and his girlfriend turn up. There’s tension in the air, there always is when Percy turns up. It’s not that no one wants him there, but given his history of being a ‘right prat’ (Fred’s words), everyone is cautious. 

But he goes right up to Molly, pulling her into an embrace and kissing her on the cheek and then turns to his dad and gives him a hug. 

“Hey Gin, Y/N, Hermione,” he gives them a curt nod as they say hello back before pulling the girl beside him closer, “this is Audrey, my girlfriend. Do you guys mind hanging with her while I go find the boys?"

The girls, of course, nod. “How long have you and Percy been together for?” Y/N asks as the girl sits and she hopes she isn’t coming off rude. She’s been with Fred for five years and never met Audrey and Hermione’s been in the Weasley’s lives for even longer, so it’s clearly a recent development. 

“Around this time last year… With everything going on and Percy not being on speaking terms with everyone, we haven’t really had the chance to meet…” she trails off and Y/N senses the awkward tension rising, so she grabs Audrey’s hand in a reassuring matter.

“Don’t stress about that. You’re here now and you’re family,” while Y/N isn’t officially a Weasley, her and Fred have spoken about their future together on numerous occasions so she doesn’t feel like she’s speaking out of turn offering ‘Weasley Family Status’ to Audrey, “I’m Y/N, Fred’s girlfriend.” 

“And I’m Hermione, Ron’s girlfriend,” Hermione adds and before Ginny even speaks, Y/N interrupts her, “You’re obviously a Weasley, Gin,” and the girls all start giggling.

“I’m Ginny, Harry’s girlfriend!” she exclaims proudly when all the girls finally calm down and it only sets them off again.

What the girls don’t notice is that Molly’s watching them, with a smile on her face. She’s always wanted daughters - she loves Ginny and she loves every single one of her sons, but she wishes she had been able to give her a sister. But watching the scene unfold in front of her, how these girls welcome Audrey so easily into their lives, Molly’s eyes well with tears as she realises she has the most wonderful daughter and future daughter-in-laws a woman could ask for. 

“How’s Fred doing?” Ginny asks. Of course, everyone’s suffered from the war, but everyone is constantly concerned about Fred. 

“Between seeing his psychologist and his physical therapy appointments, he’s doing really good,” she says, looking out the window and she laughs as she sees Fred holding Ron in a headlock, shouting something about how rusty he is at keeper, “there’s days it’s hard, and he has really bad nightmares sometimes, and there's days where they make him not want to leave the house but he had one this morning and was determined to get here today. I’m really proud of him.” 

Molly rubs Y/N on the shoulders, almost like a thank you for being there for Fred through it all as she places muffins in front of all the girls and takes her own seat. She takes a moment to scold Arthur for trying to repair the muggle radio playing he’s stolen from work before joining in on the girls’ conversation as they eat. 

The sweet moment is interrupted by a voice that is clearly Percy’s shouting and both Y/N and Audrey’s automatic assumption is that the worst has happened. Especially when Y/N hears the familiar voice of her boyfriend shouting incoherently. 

All the girls rush out the door, expecting to break up a fight but that isn’t what’s happening. Instead, Fred has Percy on the ground, rolling around in dirt and they’re both laughing . Molly has to excuse herself, tears welling in her eyes at the sight of Percy being accepted by his brother. 

“What’s going on here?” Audrey questions. It’s clear she’s still weary, worried that at a moment's notice, Percy’s siblings will turn on him and forget his apology. Fred looks up, winking at Y/N before looking at Audrey and flashes her a cheeky smirk, “Perce said I suck at quidditch.” 

Everyone rolls their eyes at this as Y/N grabs Fred’s hand and pulls him up. She lives with him, so one would think that the time spent apart at The Burrow is no big deal, but secretly Y/N has always been super clingy, wanting to always have Fred in her sights, and it's only worsened now they live together.

“Hi Freddie,” she giggles, tucking herself close to his side despite the summer heat blasting down on them, “I miss you.” she whispers.

Fred lets out a cackle of a laugh, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and leading her to the tree they always sit under as he tells Ginny to take his spot on their makeshift quidditch team. Secretly, he was hoping to get away from the game because he needs a break and maybe an attempted nap under the tree. 

He settles down first, stretching his legs out as he leans against the trunk and then he pulls Y/N down to sit between them and to rest her back against his chest. This has always been their favourite way to cuddle.

“What’s the go with George and Angie? I knew they were going on dates but...” Fred asks, and Y/N shrugs. “He just said he’d fill me in later so I’m still waiting. But she’s at family day, so it must be getting serious.” Fred hums behind her, resting his chin on top of his head as he watches his family on the makeshift field in front of them fight over quidditch rules. George is trying to teach Percy fake rules and Ginny’s smacking him over the head as he laughs at the confused expression on Percy’s face. 

To their right, Arthur’s got the radio working and he’s charmed it to blast 80s muggle music loudly for the entire family to hear. Bill’s dragged Fleur to dance around with him and Arthur’s trying to get Molly to join them. Charlie’s sitting with Audrey and Hermione, probably droning on about dragons as usual and the girls listen intently, gasping when appropriate. 

“What are you thinking about?” Y/N asks. Fred is never this quiet, usually speaking every single thought that comes to his mind without any sort of filter. It’s gotten him in trouble a fair few times, from both his mother and Y/N. 

“I’m just happy,” he says quietly, tucking his head into her neck, and Y/N doesn’t miss the crack in his voice, “I’m so happy I’m here with everyone.” She shuffles in her spot so she can sit and face Fred and he can’t meet her eyes because his own are welling with tears.

“Don’t hide, my love, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” she coos as she cups his cheeks in her hands. He leans into her touch and smiles as he sniffles. 

“I know, it’s just…” He trails off and Y/N knows what he’s going to say. He almost wasn’t here and that thought haunts the both of them more often than they’d like to admit. “I know, but that doesn’t matter, because you’re here , and I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am you are,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheeks.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” he says and Y/N’s heart swells. Marriage and lots of ginger babies has always been in their life plan, but hearing Fred say it, so, so vulnerably, almost brings her to tears. “Forever, Freddie, you promised,” she replies and he leans forward and presses a soft kiss on her lips. 

He’s always promised. He promised forever when they were 16 and they’d only been together for a year as they danced at the Yule Ball until 12am. At 17, when he admitted he wouldn’t be finish the school year. He promised once again at 18, before he flew out of Hogwarts with George. At 19, straight after George had his ear cursed off and he was sick with fear because the war was real and happening.

At 20, they were fighting in their school and he’d promised, ‘We're surviving this fucking thing and I’m marrying you as soon as I can.’ 

They pull apart and Y/N is smiling at him, adoration filled in her eyes as Fred feels around in his shorts, clearly trying to grab something. When he pulls it out, Y/N’s eyes catch the small, velvet black box and while she doesn’t want to get her hopes up, her heart is racing.

“I’ve been carrying this everyday, waiting for the perfect time,” he chuckles, shaking his head. You’d think Fred Weasley would have a huge and bizarre proposal, most likely with fireworks and dancing gnomes somehow, but in reality, this is perfect. He’s surrounded by his loved ones, there’s no war and he wants nothing more than to officially make Y/N a Weasley. 

“Is that now, Freddie?” she says and he nods, smiling. Y/N thinks he’s never looked happier in his life. He knows what her answer will be so he doesn’t feel the slightest bit nervous.

“I promised you, we're surviving the war and I’m fucking marrying you as soon as I can, so here I am,” he pops the box open and Y/N gasps. It’s nothing extravagant but she doesn’t mind. Small and classy, just like she’d always wanted and she doesn’t even realise she’s crying until Fred’s hand wipes her tears with his free hand, “Will you marry me?” 

She barely gives an answer, nodding her head violently as she wraps her arms around his neck and presses her lips to his. Their teeth clash and they both laugh at Fred not being prepared to be jumped before getting a verbal response. Y/N pulls away and puts out her left hand, “Of course I’ll marry you.” 

He slides the ring on her finger and it’s a perfect fit. They continue to sit in front of the tree, watching their family but Y/N constantly catches herself looking at the diamond ring sparkling in the sun and she’s decided she’s never been happier as well.

Everything is perfect, because it’s the calm after a very, very long storm and she’s never taking family for granted again.

[myoddessy]

🩰- spin the bottle!

can i get a ship w stranger things please?

looks wise- I’ve just recently dyed my hair red, I stand at 5’2, I’ve got kinda big ears. im pretty lanky ngl, I have hazel eyes and my style is pretty much anything comfortable! I’ll wear nicer clothes going out, but if I’m not I’ll prolly be wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants.

Personality— im an Aquarius, I’ll date any gender and im awkward. my family tells me I have a HEAVY rbf, but im kinda nice if you get to know me. I’ve been through a lot so I’m not like a really happy person per say, but my humor is my strong suit. i usually get through my trauma with sarcasm :) I have bad anxiety, to the point where sometimes I can’t even talk to my own family (mostly social situations). If I had the money to afford a style, I think it would be more earthy than anything.

Hobbies— I don’t know if I have any really. BUT I think I’m a pretty decent writer and I spend a lot of my free time writing. I also enjoy being outside often.

idk if this was enough but I hope so :)

i ship you with... jonathan byers !

ngl this was a difficult one for me to choose and i was leaning towards nancy wheeler for a bit but i feel like jonathan would suit you better.

he knows what it's like to be anxious in social situations, and he knows what it's like to not be able to talk to those you care about for it. he would never ever dream of pressuring you into telling him things, but you guys definitely have a code where if you're extremely overwhelmed or just want to leave somewhere, you tap the other's wrist two times and you'll be dragged out of the door faster than your company can blink.

i feel like you and will would vibe and that would make jonathan fall even harder for you because will is one of the most important things in his life and so are you! so you two getting along is perfect in his eyes. i love the thought of him with a writer partner so much.

he's definitely the type of bf to take pictures of anything remotely interesting he sees through this day and have them to you in a big pile to see if anything gives you inspiration.

if you based a character off of him, he'd die and then resurrect himself to kiss you until your both a laugjing and grinning mess.

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

It’s time for more Marvel SMP brainrot. This time I got some ideas on how the first Avengers movie would go. A.K.A, all the adults (especially Schlatt) get fucking heart attacks as Tubbo and Tommy keep on sneaking on the dangerous shit they get into.

For what already happened, I’d imagine that Tommy was found by SHIELD because of some digging and we already got him moving in with Wilbur and becoming his younger brother. 

Tubbo is the nephew of Schlatt that he has to watch for a little and Tommy and him hit off instantly.

Fundy just met Wilbur and is now living with him and is about to be adopted.

Niki regained her goddess status and Punz is now working for Dream.

Techno already met Tommy and Tubbo after Wilbur and a very reluctant Schlatt stopped a rather messy explosion from happening caused by one of the Dream Team members.

Right so now that’s out of the way, we can get onto the movie. Long post ahead so sorry about that. It under Keep Reading.

So we’re going to get the beginning like how the first Avengers started. We got the whole experiment and Eret, Phil, Sam, and Puffy noticing that the Space Stone is getting really unstable and that someone is opening a portal from the other side.

Out comes Punz, George, and Sapnap. Yeah we're going to have three antagonists in the first movie. Punz may be the Loki of the au but I want Sapnap and George be there so we can show the character development between that and when we get to the El Rapids side of the au.

But back to the main story, we got those three coming out and obviously Sam, Eret, Puffy, and Phil are all on guard. Sam, Eret, and Puffy recognizes Punz’s from Niki talking about him when she was on Earth.

Meanwhile Phil immediately recognizes Sapnap from the footage Techno gave him when he first started trouble in the second installment in Wilbur’s arc. He has caused so much arson in the time he was there.

So you got all of them being cautious around the three while they just argue about what to do. George is holding the spear and when people try to shoot them, you got Sapnap, George, and Punz immediately take them down like they’re nothing.

We then get the usual bit, Eret gets brainwashed because of the scepter and several other SHIELD members do as well. Puffy, Sam, and Phil escape while George, Punz, Sapnap, Eret and some other SHIELD agents take the Space Stone.

Sapnap then causes some minor arson despite Punz and George telling him no and there is a huge explosion.

Phil then calls Techno to come back from his mission and Sam comes in to tell Wilbur about going into the SHIELD base because this seems like a reason to call the Avengers initiative Phil. It doesn’t matter that you still have some family shit to work through, you got to go and call in Wilbur. 

Fundy was also there so Sam pretty much killed two birds with one stone when he visited. Both Wilbur and Fundy both agreed as long as Fundy won’t be detained the moment this is all over.

Tommy and Tubbo unfortunately are there as well and overhear the adults talking about this. They want to help too! They got cool powers and they could totally beat up bad guys! Course Wilbur and Schlatt would object to that. So they did the one reasonable thing everyone should do! Sneak into the airship using Tubbo’s cool magic and their extreme stealth!

Wilbur only finds out that Tubbo and Tommy snuck on after getting a panicked phone call from Schlatt saying that the kid is missing. Cue panic from Wilbur and Fundy.

Phil, Wilbur, and Techno do not have a great relationship with each other now so it’s rather tense between all of them. Tommy tries to ease the tension by making jokes and stuff but that just leads to the three of them saying that he’s a child and that he shouldn’t even be here. He shouldn’t go and concern himself with these and let the adults do their job. (Tubbo and Tommy is definitely going to sneak on the Quin Jet)

Fundy tracks where the Tesseract is and we cut to Punz, George, and Sapnap being contacted by Dream using his god powers. We get some praise to George and Sapnap while Punz just looks at Dream with nothing but suspicion.

Dream then requests a private talk with Punz and the tone completely changes. We got Punz being pretty indifferent on the outside with Dream’s threats of punishment if he fails this but you see some signs that he is indeed nervous. You got him pulling on his sleeve a little and wincing a little sometimes.

Straight to Germany and the gala. Punz decides to be the one who does the little eye disection while George and Sapnap be the defense and take down the guards to have as much of a distraction as possible so that Eret can get some Iridium to make the portal.

Meanwhile on the Quin Jet we get Techno about to drop in with Sam manning the wheel and Tubbo and Tommy somehow snuck on board again. This gives Sam, Wilbur, and Techno several heart attack because what the fuck. How do you keep sneaking on to everything. Please just stay in here.

We get Punz, George, Sapnap terrorizing a few people to be a distraction and then we get Techno dropping in all badass like.

(Punz speaking a language only Techno would understand and wincing a bit: Please don’t tell me those are children right next to you.

Techno looking and seeing Tubbo and Tommy in good disguises and armor: Oh my god.)

We get a rather cool fight between Sapnap v Tommy, Techno v Punz, and George v Tubbo.

Wilbur then comes in and they “capture” Punz, George, and Sapnap. Wilbur, Techno, and Schlatt on the phone then lecture the children and that’s when Niki comes in and grabs Punz. Cue Wilbur and Tubbo jumping in to get them. Techno then has to calm a panicked Schlatt as he hears Tubbo jump in after Wilbur.

You get Niki trying to get Punz to come home and stop the little invasion on Earth but Punz just refuses. Saying that it’s what he’s paid to do and that it has to happen now.

Wilbur interrupts that conversation and we get a brief fight scene between them before Tubbo comes in and shoots magic at Niki. Niki then stops because wait, you’re a child. Why is there a child there. Wilbur is slowly just getting more grey hairs as he sees Tubbo there.

Some talking later and we get Niki joining the team at the base and Punz, George, and Sapnap getting imprisoned in the glass thing.

We get Wilbur, Tubbo, and Fundy hacking into the SHIELD systems and digging deep into what Phase 2 is, got Tommy deciding to do it manually, Niki talking to Puffy, and Techno deciding to talk to Punz, Sapnap, and George separately about their plans.

Now Punz, Sapnap, and George aren’t as manipulative as Loki was in the first Avengers but Punz will go and point out how him and Techno and him aren’t that different. They both have red on their ledger and yeah.

We get the argument between the SBI family, Fundy, Niki, Tubbo. We get Eret attacking the airship and we get all the usual stuff that happened on the airship.

Wilbur reluctantly lets Tommy and Tubbo help fix the airship, Niki gets sent down by Punz, Fundy crashes to the ground, Techno and Eret fight, and we get Sam almost dying. :’)

Punz, George, and Sapnap escapes but this time we get Punz telling the other two to get back to Dream’s main fortress and that he can handle it here. Totally not because he knows there is a big chance of them losing and he doesn’t want Sapnap and George to be punished for it. Shut up. He isn’t soft.

We get the usual pep talk by Phil and him slightly pushing them to the right direction using some planted cards. Niki picks up her spear and heads to the city.

(Phil: You guys are Avengers.

Tommy: Ew. That sounds gross.

Wilbur: Got to admit Phil, he’s got you there.

Tommy: We should be called the L’Manbergians! Since like most of us here are European. Sorry Techno.

Techno: Don’t include me in the naming scheme.)

Fundy meanwhile is in a tower of bricks and sees this dude in a multicolored hoodie who give him a bit of pep talk and a pants and shirt. Fundy was about to thank him for it but then when he looked back, only particles of green remained.

Tubbo and Tommy are now allowed to go with the L’Manbergians on the condition of having an adult near them at all times. So Techno is babysitting the children and trying to not let them get killed.

Eret and Puffy gets to talk because I want them to talk. Please let them talk. And Eret talks about how it felt like when he was being controlled and man that’s a lot of trauma. They’re all in on joining L’Manberg and kicking Punz’s ass. Along the way they grab some goggles to cover up his eyes since they still have the unnerving show of no pupils.

We get Wilbur confronting Punz about it and it goes well. It goes surprisingly well. Punz knows he’s going to lose but it’s still his job. Wilbur points out how Punz seems so ready to give up and tells him to surrender right now.

(Punz: Look this is my job I can’t just surrender to you guys. That would piss my employer off.

Wilbur: Sounds to me that you’re scared of this employer. Are they threatening you and your friends and family?

Punz: ...Okay I think that’s enough talking now.)

Wilbur gets thrown out of window, new suit on, portal opens. Alien invasion time.

What happens is what basically happens in the first movie. Cool fighting. Some banter. Awesome scenes and more.

Techno and Eret are all just making sure that Tommy and Tubbo won’t get severely hurt and then you just see Tommy suplex someone and Tubbo being impressive with his magic. Tubbo specifically was saying how Schlatt and the Captain are going to get heart attacks when they see this.

(They did. they absolutely 100% did. Even with the disguises they immediately recognized Tommy and Tubbo. Schlatt screamed in his pillow while the Captain is just freaking out.)

Fundy comes in, we get the regular stuff. Just stuff that happens in the first Avenger movie. Punz vs Niki is awesome. Punz gets punched by Fundy when he comes up through the tower.

Nuke gets sent out by World Council and Wilbur has to send one of them up through the portal. This is where we get Dream and Wilbur encounter. Yay! The green manipulative bastard is going to traumatize the musician!

Dream then goes on this little talk about how this isn’t even it. That this isn’t even a fifth of his actual army. You though that was an invasion? Please. That was a raid at best. He can just keep on attacking and there is nothing Wilbur can do to stop it

(Wilbur: We’ll stop you. We stopped Punz before. We can stop you as well.

Dream: Can you though? Soot, look around. I have armies at my disposal. George and Sapnap got away. You only got one of my generals and he was a fucking mercenary. You won nothing.

Wilbur:

Dream: I think it’s time for you to leave. The others must be waiting. Have a nice decent down to Earth.

*Wilbur then falls down through the portal again

Dream: Also, Soot, tell Tommy that Dream said hi.)

Regular stuff happens again. Wilbur lives and Punz is now being brought back to Asgard. L’Manberg tower is made and everyone promises to go and move in it once they get their stuff.

Wilbur is now thinking about what Dream said. What if they get a threat they can’t handle? That mindset is interrupted by Schlatt going up into the tower, telling that Tubbo's grounded and asking Wilbur very nicely where Phil is. No Wilbur I won’t commit murder, I just want to talk to the man nicely. With a brick.

So first movie ended off great. The heroes won and Punz is imprisoned on Asgard. We’re going to get Found Family stuff between arcs and we’re going to get some fluffy moments. We are also seeing hints of Wilbur’s paranoia growing but that’s not important now. That totally won’t be plot important in the future. Right?

[dystopiandilfs]

I am never been so close to anti-stan then I am right now. Dreams Twitter fanbase started the biggest hate train on him because they themselves:

1. Took his inital tweet with the drugs comment as a race issue, like it was obvious that was not the intent or even the focus.

2. Got mad at his completely rational reply to a toxic Stan that used both white and adhd as an isult - the toxic Stan was saying his fanbase will dogpile them, well if you didn’t phrase your concerns in a toxic way in a public place maybe you wouldn’t be concerned about it. Like he empasised he had no intent to relate it to rap - and they see him say rap and fucking ran with it.

3. Got mad at him for disagreeing with someone generalizing his 23 million fans as anti-black, like even his stance on stans is entirely anti-generalizing, he literally denounced any that are in the same comment.

4. Bullied him into unprivating his account because they can’t share screenshots apparently.

5. Got mad a him for tweeting a fucking heart.

Then they turn around and blame the entire thing on the antis, like no. You blew it out of proportion and reacted like shit to everything he did. You are the problem. All the responses to his last tweet are “educate yourself and reflect” and “come back with a better apology” like no. He apologized when he shouldn’t have and you cyber bullied him. They are bloody proud of theirselves for “holding him accountable“ for something they misconstrued.

He needs to delete that stan video because they aren’t worth it.

First thing i want to say is that this post is going to be joint answered as evangeline is white so this is going to be answered by her and me as im half african half american. Normally evanageline would be voicing her opinions and adding ours in if we had any but as its a racism issue she didnt feel comfortable to voice only her opinions. However shes the one writing the post apart from this bit to keep up the consistentcy of the blog page. -Trinity (Basically Trin gave her thoughts using a voice note and I slightly edited it so the sentences were a bit more coherent and added both mine and the other admins opinions as Trin doesn't really use twitter unless it's through my priv account - Evangeline)

I will say that a lot of the fan drama that you see are a smaller group that is known to attack and harass Dream and anyone who disagrees with anything. Eventhough they are a small group they mass reply to everything and make themselves look bigger than they are. Not only that but the only thing they end up doing is overshadowing the original issue at hand which is fans harassing and being racist to eachother. So a lot of what I'm about to say is mainly what this group is doing and isn't at all a reflection of a lot of fans but it is something that needs to be talked about especially since a bunch of this groups members are either white or white passing but get mad on black people's behalf and is basically setting them up.

I don't mean to be rude or dismissive but a lot of people used this as an opportunity to trauma dump. Like I know going into horrible details about what you have to deal with is the only way to get the point across sometimes however harassing Dream and spamming him with stuff like "I was harassed because I'm gay" "I was doxxed because I was Asian" is lowkey weird. Like why are you telling this random guy on the internet that you were doxxed? What is he going to be able to do about it? Also not to defend Dream but how are you going to sit there and break one of his few boundaries whilst trying to educate him.

On top of that the issue was originally how racist some of the fandom are to black people but then other minority groups started talking about how they were also being stereotyped and attacked but all this is doing is talking over other minorities. For example a large group of fans started off talking about how they were being attacked by other stans because of their skin colour but then immediately started to harass and threaten others. Like some were clearly not being serious but dming people and update accounts to retweet and spread awareness isn't the move you think it is. Obviously a lot of them were genuinely trying to spread awareness and were trying to get the respect and treatment they deserve but all of that was being overshadowed by the few that were attacking and harassing creators and fans. Then a lot of it turned into minorites fighting each other over who was more oppressed which just makes the whole thing seem like petty drama.

I will say a lot of them were lovely. I am pretty uneducated on race based issues and how certain things effect people and can be racist so I was asking a lot of questions and most of them were nice. However I also got a lot of snarky ones like "google it" to questions that weren't general like "Is it mocking to call white people crackers and token white boy if you are a white person" or "is ______ considered micro aggressions"

However as usual it went from trying to educate your creators to who is the most oppressed and who can bring up more past drama that has already been addressed multiple times. I'm not being funny but the fact that some well known Dream antis were defending Dream and shitting on stans should really tell you how non productive this is. It went from "Hey Dream this comment is a bit weird can you delete it please" to "Dream you should stop being friends with this person and you should follow this person otherwise your racist" Like that's not helping anyone. The only thing that it's doing is breaking Dreams boundaries, setting Dream up and making stans look bad.

Like people were @ing Sapnap and George telling them to "collect the racist friend" like how is that spreading awareness. The whole thing went from being a good chance to educate to a big fucking joke that just made a lot of people upset and anxious.

Honestly the whole thing was pretty fucking hypocritical like you can't talk about being harassed whilst harassing people into hearing you out. A lot of the issues seemed really gatekeepy to me as well. One that I saw constantly get brought up was that the only people allowed to say dy*e were black lesbians as they created the word. Like a big topic was a misuse of aave but not a single person actual explained what it was or gave examples all I saw was "mcyttwt needs to stop using aave language it's offensive" like you can't claim to be educating people if you don't explain. Not everyone can access websites and caards that get linked because of regions or web rescrictions so they're not helpful either.

HOWEVER I will agree that a lot of their points were completely valid like the whole thing of "Feral Feb" over shadowing BHM and whenever Dream listens to rap people complain and call it bad music are two really good examples. I listened to a few twitter spaces to learn a bit more and things that were said in there was all good info that would be genuinely helpful to know and it really did help edcuate me however not a single tweet said any of it and that's why people don't understand what they're doing is wrong because nobody explains it.

A lot of the issues that people had with Dream were so weird as well like a lot of them were self oppression and turning normal things into racism. A lot of the issues had the same energy as the 404twt fans who were genuinely mad at Dream for having a colour that George couldn't see and they were harassing him and claiming that he was purposely excluding diasbilities.

Usually we would add more but Trinity got a bit upset and stressed so she had to stop answering various asks and the other admins are all white or white passing and don't feel like it's our place to put our own opinions. We will try to answer other asks with similar thoughts later - Evangeline

[littlefoxwithbighat]

Hi! This is talking about the plot of the dream smp in a meta sense and its a bit negative. The person behind this blog wants to remind you that you can skip if it's not for you and they still love the SMP. :)

ALL DISCUSSION IS ABOUT CHARACTERS. DON'T ATTACK CCS OR I WILL STEAL YOUR KNEECAPS.

I can't lie; I'm really annoyed and worried at the way the writers are handling Tommys character at the moment, and am increasingly concerned about it messing up the plot.

I wasn't very happy with the finale. I don't think that means all is lost, I think they can pull it back but it's going to take some work. I was worried about the way that things were handled before but the green festival was actually very well handled, so my worries were mostly assuaged. But yesterday? I don't know.

The fact nobody lost a cannon death is kind of disappointing. The weight of blowing up an entire city/ (country?) brutally is somewhat lost if there is no human loss. Nobody was hurt physically and the only people this had a big mental impact on was Tommy and Tubbo, everyone else wasn't very attached to L'manburg or had gone rogue, or were detatched from the while situation. And maybe it's the fact it's happened to them before or that they still have each other or that it seems odd/ frustrating that they still care so much about this place or that it was always a losing battle and they knew it, but I dont find myself really pitying them like I probably should. And I think that comes down to character growth or lack thereof, which I'll discuss later.

Niki and Fundy have started a villain arc, or at least a violent nihilism arc, and I actually don't mind it, in fact I'm a fan but it wasnt really foreshadowed, or really just showing them cracking as much as it should have been. I would guess this has mostly been started for both of them to tie Niki into the plot and I can't blame her for wanting that. Fundys acting is very good, and I REALLY hope the writers handle this well. For Fundy, regarding the fact that his father is going to be resurrected and that Fundy is following in his footsteps... If the writers don't realise that connection and make this a big step in Fundys narrative I will scream. Also Funboo bros are very interesting character foils and I hope their relationship is maintained so that they can play of off each other and also man I just really want them to keep being friends, it's a generally positive healthy relationship that makes both characters sympathetic and we need that right now. As for Niki, her character motivations seem to be mostly centered around Tommy and on the one hand I'm like ehhhh, because Tommy's character already gets a disproportionate amount of attention in terms of narrative, and I get it, but recently he's been a bit TOO much of the protagonist for a multi-person POV improve server... and I'm apprehensive. However on the other hand this has potential for a nice confrontation between Tommy and Niki. If that happens I want Tommy to be aware that this is going to happen and not talk over Niki, and I don't want it to be brushed over. I think it would be best if it was just the two of them. This also gives a nice chance for Tommy to examine his trauma with Dream and explain his motivations and Niki to get her anger out. I also want it to end positively, because it absolutely can and lack of communication when the viewer knows how to fix it is OK as a plot device sometimes but incredibly frustrating if it keeps happening (cough, Tommy and Techno).

Ranboo is reacting to the plot amazingly and I have as usual only praise for him, go, you funky enderman boy, go.

Wilbur is getting resurrected which is a thousand percent because Will wants the plot back and honestly I don't really mind, I think he'll do a good job. However I really hope he speaks to everybody about their characters, particularly Fundy, Ranboo and Niki because I don't want their characterisation and arcs to be thrown away.

Tubbo is doing very well, and I don't have many complaints to be honest. I hope he continues to get in with the acting with no shame, because he's an amazing VA when he wants to be, but sometimes he undercuts serious moments a little too much by laughing. Same criticism for Phil actually. But both are doing good.

On the theme of that, while I don't mind tension relievers or humour in serious moments there are sometimes too many. It was a lot worse about a month back and it was improving, but it seems to be creeping back in and ehhh. It's kind of Marvel-esque and not in a good way? I think it has a lot to do with bloopers and for some reason there are loads at the moment? Like Wilburs arc had almost none and this arc there's at least 2 every moment. Which isn't always their fault but maybe they need to take more steps to prevent them.

Techno is doing OK, he's quite a meta character so I'm not too mad about him undercutting serious moments but sometimes he does do it too much or in the wrong place. Like making jokes about Connor completely over the top of Tommy and Tubbos reunion, you know an event which has been foreshadowed for yoinks, prevented them from getting a proper flow going and kind of ruined it. And that made the reunion really dissapointing, which is a shame because it could have been so cool. However his characterisation is consistent and dedicated, his goals and relationships are clear and he's getting humanised more which is nice, and his monologues are great. I'm curious to see what he does now NL'M is gone but I have total faith in him.

Now Tommy. Oh Tommy. His character is such a mess at the moment, which is a shame because there were moments I saw people doubting his character choices and I was behind him.

Firstly the relationship with Techno fell apart. That was inevitable. Tommy didn't care about anarchy and Techno didn't care about the discs and both of their goals would impede the others. But the way Tommy talks about Techno is so... No? And now I understand that Tommy is going to have a biased perspective on the whole situation, and that's fine and good, but his character is so wrong about Techno it feels weird and painful? Like even from his perspective it went down differently to how he talks about it. They don't listen to each other and it's like watching two people scream at a wall.

The issue is the relationship was fairly well developed. I struggle to see Tommy saying he saw Techno as a friend but Techno never saw him as a friend because hold on, what? Techno, here's a respiration helmet because of that one of thing you told me about your trauma, a disc because those make you happy, plus top tier armour and weaponry, plus I'm going to spend time with you, calm you down from panic attacks, hide you and protect you from Dream, let you wander around L'manburg and achieve your own goals and help you plan things out Techno and Tommy didn't get ANYTHING from that? Plus after Techno opens up about his goals and his trauma, do the one thing that would hurt him the most, (use and then betray him) and then directly oppose his goals after he helped me? Ugh. It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I know he would never let Tubbo get hurt and thats fine, but there were ways around that. If you're framing this character as the protagonist, then he needs to be sympathetic or at least grow and Tommy using Techno again without remorse and then refusing to listen to his perspective or show any gratitude for anything makes it difficult for viewers to empathise with him in my opinion. Have him betray Techno and then listen to Techno when he explains why Tommys betrayal hurt him and apologise, fine. Have him listen to Techno and try and find a way to keep Tubbo safe regardless, fine. Have him betray Techno but apologetically and still trying to avoid Techo getting crushed or killed, fine. But THIS? Im sympathetic towards Tommys character but this throws away so much potential character development for Tommy, where at least he saw Techno as a person, and not only that but a nice person who despite everything has set aside everything to help him? And then for him to be exactly where he was at the end of season 1, both literally, and emotionally ? I understand this is a child soldier with trauma but this is supposed to be our protagonist and if he doesn't grow, and isn't sympathetic and destroys someone we care about, how can we root for him?

Now all of this could be forgivable, not great, but forgivable, if Tommy had moved on from the discs. The Goddamn Discs™. And the worse part is all the dominoes were lined up to suggest he had! We had his moment of "he watched me" where he realised Dream was the villain and controlling him, "I've become worse than everyone I hated" good, amazing, I see where this is going, "The discs were worth more than you ever were!" and then he retracts and apologises and you think horray! Tommy has realised the discs were being used to control him and if he doesn't care about them, they hold no value! Now he's going to realise that his friends are more important and he's going to stop going after the discs. His new character motivation can be killing Dream and protecting his friends, especially Tubbo. It's clearly angled this way, and this way the plot progresses and Tommy with it. What marvellous character development. Look at him go.

And THEN, after everything that's happened he says the most important thing is the disc and I want them back!?!? EH !!? Why... Who... Who gave the OK on that writing decision? That's so static and boring and unsympathetic! And then he's back to asking people do fight for L'manburg? What?

I'll be honest I was kind go hoping either Tommy or Tubbo would die with L'manburg. I didn't mind it they didn't, there are a thousand ways to make the plot work without them dying, but this was not a great one.

PLEASE let Tommy have some growth. Yes he's had some from not caring about L'manburg to fighting for it in season one, but that was ages ago and he doesnt seem to have changed since then in any way that really counts. And I know this is harsh and he's traumatised but you have to understand I am talking about this in a sense of characters and narrative and NOT in terms of real life. Tommy needs to be better and dynamic because he is a charcacter and I want him to be a good one.

Having said all that, here are my thoughts on the future of the SMP.

Firstly, I am worried that becuse it is such a good source of content, especially for Tommy that they will never ever kill his character and leave him fighting with Dream for eternity. And I love the Dream SMP but I've seen stories that get dragged out for plot or content, and however much you think you want it to never end, let me tell you, yes you do. It will get stale and repetitive and I want the dream smp, or at least Tommys arc to go out with a beautiful and brilliant and fabulous plot ending instead of being dragged into the dirt. And then maybe new characters take the spotlight. Just please god give it a goode ending.

I also really hope they don't throw other things away to make Tommy the centre of attention, especially if it's destructive to the plot, or kind of weird and obnoxious.

Secondly, I am intrigued about the prison and Schlatts book to Dream and Technos favour and the egg and what that entails and I hope they really think through those plot points carefully and make them work, and don't forget them or throw them away.

Thirdly, I am intrigued for Wilburs return and hope that he manages to fix it cohesively without too crazy a change of pace and style and keeping characters (especially Ranboo and Fundy and Niki) consistent.

I hope they prep for the future and think things thought and communicate with each other.

It might be interesting to see other countries finally discussed but I don't know how much that would intefere with other plot points so we'll see.

That's all! Reminder that this is about characters and plot and this is just a few criticisms. I love the dream smp, but there are somethings I wanted to get of my chest. Please be respectful and feel free to discuss in the notes. Also, again, no hate to any CCs!

[whumpywhumper]

Nightmare

Whumptober 2020: No 7. I'VE GOT YOU | Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

I haven’t done any Whumptober, but I said i was gonna post this when I saw the prompt fit so here we go. I think I’m also going to start jumping around in cannon a little bit and ignore the section that I’m stuck on. Get some content out and stop feeling stuck. 

Set in the future sometime :) Masterpost

Tagging: @misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @walkingchemicalfire @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia​ 

Usual thanks to @0idril0 @rosesareviolentlyread because you guys are awesome and listen to me ramble 

TW: Nightmares?

V***V

Markus was lost in a dream where he couldn’t move, his body completely out of his control, while masked, faceless men stood around with clip boards and white coats. His brain thrummed with panic. He wanted to scream, but as he opened his mouth the viewpoint changed and a black, bulbous bile bubbled out of his mouth, spilling over his lips and spreading into tentacles that wrapped around his throat. He watched his own eyes widen as he choked. Disembodied. A spirit. A soul unable to claw at his throat to loosen the tightening, demonic appendages.

The white coats turned their backs on him as everything went further and further away. The only witness to his dying body was himself. Watching his eyes turning red and bulging as capillaries burst. As his nostrils flared, trying to suck in precious oxygen. Mouthing fruitlessly at nothing, black tentacles keeping his lips spread grotesquely around the thick shaft coming from his throat.

A gloved hand spread over his chest, the tacky texture of the latex a sensory overload to his figmented reality. It pressed, harder, and harder. Until his sternum was cracking, and the hand pressed into, no—through— his skin. Red blood gurgled up, between the unrelenting fingers, staining the white of the hand over his chest, and Markus could finally scream as the monstrosity was pushed out of his mouth with a sickening pop.

Markus looked up in horror as Christine arched above him, the reflective metal of a long knife poised above her head in both hands, fangs bared in a rictus of a smile. Her mouth opened in a low, chilling laugh as the blade slammed down between his eyes in a crescendo of pain.

His eyes snapped open as he convulsed in the bed, his elbows knocking against two soft objects with a panicked cry that echoed off of the walls. “No!”

He scrambled against the mattress, fingernails digging into the sheets, still screaming as he frantically fought to get away. “Please, please don’t!” The room was dark, no light illuminating his surroundings as restraining hands tried to trap him again, to hold him down and hurt him. Loud voices joined the cacophony, but the words didn’t make sense to the terrified witch. He ripped free of the restraining hands, panting a croaking sob as he launched himself away, toppling to the floor with a thump.

A gasp exploded out of him when the air was knocked out of his lungs, but he clambered to his hands and knees, ignoring the carpet burn as his skin gave way to his fear. He found a corner as light flooded his senses, and he cowered, pressing his back to the wall as breathless pleas scattered out of his mouth.  “Pleasepleaseplease...”

“Hey, heyheyheyhey—look at me, Markus—look at me, honey,” a voice pulled his attention from where he’d buried his face into the crook of his arms, it was sweet, low, and comforting. Holding none of the false succor that Lucien had plied him with, and Markus raised his eyes slowly.

Tears blurred his vision, but he saw Ben kneeling in front of him, hands raised like he was warding off a wild animal. Kincaid was pressed against the door jam, hand slapped over the light switch as his own chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes wild. They were both in basketball shorts, bare chested, their hair sticking up and crazy from sleep.

Markus felt a broken noise crack through his throat like stained glass, “Oh, god.” Full bodied, throaty sobs wracked him, and he couldn’t stop himself as he started bawling.  He curled up, hands fisting in his hair, and something must have let the other two men know that it was safe to approach him.

Ben’s arms wrapped around his shoulders first, pressing a kiss to the back of his head as he murmured soothingly, “shh, shh, shh, it’s okay, Bambi, just a nightmare.”

Kincaid pressed against his other side, the tell-tale song of magic thrumming as one of his arms slid around his own bare torso. “Heyyy, sweet guy, heyyy...don’t cry, we’re here, you’re okay.“ He gathered him up with a hand under his knees, pulling his unresisting body into his lap, and Markus buried his face into the side of Kincaid’s neck. “I know, sweet guy, we’ve got you. Let it out, baby, shhhh.”

He hiccoughed a wet apology, his face sticking to the other’s salty skin. “S-sorry, ‘m s-so sorry.”

“Hush, honey, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, shhh.” Ben brushed a hand through his hair as he helped rearrange Markus’s gangling limbs, pulling a blanket off of the bed and wrapping it around both of the witches. He settled beside them, leaning against Markus’s back, breathing slowly and evenly. “Just breathe, Bambi.”

<***>

Kincaid held Markus close as he and Ben soothed the distraught witch, rocking him gently as his hand brushed up and down his back, the other stroking through his hair. Markus was still shaking, small sobs rending his heart into pieces with every sound. His neck was uncomfortably wet from the other man’s tears, and his legs were definitely asleep, but he didn’t feel any urge to move. He would stay on the floor, ass cheeks tingling, as long as he needed.

It wasn’t often that Markus let him or Ben hold him, struggling with the casual touches that made up any relationship, the lack of control making him anxious and skittish. He met Ben’s eyes as he pressed his cheek into Markus’s hair, seeing his same heartache in the other man’s honeyed gaze.

This had been the first night they’d spend with Markus in the same bed, even though they’d been together for months. The other witch had been flighty about staying or letting them stay with him. Usually sneaking out as Ben and Kincaid dropped from long shifts and hard hours.

They’d finally gotten him to agree to stay after it became obvious that he was struggling, the black bags under his eyes swallowing his face, exhaustion written in the slump of his shoulders. Now, they knew why he hadn’t wanted to stay.

He and Ben waited until Markus’s breathing was soft and easy, his lithe frame completely limp, Kincaid feeling the steady  puff of air against his neck that announced he’d fallen asleep. Ben stood first, moving slowly as he separated from Markus, so he didn’t wake him. “Alright,” he whispered, “back to bed, love.”

“Can you take him?” He gave the slightly shorter man a sheepish smile, “I don’t think my legs are gonna be able to move for a few minutes.”

Ben’s eyes crinkled at the corners, but he didn’t say a word as he gathered up their lover, keeping the blanket tucked around him. Markus gave a whimpering moan as his head lolled to the other man’s shoulder, but Ben hummed at him softly. “It’s alright, honey, it’s just me. Go back to sleep, hush.”

With Markus’s weight off of him, Kincaid had to bite his lip to keep from waking the man with his unmanly squealing. Pins and needles shot through his legs, and he spent a few agonizing moments trying to rub feeling back into the numb extremities. Ben offered him a hand after settling Markus back into the middle of the bed, where they’d fallen asleep curled around each other, and pulled him into a tight hug as he stood.

He was trembling, and Kincaid gritted his teeth, eyes squeezed shut for a moment as he held him. Ben was always like this, nothing fazed him in the heat of the moment but, as soon as the emergency was taken care of, he let himself crumble and feel everything. “I know, sweetheart, I know,” he whispered into Ben’s hair, fingers curling into the soft strands as he looked over at Markus’s sleeping face.  

Kincaid really did know how he felt, his own heart was still thudding in his chest from the jolt of adrenaline that had shot through his unconscious system at Markus’s panicked scream. His ribs ached from where Markus’s flailing elbow had caught him in his desperate attempt at fleeing, and he didn’t think he’d get the sound of his pitiful begging out of his ears even if he scraped them clean.

“He’s been struggling like this the entire time, Kincaid,” Ben said tightly, voice choked with emotion. “How—why didn’t he come to us before?”

“You know as well as I do, trauma victims process differently—there isn’t any logic there, he’s doing what he can to protect himself.”

A vigorous nod against his already wet shoulder, and Ben sniffled, “I know, fucking hell, I know. Doesn’t make it any easier to wake up to him screaming like that.”

He held Ben closer, burying his own face into the crook of the other man’s neck, breathing deeply of his woodsy musk. His hug was returned with equal fervor, a calloused hand trailing up and down his back as they swayed for a few moments together.

The sound of Markus whimpering pulled them apart, and they looked over in concern. Still deeply asleep, the other witch’s eyebrows were crinkled in distress, a slight frown pulling his expression downwards as the light caught on the tear streaks on his face. He and Ben moved in sync with each other, like they did in so many ways, Kincaid shutting off the lights as he went to the other side of the bed while Ben pulled back the covers so they could crawl in.

Markus stirred slightly as they settled around him, their arms curling over him in the semblance of a hug, and Kincaid felt Markus’s breath hitch as their skin touched. Kincaid wasn’t strong enough to get more than a twinge when he touched the other witch, but he knew Markus was extremely sensitive to the magic he gave off. “Hush, sweet guy, we’re here,” he murmured soothingly, “we’re not going anywhere. You’re safe, you can sleep, okay?”

He seemed to settle as he and Ben comforted him with gentle words and touches, breaths coming slow and easy as he went back to sleep.

“God, Bambi, you must be so exhausted,” Ben whispered quietly, and Kincaid felt his hand brush against his own as they both smoothed Markus’s hair in tender strokes.

“I knew he had to have been having nightmares, but he’s been so quiet about everything. I haven’t wanted to push.” Guilt tickled against his heart with the same amount of sorrow pressing at his chest. “We’re going to have to ask in the morning, you know that, right?”

Ben sighed, but he heard him nod, hair shifting against the pillow case. “Yeah, but let’s get him to sleep in first, okay? It’ll be easier when he’s well rested.”

Implicit in his qualification was Ben’s own reluctance to push, but they would do what had to be done to help Markus. Just as he would for them.

[boomcomplains]

It's typical. A loud noise sends a character back into a hostage situation, a war, or a gunfight. When faced with the majority of reporting on PTSD centers around combat-related PTSD (source), it makes sense that it's the shellshocked veteran we often see in books, TV, film and comics.  However, the civilian population that experiences PTSD is 13 times larger than its military counterpart. Of course, there are more civilians than those in the military, so naturally, that population is bigger. This article is not meant to dismiss those in the military who deal with very real and terrible side-effects from their time serving.

However, it does beg the question, what does a character with PTSD look like when their trauma is outside combat?

I think a very good study of this sort of character is Dr. Nicholas Rush from Stargate: Universe. There are many other characters out there that I could use, but I'm in a SGU mood today, so I hope you'll forgive me.

At the beginning of the show, Dr. Nicholas Rush is a difficult man. Unable to deal with his wife's terminal cancer, he drowns himself in work so he can avoid the pain of losing her. When she dies while he is off-world, this complicated grief drives him to focus on the mission of the ninth chevron because he has to make his absence from her deathbed mean something. After all, if he didn't succeed, he would not have an excuse. Without the excuse, he would confront the nasty truth that he didn't support his wife in her dying days because he couldn't handle the grief.

The ninth chevron leads him to the Destiny, a ship far beyond the reaches humanity could ever dream to go, with a singular but ultimately mysterious mission. His doggedness to stay on the ship, and follow the mission is likely a reaction to his own inability to come to terms with the trauma of losing his wife.

Because of this, he approaches situations from an ultra-logical world that doesn't exactly coincide with the emotional gray side of the human experience. That's why when he felt that Colonel Young was repeatedly putting lives and the mysterious mission of Destiny in danger, he decided to... frame him for murder... and when that didn't work, stage a coup.

I promise, within the confines of the show, those were actually both very rational decisions.

The coup was the last straw for Colonel Young, so he abandons Rush to die on a desert planet that has no stargate and therefore no possibility for escape. So, metaphorically, Young essentially commits the murder that Rush tried to frame him for.

It is there, on a sandy planet without food or water, that the narrative of Nicholas Rush's PTSD starts.

While attempting to escape, Rush alerts an alien race called the Nakai to his presence as tries to fix a crashed alien spaceship. For the Nakai, it's a lucky find because they are hell-bent on boarding Destiny. Why do they want to get on Destiny? I don't know. They're aliens. Sometimes you don't get to know the why when it comes to aliens.

On their ship, Rush is tortured and imprisoned in a water tank (this is important later). So for the PTSD counter, we have both abandonment and abuse to contend with. His feelings about Young essentially murdering him for doing what he thought was right for the ship are compounded with being mentally torn apart by the Nakai.

Flash forward, Rush is accidentally rescued from the Nakai's clutches due to a lot of plot points I'm not going to go into. Frankly, it's very likely most of you haven't seen the series—or have forgotten more about it than you remember—and the last thing I want to do is turn this article into a Stargate: Universe season recap.

So, back on the ship, Rush isn't sleeping, which you find out after he commiserates with fellow torture victim Chloe. It's assumed that it is for the same reasons as Chloe, which are vivid nightmares. For those of you keeping track, that is a classic sign of PTSD. The subsequent not sleeping because you're afraid of having more nightmares is also a very strong indicator.

Unfortunately, insomnia leads to emotional decision-making, usually based on your experiences in that trauma. But let's put a pin in that for just a moment, and we'll fast forward to a later episode entitled "Pain."

In "Pain", the crew accidentally bring a tick onboard that causes vivid hallucinations, some of which are paranoid delusions. For everyone who experiences this, there is little rhyme or reason why the hallucination starts, and they go with it unquestioningly.

Rush, however, is different. His hallucinations are all triggered. When under the influence of the tick, Sergeant Greer (a proponent for Young's leadership) threatens Rush. Because of this, Rush experiences flashbacks to the Nakai ship and sees everyone as a potential Nakai threat. Paranoid ideation is a symptom of PTSD. When I say "paranoid" though, I fear that this may be read dismissively. PTSD, in many ways, is a survival mechanism. It's a set of prefab reactions because you have already experienced something similar. Essentially, it's not paranoid ideation to you, because it's happened before.

It is unclear if Rush himself was affected by the alien organism, but it seems very likely that his reaction was hinged on the perceived/very real threat to his survival. The fact that it has been established that he has not been sleeping for episodes now, and his hallucinations are of past experiences—such as the room flooding with water, or seeing other members of the crew as Nakai —it seems more than likely that Rush's experiences in this episode are PTSD-related and not due to the tick.

This, however, is not our only brush with PTSD. Let's move forward to the next season, where he finds the bridge of Destiny and hides that discovery from the rest of the crew.

One of the cool things about Stargate: Universe in the first season is that they never find the bridge of the ship. They don't even know there is one because Destiny is so massive and broken, they haven't found it yet... or perhaps the Ancients were so culturally different at the time they didn't design the ship with a bridge in mind. Even if they did, there would be a fair chance the crew would have no idea how to use it.

So, Rush—who is established to still not be sleeping after an incursion with the Lucian Alliance—finds the bridge of the Destiny. Until now, he and the Science Team had been interfacing with the ship in what I think is probably a janitor's closet, so this is an incredibly important find because it is vital for the survival of the ship and the crew. Naturally, that means Rush should want to share it, knowing what we know of him from before he was abandoned on the planet and then tortured by the Nakai. Before, it was the greater good. Now, it's survival is first and foremost.

But no. Rush, instead, reasons that Young cannot be trusted with this find, and starts to lead a double life of surreptitiously guiding the ship (to disastrous results) and pretending like he's still doing things from the Control Interface Room/Janitor's closet.

But what led him to do this? After all, keeping this find under wraps leads to dire situations that compromise the survival of the crew, and indeed causes the death of one member. It is not a rational decision.

Except that it is. If there is one thing I want to make very plainly clear in this article, PTSD-sufferers reactions are rational, even if they don't seem that way to an outsider. I think oftentimes we nitpick plots in fiction because characters make decisions that seem illogical to us. Sometimes this is deserved because an author did not sufficiently help us empathize with a character, other times I think it is because we don't understand what it means to have PTSD.

You don't have to be triggered to have PTSD affect your decision-making process. You see, unmanaged, PTSD gets you stuck in survival mode. It's an undertow that drags you down with things that were true but aren't necessarily true now.

So in Rush's sleep-deprived, and exhausted state-of-my-mind, he reverts back to Young being the threat despite all the work they had done to repair the relationship. While some may be frustrated with this backstep, I can't tell you how much I appreciate that about his character. It explains the rationale for doing something irrational, and makes his character so much deeper.

The beauty of Stargate Universe is that it shows PTSD as it is. Even better, no one is excusing Rush's actions because of it, and/or invalidating his experience. It simply is.

PTSD is so misunderstood, it deserves logical, rational representation, and it gets that with logical, rational Dr. Rush. I mean, let's face it, there is logic to what goes on in a PTSD-sufferers brain, but it's logic from a different time period. Dismissing it as irrational is insulting, and I love that Stargate: Universe never does that, and I think it is exactly why Rush is such a deep and meaningful character.

In the end, I think there is a lesson writers can draw from this: don't be afraid to explore this within some of your characters. Understand their viewpoint, and what drives them to make their choices. If you do that, you will never have a boring story.

[foxx-queen]

give us the Earth Prime Lillian concepts that SG is too cowardly to deliver

took me while but here u go! part 1 of idk maybe a few more if people would like! also on ao3

never knew such tenderness 

When there’s a knock on her door, Lena considers ignoring it. She’s half way through her second glass of wine, and considering she still doesn’t know enough about who she is in this world, it could be anyone. She takes another sip, contemplating whether to pretend she’s not there, but the knocking persists, and she snaps, ‘come in’.

The door opens, and Lillian steps into her office. Lena rises quickly, setting her glass down and folding her arms tightly over her chest to place a barrier between them. Her jaw clenches, and she mutters, ‘what do you –’

Lillian moves much faster than Lena might’ve expected from her, and places her hand over her mouth. Lena freezes, her eyes widening, the surprise stopping her from instinctively shaking the woman off, as Lillian puts a finger to her lips, and grips her by the shoulder. She tugs, and Lena finds herself following her out onto her balcony, vaguely wondering if her mother is about to throw her off it. That snaps her out of it, and she jerks away from Lillian, her jaw set and her eyes narrowed. ’Mother, what are you doing?’

Lillian shuts the door to the office behind her, and turns to look at her. She’s still wearing the same petal pink suit skirt from earlier, that colour that looks so strange on her, her hair loose around her face. She looks softer than her own mother, the one from her world, her hair longer, something in her face gentler, but Lena knows it’s a lie. She knows this version of her mother is just like the other one, perhaps worse, because she doesn’t remember the moments they had. The moments that seem so important, now that she’s the only one who can remember them.

There’s something odd about the way Lillian is looking at her, and she’s so wound up, so highly strung, so tired, that when the woman takes a step closer, she snaps, ‘don’t’.

Supergirl lands on the balcony in front of her, and Lena isn’t really surprised. She isn’t surprised that Kara was still there, still listening, still making sure she’s okay. Her arms are held out from her body, pressed back a little like she’s trying to shield her, and Lena feels that familiar ache in her chest. She’s so close that Lena could easily place her hands on her shoulders, like she used to whenever Supergirl – whenever Kara – protected her, and she hates how much she misses that simplicity. Kara lifts a hand, and Lillian moves closer, keeps moving, crossing the space towards them until Lena is pretty sure she’s going to hit Kara, and then –

Lillian reaches out, and embraces her. She wraps her arms around Kara’s shoulders, cups the back of her head, and pulls her into what could only be described as a hug. Kara seems to freeze, her arms going slack by her sides, and Lena can almost picture the look on her face, the furrow between her brows, the wide eyes. Lillian lets go of her shoulder, reaches out, her arm sliding around Lena’s shoulders, and before Lena really understands what’s happening, her body is pressed against Lillian’s side, her face pressed to her shoulder, because Lillian is hugging her.

Lillian hasn’t hugged her in years. She never seemed like a naturally affectionate person, even with Lex, even with her father. But she’d hold Lena, sometimes, usually after the nightmares she had when she was young, and the memory of her mother’s death was still fresh. She held her after her father’s funeral, even though she herself seem so unaffected by it, and once, very briefly, after Lex went to prison. She’s never known what to make of them.

She has no idea what to make of this.

Kara’s arm is pressed tight against her own, and Lena feels like it’s burning her, like the warmth of her is seeping through her suit to burn into her skin. Kara clears her throat, and Lillian pulls back suddenly, a hand on each of their cheeks, her eyes wide and concerned. Are those tears? ‘I’m so glad you’re both alright’.

Lena opens her mouth, and nothing comes out. She glances at Kara, glad to see they’re united, at least for a moment, in their utter bafflement. She’s distracted by the way Lillian runs her thumb over her cheek, and turns to stare at her again. ‘What –‘

‘I’m so sorry for the things I said’, Lillian says, her voice choked like she’s struggling not to cry, and Lena feels like she’s stepped into a bizarre dream, ‘I had to’. She takes a deep breath, her hand warm against Lena’s cheek, and Lena, despite every reason not to, finds herself tilting her face into the touch. What was it she told Lillian about not wanting to be an island? She can’t remember, really, with her mother being so affectionate. Lillian takes a deep breath, and says, ‘after Lex told me what happened, I… I realised it would be best to pretend to be on his side’.

Lena’s horrified to realise that her lower lip is trembling, and she swallows tightly. ‘I… why did you pretend, with me?’

Lillian runs her thumb over her cheek again, and Lena feels like she’s unravelling. ‘He bugged our offices. He would’ve known’. She leans in, and Lena sucks in a sharp breath as Lillian presses their foreheads together. It feels like someone is squeezing her heart in a fist. ‘I’m so sorry’.

Lena doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t know how to relax, either. The only person she’s ever really been comfortable hugging is Kara, and she doesn’t know if that’ll ever happen again. Lillian pulls away with a quick kiss to her forehead that makes Lena’s eyes burn, and turns to look at Kara. ‘Are you alright?’ she asks, her voice full of genuine concern that sounds so strange coming from her. ‘What am I saying? You can’t be, not after what you’ve been through’.

Kara blinks rapidly. She seems just as stunned by this as Lena, and she can’t help but wonder if Lillian is somehow the most changed person on this Earth. If this isn’t some strange facade. ‘What I’ve been through?’

Lillian frowns. ‘Well, your Earth dying. Losing people. I mean, we’re alive here, but it doesn’t erase the trauma’.

Lena nearly goes bug eyed. Hearing Lillian casually referring to trauma, to Kara’s trauma, makes her head hurt, and she pulls away a little. Lillian takes a step back, biting her lip as she looks between them, and her shoulders slump. ‘I really was awful in your world, wasn’t I?’

‘How do I know this is real?’ Lena snaps, and the way Lillian flinches hurts. All of this hurts, in a way she can’t even begin to describe. ‘How do I know you’re not… lying?’

It’s Kara who flinches this time, and Lillian lays a hand on her shoulder. She’s biting at her lip, a sign of anxiety that Lena has never seen from her before, and she gestures slightly. ‘Ask them’.

Lena turns around, and two women appear from the sky to touch down on the balcony. Lena has a brief moment to take in the fact that they have identical faces, before Kara makes a sound Lena’s never heard from her before. She turns to look at the woman she once considered her best friend, and something about the look on her face almost makes her reach out. She’s never seen Kara look so young.

‘Mom? Aunt Astra?’ Kara steps forwards slowly, almost like she can’t believe this is real, and then she’s lunging forwards and wrapping her arms around the womens’ necks. They hold her tight like she’s a child, whispering words in another language into her hair, and Lena looks away. It doesn’t feel like something she should see.

She glances at Lillian, only to see that her mother is watching the reunion with tears shining in her eyes. The corner of her mouth is crooked faintly, and she looks almost fond. Lena stares, and somehow, impossibly, she knows this is real. She knows, however strange this seems, that this is her mother now. It’s who she is. Someone kind, someone nice, who now turns to look at her with such affection that it leaves her feeling winded.

This time, when Lillian leans in to hug her, Lena lets herself hug her back.

~   ~   ~

‘So what exactly did Lex tell you?’

Lillian pauses, and then sighs heavily, pouring Lena a cup of tea before she slides it across the coffee table towards her. That’s the same, at least. Lillian’s always preferred tea and coffee over a stiffer drink. She might’ve been the only Luthor who did. She sits back, tucking her ankles together like she always does, and rests her hands in her lap. ‘He told me some nonsense about Superman and Supergirl being evil and trying to take over the world, and something about how terribly he’d been treated, and that I’d helped him take over the last world to keep it out of their hands’.

Lena raises her eyebrows. That does sound like Lex. ‘But you didn’t believe him?’

Lillian shrugs slightly. ‘No. I mean, I have no idea what the last world was like, other than… the fact that I wasn’t… good to you’. She glances away, picking up her own cup with faintly trembling hands, and Lena hates that she feels bad. This Lillian isn’t her mother, but that doesn’t make it easy. The woman clears her throat, and says, ‘I don’t know what he was expecting but… I have memories from this world, Lena. I know Kara just wants to help. I know her people just want to find a home. They’re kind, and they saved my life. Your life. Lex’s life, even’. She snorts, and shakes her head. ‘He doesn’t… I don’t know what he expected. But if I was really that awful back on your world, maybe he just expected me to go with it’.

Despite all the information being thrown at her, Lena finds herself fixating on one thing. ‘You know Kara is Supergirl?’

Lillian blinks at her, and frowns slightly. ‘Of course I do. You both told me’.

‘We told you?’

Lillian sits up a little straighter, her frown tightening. ‘Are you not… oh’. Lillian bites her lip, and looks suddenly sad. ‘I’m sorry, I assumed…’

‘Assumed what?’

‘Well, you and Kara are – were – dating, in this world’.

Lena opens her mouth, and nothing comes out. She feels dizzy, and for a moment she’s not sure if she’s going to burst into tears, or start laughing. She doesn’t know which one would be more appropriate. When she blinks, Lillian’s sitting by her side, a hand on her back as she squeezes her hand, and Lena reels around to look at her. Lillian bites her lip, and says, ‘I’m sorry, I just… when she landed, thinking you were in danger, I assumed… that you were dating’.

She wants to say that they’re not even friends. That she doesn’t want anything to do with Kara. But all that comes out is, ‘Lex didn’t know?’

Lillian snorts. ‘There are a lot of things Lex doesn’t know’.

To her surprise, Lena feels herself smiling. ’He’d hate that. He thinks he knows everything’. She wipes at her eyes, her jaw tightening a little, and exhales shakily. ‘What else doesn’t he know, then?’

Lillian seems to hesitate. She tucks her hair behind her ear, and murmurs, ‘I… a lot of it is… a very long story. Involving… well, things I assume you don’t know’. She glances at her, fiddling with a ring on her finger, and says, ‘do you know… about your father? Did your version of me tell you about him?’

Lena frowns slightly, glancing down at what she realises is a wedding ring on Lillian’s finger. Her frown deepens. Lillian stopped wearing her ring after Lionel died. ‘You told me that Lionel was my father. That I wasn’t just adopted’.

Lillian grimaces slightly. ‘That’s it?’

Lena shrugs. She’s distracted by the way Lillian keeps touching her ring, and gestures at it. ‘Did you and Dad… make it up, I mean, properly? Did you… fall in love with him again?’

Lillian makes a face, one so bizarrely unlike her that Lena almost chokes. Lillian glances at her, and smiles slightly. ‘No, sweetheart. I’m like you, actually. A raging lesbian, as Alex puts it’.

‘A raging –‘ Lena can feel herself going bright red, and she stands suddenly. ‘Sorry, I just… need a minute’.

She leaves quickly, crossing into the dining room. Lillian had taken her to her house, a much smaller, more homely place than the Luthor mansion. She’d never visited Lillian’s house on Earth, so she has no idea if this is similar. She braces her hands on the table for a moment, and takes a slow, deep breath. She inhales the scent of flowers, and glances up to see a vase of her favourite on the table. Her mouth twists, and she turns away to face a side table that’s covered in photos. There’s several of her at different ages, and one of her and Kara, their arms wrapped around each other as they smile out at the camera. Lena’s throat tightens, and she quickly looks away.

There’s another of her and Lillian that seems to have been taken on the same night. Lillian has an arm around her shoulders, and Lena is leaning very far to towards her, a glass of champagne dangling from her fingers. She looks a little tipsy, but happy, and Lillian’s smiling down at her. She’s grinning. Lena’s never seen her smile like that, and certainly not at her.

‘That was the day you and Kara told me you were together’.

Lena jumps, and turns to see Lillian leaning against the doorframe. She’s changed into black slacks and a short sleeved white shirt, a look that is almost casual on her. Her eyes are wistful, and Lena swallows tightly. ‘You were happy for me’.

It’s not a question, but Lillian nods anyway. ‘I was happy for both of you’. She hesitates, and says, ‘there’s… more. There’s some in my room, but there’s quite a lot in yours’.

Lena blinks. ‘My room?’

Lillian smiles, and she looks almost embarrassed. ‘I… kept your room for you, after you moved out. You thought I was just being sentimental, and you were definitely right, but… you stay over quite often’.

‘Oh’. She stares at Lillian, and the sad way she’s regarding the photos, and it suddenly occurs to her how hard this must be for her. This Lillian has years of memories of her, of loving her, and Lena doesn’t remember any of it.

In that moment, she hates Lex for taking that from her.

Something rises in her throat, and she hears herself say, ‘do you love me?’

Lillian’s eyes go very wide, and she reaches out to cup Lena’s face in her hands. Her touch is gentle, her hands warm and soft, and tears blur Lena’s vision. ‘Oh, baby, I love you so much’. She bites her lip, and Lena reaches up to curl her fingers around Lillian’s wrists. ‘I… for a long time, I didn’t think I was really capable of loving anyone. That I couldn’t… do it properly. But…’ she smiles, and even though theres tears in her eyes, it’s a genuine thing. ‘I loved you almost from the moment you came to us’.

Lena closes her eyes, and lets Lillian strokes away her tears for a moment. Then she takes a deep breath, pulling away to wipe at her eyes, and mumbles, ’sorry’.

‘Don’t apologise, sweetheart’. Lillian smoothes her hand over her hair, and Lena huffs a laugh. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong’.

Lena shrugs slightly, and mumbles, ‘I guess’. She looks up at Lillian for a moment, a thousand questions tumbling over in her head. She wants to ask about her childhood, and Kara, and why Lillian is so different. But instead, she says, ‘who did you marry?’

Lillian smiles, a sudden, bright thing, and reaches out to pick up one of the framed photos. She passes it to Lena, and Lena finds herself looking down at a photo of herself, in her early teens, sitting on the floor in front of a chessboard. There’s a beautiful, dark skinned woman sitting beside her, staring down at the chess pieces with a puzzled frown. Her younger self seems to be attempting to explain how they work to her. Lena’s lips twitch, and she says, ‘who is she?’

‘Lara’, Lillian says softly, and there’s an almost reverence to the way she says the woman’s name, ‘you’ve always been very close’.

‘How did you meet her?’

Lillian’s smile broadens, and she laughs. ‘Oh, she’s Superman’s birth mother’.

Lena thinks she might laugh, if she had any energy to do so. She wonders how Lex reacted to that. How she did. How many memories of this woman her mother married she’s supposed to have. She takes a shuddering breath, places the photo down, and whispers, ‘you really have a lot to tell me, don’t you?’

Lillian reaches out to cup her cheek, and draws her gently into her arms. ‘It can wait’, she murmurs, ‘if you want’.

Her hand strokes slowly up and down Lena’s back, the other cradling the back of her head gently, and Lena has a sudden, vivid memory of another moment like this, years ago when she’d awoken from a nightmare to find Lillian sitting beside her. Lillian had held her just like this, her touch a little more hesitant, but maybe its the memory that causes Lena to sink into the embrace with a soft sigh. She closes her eyes, and wraps her arms hesitantly around the other woman, her fingers curling in her shirt, and nods.

It can wait.

[to-boldly-nope]

Dreams and Disasters

Pairing: TOS Bones x Reader

Words: 2453

Plot: Taking place after the events of “The Empath”, the reader keeps on having nightmares about what happened. She can’t sleep and Bones does everything to make her better.

Warning: Just uh really bad writing ig, too many words, Bones being an absolute sweetheart...

I’ll be posting imagines I have already written about our favorite southern doctor while I work on your fic @emily-strange​ but I hope you like it 

You woke up crying. It was the fourth time this month and the same nightmare from a past experience where some alien held you and Bones captive and did experiments on the both of you. The bed was empty and cold beside you and you feared that it wasn't a dream. You slipped on one of his medical scrubs and went to Sickbay. If he wasn't there or on the bridge, then it wasn't a nightmare.

There were only a few people in the hallways of the Enterprise. Most of them were sleeping peacefully in their cabins. It must be nice for them. The doors to Sickbay opened and you looked inside. Nobody on the biobeds. Nobody almost dying from a weird space disease. You turned around and went into the office, where you let out a sigh and tears of relief.

"(Y/N), what are you doin' up?" Bones asked while standing up from his chair.

"I noticed that the bed was empty," you whispered.

"If you wanted to know why the bed was empty, then why are you crying? You're not gonna bug me, darlin', you can tell me."

"Remember what happened a month ago? With the alien and the experiment?"

"It's about that, huh? Come 'ere."

You slowly made your way to him. You were scared that he would disappear as soon as you touched him. You were scared that this was the actual nightmare.

"Darlin', you don't have to be afraid."

And that sent you over the edge, you ran to him and he hugged you. "Make them go away, please," you cried, "please, Len."

"I'll try everything I can. Why don't we return to my cabin so you can sleep? I'll go with you if that's what you want."

You nodded into his shoulder and he placed his hands near your elbows. "Come on now."

You nodded again and stepped away from him. You wiped your tears off with your arm. "I'm being overdramatic," you sniffed before laughing.

"No, you're just being emotional over some old country doctor."

You laughed again as he took your hand and lead you back to his cabin.

"You know, blue suits you quite well, dear," Bones said softly as you both walked down the corridor.

You suddenly remembered that you were wearing his scrub and blushed. "I forgot I put this on, sorry, Bones."

He let out a small laugh as the door to his room came open. It was different from what you heard a month ago, his laugh was light, soft, happy.

"I want you to go lie down, I'll be there in a moment."

"Ok," you told him as he brought your knuckles up to his lips and planting a soft kiss there. You stayed there for a moment, feeling the warmth of his hand and the ghost of his kiss.

"I'm not going to leave you again. I just had to do some last-minute paperwork."

You nodded as you took your hand back and crept your way to the bed.

"You should probably take some time off," Bones told you as he went behind the barrier between the bed and the next room over.

"I'll be fine."

"As the man courting you, I want you to take time off, as your chief medical officer and doctor, I want you to take some time off. It's the fourth time this month. Your file says that your performance level has dropped since everything has started."

"I can't argue with my superior officer, can I?" You sighed as you stared at the wall where a painting of a vase with flowers was hanging.

"It's not recommended, but hell, that never stopped anyone on this ship. I think you're the first person who hasn't argued with me when I told them that they needed rest," he said while laying next to you.

You laughed and looked at him and he looked at you with those beautiful blue eyes.

"I'll send a report to Jim early tomorrow for some time off duty. I don't want to see you in sickbay unless I ask or you're dying."

"Aw, Bones," you whined.

"No, you need rest."

You sighed again, "You're right. A few days to sleep won't be too bad."

"No, actually, it wouldn't."

"Will you be here if something happens again?" You asked.

"Of course," he reassured softly, "Either go to sickbay or call me and I'll be there."

"You have such pretty eyes," you sighed.

"Now you're just trying to sweet-talk me," he muttered.

"Why would I do that?" You asked innocently.

Bones only shook his head. "Goodnight, darlin."

"Goodnight."

~

You woke up again, the nightmare wasn't as bad, but it was there. Bones was still asleep next to you, snoring softly. You got out of bed and went to the observation lounge. Nobody was roaming the ship by this point. You walked into the room and went to open the panel over the window. You pressed yourself against the window, watching the stars fly past the window.

"I thought you would be here," Kirk said, making you turn around.

"I plan on returning before Bones finds out I was here. I already worried him tonight. He already told me that he wants me to take a few days rest."

"I'll be getting a report in the morning then," he chuckled.

Silence fell between the two of you.

"Captain, what happened a month ago, I wish it never happened."

"We all do, Lieutenant."

He was now standing next to you, also looking out the window. "I'm just glad that we were able to save McCoy."

"I'm glad also, Captain, now I have an old southern doctor by my side constantly," you laughed.

"Go back to your cabin, I feel like he's looking for you by now."

Kirk then left and you stayed there, your eyes slowly closing as you passed through another system. You felt a blanket drop on your shoulders and you snapped out of it. "If I knew this was a game of hide-and-go-seek, then I may as well microchipped you."

His voice was deep and tired. You felt bad for him because you didn't mean to wake him up. Hell, he even looked tired.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lead you on a wild goose chase, I couldn't sleep."

"I could give you a hypo to knock you out for a few hours," Bones smiled as he stood beside you, his shoulder pressed against the glass. "Or a few days."

"I'll get better with some time," you told him while you hugged the blanket tightly.

"If I knew better, I would've thought that you fell asleep standing up."

You chuckled, "You're a very funny man, Doc."

"Oh god, you've gone insane, you called me doc."

You sighed and continued to look out the window at the millions of stars and other space objects. "It's funny how we're here. It's not the same as we're on earth, we're experiencing things nobody will believe. I just wanted to know that we're not alone in the universe, and I learned that we're not. I just wished that it wasn't the way it was."

"But I'm sure you had some good times, too."

"I did. I'm on the best ship in the federation, I haven't died yet, I have some really good friends."

"Is that all?"

"Of course not, I'm sure there are more good things to come. I'm not optimistic, but I got to be hopeful, right?"

"I couldn't have said it better myself."

"How long until your shift?"

"A few hours, at least. You slept for quite a while."

You now looked at him. "You being serious about that hypo?"

"Oh god no," he chuckled, "Maybe for a few hours, not a few days."

"I hate the fact that I still remember everything that happened. Emotional trauma at it's finest, is it not? Sometimes I get scared that this is the nightmare and you'll disappear as soon as I touch you. I still remember the captain carrying you into sickbay and Nurse Chapel and Doctor M'Benga doing everything to stop you from dying. I requested leave from my shift for a few days as you got better and I spent every minute in sickbay. Nurse Chapel had to tell me to leave every day, she was concerned that I would be affecting your recovery."

"Did you leave?"

"I did for a few hours, then I snuck back inside. She wasn't happy."

"She means well."

"Aren't the stars pretty," you sighed as you looked out the window.

"I guess they are."

"You guess?" You laughed in disbelief.

"We've been in space for two years now. Everything looks the same."

"But there's always something different. You might not see it at first but you'll find it eventually."

"I think I already have," he whispered.

You looked at him again and realized that he wasn't looking at the stars. No, he was too distracted by someone else.

He took his finger and placed it under your chin. He noticed how you saw the reflection of the stars in the corner of his eye.

"Bones?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatcha doing?"

"This," he said softly while leaning in. He planted a kiss on your lips, the first one you ever had.

You closed your eyes and placed your hands on his chest.

"I'm sorry," Bones apologized while cupping your face.

"No, don't be, it was the perfect setting," you reassured him before yawning.

"And it's the perfect setting for you to return to my cabin. Come on get to bed, maybe I can shorten your rest days if you get better."

"I'll only get better with time Leonard. We can only decide then."

"Are you sure you're not a doctor of some kind?" He asked as you two walked into the hallway, your arms were linked together.

"No," you laughed tiredly, "Just a security girl who's in love with a doctor and only has some basic medical knowledge."

"Like what?"

"Um, the skull is called the cranium, duh."

"You have basic anatomy knowledge, that's good to know." He laughed as you got into the turbolift. "I have to go to the bridge and drop off something to Jim."

The turbolift heard the word bridge and it started to move.

"I'm really sorry about leading you on a chase earlier. I just had a feeling to go to the observation deck."

"Did you have another nightmare?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't as bad. It was one of those ones where you're falling forever."

"I may have to do a brain scan. Maybe some neurological stuff, you know, the usual," he joked while slightly bouncing.

"I think I just need the constant reassurance that you're not dead or dying."

"I'm not going to die in space, heaven forbid I do."

You threw your head back and laughed, covering your mouth in the process. The turbolift opened and you both stepped onto the bridge.

"(Y/N), I see that Bones found you," Kirk said while turning his head to look at you two.

"I forgot to drop some reports off. I have them right here," Bones said while giving Jim a chip.

"Ah, thank you, Bones. I'll see the two of you tomorrow."

"Good night, Captain," you said while you and Bones went into the turbolift.

"You know, I can't wait to sleep for like three days straight."

"Neither can I, no offense, but you-"

"Look like trash, yeah, I know. No feelings were hurt."

"Just trying to be a southern gentleman."

The turbolift stopped and you looked at Bones, who stopped it. "I need to tell you something," he spoke softly.

"Yes? What is it?"

He stopped and looked at the floor. He acted the same way he did a month ago, he couldn't get what he wanted to say out. He continued to look at the floor, blinking a few times while pursing his lips. He sightly bounced again. "I want you to take care of yourself."

You smiled a caring smile at him. It was his way of saying that he loves you. He never actually said those three words but he found other ways to mean the same thing. He would say "Take care of yourself" or "Be careful" or he'll tell you to eat when you've forgotten or he'll try to help you sleep when you couldn't. It all meant one meaning to you.

And when he said something like that you would always smile at him and say, "I love you too, Bones."

He smiled lightly and opened the door and stepped out, you followed behind.

"Sleeping for three days, here I come!" You cheered while running past him and into his quarters.

You jumped on the bed and it bounced and you removed the blanket from your shoulders and covered yourself up with it.

Bones came in after you and saw you already in bed. He had four hours until his shift so he decided to stay awake, but instead, he laid next to you.

"Goodnight, Bones," you told him cutely, "See you in three days."

"Three days without you would be hell, darlin," Bones told you before he kissed your forehead softly, "Goodnight."

{Extended ending but in bullet points}

• Bones came in every two hours

• He sat on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, happy that you were still asleep

• He would hold your hand until he had to leave

• Just Leonard being a caring doctor boyfriend ™ like he is

• He would only wake you up when he thought that you needed to eat

• Bones would come in with a tray from the cafeteria and set it down on the counter before waking you up

• His ways to wake you up is as follows: shaking your shoulder, trying to talk you into waking up, then kissing you. In that order.

• "Well good mornin', darlin'. I brought you lunch because you're the only one who hasn't eaten yet."

• You would sit in bed and eat and talk to Bones

• "Any nightmares?"

• "The opposite. I've been having good dreams."

• "What about?"

• "The two of us. In the observation deck, when you kissed me. How shameless of me being this romantic."

• He would sometimes come in and see you reading a book or sketching something

• When he kissed you awake you would complain and tell him that you're not Sleeping Beauty

• He kinda pouts and tells you that you are a princess and then kisses you again because he be like that all the time

• After a few days, he finally lets you return to work :)

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 3

The Rift

 Ichigo wonders, more often than not, why it is that even though he can see ghosts, he never sees the ones he wants to. His mother, and now his friends from Chaldea. He can’t see them anymore. The singularities are gone, and humanity has returned to the way it always was. But it’s missing so many people, from his own point of view. Olga Marie isn’t bound to him anymore. She’s moved on.  And the rest…

 Ichigo sits in front of his mother's grave with his dad at his side. Karin and Yuzu have gone for drinks, leaving them alone for the time being. Rukia, and Kon too, sit on a hill, watching over them and waiting for trouble. He doesn’t want to admit it. He’s carried the guilt in his heart for so long, but now… it’s possible that Rukia is right. That the reason his mother is dead is because…

   “Hey, old man,” Ichigo looks towards his dad, who’s been acting weird since he’s come back. More than once he’s caught him just staring. Like he’s trying to figure out what changed his kid so much. As if they were ever that close in the first place. Ichigo let’s him. There’s no way for him to understand what’s changed Ichigo into the person he is now. It’s not something that can be easily explained, and in any case the Mage's Association was pretty clear. No one is supposed to know that magic exists. Including his own family. Anyone who finds out must be killed.

 “Yeah?” Isshin looks his way, away from the grave that reads his mother's name.

 “About mom. Could she ever see ghosts, do you know?” he looked right at him. Testing Isshin, watching his eyes. He’d never noticed before…

 That his dad was hiding behind a dozen walls. And they all started to come up when Ichigo asked his question. Ichigo has spent years with master assassins and traitorous knights. He can see clearly now, for the first time ever. His dad isn’t such a colossal goof off after all.

 “Why are you asking this all of a sudden?” he asks and it      hurts    . It hurts more than Ichigo thought, to know that he was keeping this secret for so long. To know that he could have told him, that both of them could have told him when he was young and he couldn't tell who was alive and who was dead, that he wasn’t alone in it. Karin had always had him, and they’d learned together after their mom had died, who was real and who was not.

 Why? Why had they hid these things from him? And could he trust their dad to tell them the truth now?

 “... No reason. I was just thinking about her.”

 No, he decides, looking back at the headstone. He can’t trust his old man to tell him the truth. So, he’ll have to learn it some other way.

 *

 Sometimes, Isshin looks as his son and he sees a complete stranger.

 He’s still brash and angry, and he would die for Yuzu and Karin, might have while Isshin wasn’t looking, but he’s not himself. He isn’t the same son that had climbed onto a plane for what should have been a simple job months ago. He’d only been gone for a week. How could he have changed so much?

 He was taller, for one thing, and yeah teenagers have growth spurts but they don’t grow three inches in seven days. Their hair doesn’t grow out in a week either, and they don’t get so strong or so self assured that fast.

 More than that, his son has this look in his eyes…

 A terrible age, even though he’s only fifteen. He looks at them like he’s afraid they’ll disappear. He looks like he’s always waiting for something. For something to go wrong, for the other shoe to drop.

 Even before Rukia had shown up and given her powers over to him, and then started living in his son’s closet of all places, he’d been the same. On edge. And the way he’d greeted them…

 Ichigo did a lot of things when Isshin attacked him. Hugging him wasn’t one of them.

 On top of all that, he’d gone to see Kisuke, to ask what was going on in the spirit world, where he could no longer see, and it turns out that Kisuke agrees. There’s something strange about Ichigo. He’s stronger than he should be, and stronger than he ever was, even without Rukia. And he doesn’t know what exactly happened between Kisuke and Ichigo, but it’s enough that now the old captain is interested in him.

 It’s not nearly as comforting as Isshin wishes it was. When Kisuke got involved, things rarely went well. No matter how good his intentions were.

 Then he asked about Masaki, and Isshin had faltered.

 It was time, it was the perfect time for him to tell him the truth. To sit him down and explain what had happened all those years ago, and tell him about the kind of heritage he had, and what it might mean. He’s wondered, whose power did he get? Isshin, or Masaki. Shinigami, or Quincy? Or both? Or hollow? It’s hard to tell.

 But he chickened out. The words got stuck and the world closed off and Ichigo turned away from him. The moment was lost, and now Isshin doesn’t know what to do. It’s so much easier raising daughters than sons.

 * *

 By the time his ridiculous duel with Uryu is over, Ichigo is willing to bet money that his mother was a Quincy.

 Ichigo ends up sitting on a bench, breathing fast but he’s not so exhausted nor so beat up as Ishida, who sits patiently while Ichigo carefully stitches up his arm. It’s easy enough to pass this particular skill off as one he learned from his father and not knee deep in a war, trying to help Roman with the dozens of injured Chaldea staff.

 “Isn’t your dad a doctor? Wouldn’t it be better to have him do than let me?” Ichigo finds himself asking They’re lucky Uryu had a needle and thread on his person, even if they did have to bend the needle in an awkward, sloppy approximation of the ones used for real stitches.

 It’ll do for now.

 “It’s best if my father doesn’t know about this,” he says simply.

 “Oh yeah?” Ichigo grins at him. “I take it that means he doesn’t want you doing this kind of stuff then.”

 “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Uryu sniffed at him stubbornly. Ichigo glowers at him, and pulls the next stitch harder until Uryu yelps. “Hey! Watch it!”

 “Of      course    it’s my business. This whole stunt that you pulled was insanely dangerous.”

 “Are you admitting that you’re weaker than I am,” Uryu lifts his chin, his nose in the air, and Ichigo has to stop himself from karate chopping him in his throat.

 “It doesn’t matter if I’m weaker or not! What matters is that we’re not the only people in town that you could have gotten killed with this stunt! Didn’t you notice? There’s hollows that disappeared that neither one of us took out.”

 He snaps the thread and grabs Uryu by the front of his shirt, watching his blue eyes go wide and realization dawn for what is apparently the first time. “That means other people are fighting. Other people might be dying. My sister has high spirit levels too you know?! When you pull shit like this you’re putting the lives of everyone around you into the same danger, without even telling them about it! How can someone with top grades be so damn stupid?!”

 Ichigo forces himself to lean back, anger still bubbling under his skin. All this trouble because Uryu hates shinigami, and Ichigo isn’t even a real one.

 “      Listen    ,” he leans in , forcing Uryu to bend backwards over the back of the bench, “I’ll fight you one on one any time you want. But this hollow fighting isn’t a game. And if you ever put other people in danger unnecessarily again, I’ll beat your goddamn face in.”

 “Y-you!” Uryu pushes against his chest but Ichigo is immobile, stone and still.

 “Do you understand, Uryu Ishida?”

 “I. Yes,” he says at last, looking down and away. Only then does Ichigo let him go, leaning back and letting out a grunt when it pulls at his shoulders. He’d over strained himself, just a little bit.

 “Hey, Kon!” Ichigo waves his body snatcher over to the pair. “Gimme my body back already, huh?”

 “Ah, you’re no fun,” Kon whines, but he sits on the bench and lets Ichigo slide back in without a fuss. Ichigo pulls Uryu up off of the bench and gives him a shove.

 “C’mon. I’ll walk you home.”

 “I don’t need you to do that!”

 “Well I’m doing it anyways. You’re injured, what if there’s still a few more hollows lingering around, huh? Just shut up and start walking.”

 Uryu scowls, but starts walking forwards anyhow, with Ichigo in his shadow. During his whole trauma speech and background story Ichigo’s mind had been turning over and over. His dad was a quincy too, even if he didn’t want to admit it, and if Uryu was to be believed, they were the last of them.

 Goat-face isn’t going to answer his questions, so Ichigo follows Uryu home, to a house that far too big for just two men alone. He feels old, walking into it. It’s fanciful, but he’s seen the theatres of Rome and the courts of King Arthur.

 Ichigo will never be a sensor, but he’s gotten used to trusting the sense inside him that says when someone else is around, and even though it took him a while he’s good enough to be able to follow it if he has to. He didn’t know about the spirit ribbons. Ichigo is used to being clueless, but he’s not stupid. He files the information away for later, and quietly memorizes that feeling of Uryu. It’s more like a taste, clean and sharp, and vaguely like citrus.  

 His father is much the same. And he is utterly unimpressed by Ichigo arriving on his doorstep with his son in tow.

 His eyes are colder than ice, not exactly something Ichigo would want in any doctor he has.

 “Hey, old man,” Ichigo raised a hand and, with his usual level of tact, asked ever-so-discreetly, “Did you know my mom?”

 * * *

 “Do you know where you are?”

 The scent of roses and daffodils and the feeling of soft worn wool brushing against his cheek. A ribbon made of magic brushing his nose.

 Ichigo opens his eyes and looks into a pale blue sky, wisps of cotton candy clouds stretching across from one horizon to the next.

 “I am in a dream,” he says dutifully.

 “Very good Dolores.”

 Ichigo punches him in the stomach, sending the mage doubled over in a fit of coughing and laughing together. A smile that’s far too mischevious to be soft is aimed at him.

 “You have an amazon prime subscription out here?” Ichigo asked, sitting up slowly. The tower still floats, through the sky at the end of the world.

 “Well yes. I do run a blog, you know?” though it’s said with a straight face he can see a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth, where even eternal youth hasn’t been able to curb laugh lines. He’s good humor, and a good company.

 “Seriously?!”

 That gets a laugh out of the mage of all mages. He lays back in the flowers that climb and bloom, thriving in his very presence. He is life and light and mischief, a watcher and a strange sort of guardian.

 “Well yes. I can’t spend all of my time merely      watching     people. The internet made things much more fun! Humans are such innovative creatures, even without magic to help them along.”

 Ichigo nodded along with him. “Does that mean that you can email me instead of hijacking my beauty sleep?”

 “Oh, you mean you don’t enjoy my company, oh great Master of Humanity?”

 Ichigo scowls at him, but there’s a smile trying to pull at his mouth. He struggles to squash it, and he can tell from the glint in his companions eyes that he fails.

 “Stop calling me that,” he says for a millionth time.

 A firm hand pushes him back into the flowers, under the warmth of the sun in the soft crush of fragrant petals. There’s no perfume that could ever compare. This is a strange place, a beautiful cage, and Ichigo doesn’t fully understand how he can be here and home at the same time. Not that that’s new. He’s been in two places at once more times than he cares to count, and he still only vaguely understands how it’s possible.

 “I understand that your life is interesting once more.” The mage stretches out beside him, taller than he and cloaked elegantly in his same old robes. He’s showy and modest at once and it hurts Ichigo’s eyes to look at him for long.

 Ichigo groans. “If you mean my entire existence is one giant clusterfuck then yeah. It’s real ‘interesting’ again. But I’m not time travelling again yet so…”

 “Poor little master. Your life is so very hard…”

 “I’ll hit you,” Ichigo threatened. “Master mage, but a shit fighter. I can take you.”

 The laugh that he is granted is bells on the wind.

 “True, true. But I believe that things will get worse before they get better. Perhaps you should begin your mage craft training once more.”

 “You know I always sucked at that. I could only use real magic if I had a mystic code. Every other time, it exploded in my face. I’m a secondrate mage, that’s how it’s always been,” he says it all simply.

 “That is true… Isn’t it funny how that works out? A boy who cannot cast a single spell without assistance ends up defeating the most powerful mage in history. You really are a remarkable human, Ichigo.”

 “And you’re trying to get me to do something for you, aren’t you?”

 “Aha! You do know me! Yes, I need you to mail something very important to me…”

 “You get mail here?!”  

 * * * *

 It’s the tenth time he’s been thrown into the dirt today.

 A normal person would have given up and packed it in. A normal person would have humbly accepted that the strength of these titans was beyond their abilities to keep up with.

 Instead, Ichigo stands again.

 He picks up his borrowed practice sword, dulled so no one can get hurt, and faces his opponent once more.

 Mash, Cu, and Medusa, his constant companions, watch him narrow his eyes and plant his feet again.

 “One more time, Nero!”

 “He’s stubborn, if nothing else,” Medusa mused, not quite out of his earshot. Cu nods his agreement, his eyes never wavering.

 “Tha’ll help him,” he said simply. Ichigo didn’t know why but his accent seemed to change just a little each time he opened his mouth. Sometimes he was barely understandable. Sometimes it is perfect english. Or whatever language the magic was auto-translating it to. Japanese for Ichigo, english for Mash, and probably latin for Nero and the surrounding soldiers.

 “ ‘He’ can still hear you!” He glared halfheartedly at the pair of Servants, who looked perfectly innocent. The longer he was around them, the more familiar he was with the small changes in disposition and expression, their likes and dislikes. And, to his eternal surprise, the      feeling    of them.

 Cu Cullain felt like trees. Like thick moss on a stone, and early morning mist rolling through thick, ageless trees. His presence was as familiar as an old, trusted hound. They’d only been together for a few months, but his spellwork and the steady draw of his mana felt as natural as breathing to him.

 Medusa was the deep ocean, power beneath every surface but beautiful to behold. A crash of waves against the stony shore, her every touch fleeting and feather light while her chains lashed with horror and the chthonic strength born in the age of gods. She was the smooth brush of scales against his wrist, the flash of teeth behind a sweet smile, and gold eyes in the darkness that Ichigo alone did not flinch from.

 Theirs was a tenuous relationship. She kept looking for him to stab her back, to cut her head and use it as his weapon. Ichigo was still half expecting to wake up as a statue one day. They only had the barest trust between them but…

 She hasn’t let him down yet, and Ichigo endeavours to repay that much if he can.

 He raises his sword and barely blocks a vicious strike from Nero. She was shorter than him by far, but he had no chance matching her for raw strength. Or speed. Or her damn near perfect swordplay.

 “Focus on the performance at hand,” she orders, her mouth curved in a strange smile. Ichigo didn’t totally understand her. They’d been travelling with her for over a month now, on the way to reach what would one day be london.

 “Right,” Ichigo lunges for her, his strikes quick and hard. He’s not worried about hurting her since he can’t even      hit    her.

 It’s graceful, elegant, and nearly effortless for her to knock him flat on his ass again, smacking the flat of her blade against his chest so hard he sees spots. He’s left sucking desperately. His nails bite into the dirt and his grip on his sword tightens until the leather wrapped around the hilt creaks.

 “That’s enough for today, I think,” Nero decides. Ichigo wants to argue, but he doesn’t have any breath for it. So he groans like a dying whale and lays in the dirt, his hands shaking, his body refusing to move at all.

 Nero lowers herself to the ground, on her knees beside him and how strange is that? A goddamn emperor kneeling with him in the dirt. A demi-goddess, and a druid, and a demi-servant. And Ichigo, just human. But Nero is human too. She’s as alive as he is and she is wiping the fucking floor with him.

 “You’re a - fuck,” he wheezes and finally gets his elbows under him so he can sit up.

 “Now that’s very rude to say, considering that I’ve been training you out of the goodness of my own heart,” Nero sniffs at him, tilting her chin to the sky.

 Why did Ichigo always get stuck with these kinds of bewildering people? Everyone he knew was so weird…

 “Yeah, I guess. Thanks, Nero.” A perfectionist and slave driver, but Ichigo was getting better every day. By the time they reached their destination, maybe he’d even be able to land a single blow per bout. Ichigo had never expected to get along with a roman emperor of all people, but even outside of fighting Ichigo has always been, if only mildly, interested in the arts, and Nero only stokes those embers.

 Nero smiles beatifically at him. “You have the makings of a fine performer. Even without an Imperial Privilege. I enjoy teaching you.”

 Her smile is interrupted by a pinch of her brows and purse of her lips.

 Ah, another headache.

 It’s very strange, trying to reconcile the young woman in front of Ichigo with the tyrant from history. She’s put her people ahead of her at every turn, and helped Ichigo and his friends. She’s under no obligation to teach Ichigo swordplay but she does, even after long days on the march.

 At the same time, there’s a reason Boudica is only her reluctant ally. Nero cared for her people but she was, in another word, a merciless bitch when she put her mind to it. But she was on their side, for now, and Ichigo is learning not to look gift horses in the mouth. So he gets up and goes to her side, and shows her how to press her fingers into pressure points on the back of her neck, and hold it for a few seconds until the headache goes away.

 He’s made an archduke for that one.

 * * * * *

 A rift forms in the Kurosaki household.

 It’s always been there, a cut stitches tenuously together by blood and loyalty, and reinforced by love, but now it’s split.

 A gaping chasm, and Ichigo doesn’t know what to do with it.

 It feels like it’s not something he can bridge. Like this is one obstacle that even he cannot conquer. Master of Chaldea, Final Beacon for Humanity. Commander of Heroes, Beloved, the First Guardian.

 He is a hundred things but at the end of the day he is still.

 A teenager.

 Fifteen and eighteen and four thousand at once.

 His dad had lied to him. If not directly, then by omission. For years, for so very long he’d let Ichigo hold the responsibility of Masaki’s life in his hands, had kept quiet when he grew frightened and dark and closed off from the living, so preoccupied was he with the dead.

 Never once did he offer reason. Never once did he show his care or cradle his son, or tell him that the monsters were real and it      wasn’t his fault    .

 Not once, in six, seven, eight, nine years did he tell Ichigo that he was not alone. That he and Karin were merely Masaki’s children. That they were born of quincy blood, even if that never put a bow in their hands.

     Half the blood means half the power,”     That was what Ryuuken had said. And how sad is it that Ichigo had had to hunt down a veritable stranger, once who’s son had spent the entire day bickering and competing and hating his guts, to get answers from?

 “      Does my old man know all of this?”    Ichigo had asked.

 Ryuuken was honest, even if he didn’t want to get into the tangled web of family drama.      “Yes,”    He’d said, “      But it’s more complicated than that. Isshin has the entire story.”  

 And he wouldn’t tell Ichigo.

 He didn’t tell him on the bloody banks of the river, when a child wandered in desperate hope of finding a phantom of his mother.

 He did not tell a ten year old at the foot of a grave marker. He kept silent at eleven, at twelve, thirteen, fourteen.

 Fifteen. Under the watching grave of his mother Ichigo had asked. And Isshin had not told.

 The house is tense like it hasn’t been since Ichigo got back. It’s tense like a storm, cracking along the edges of the walls and windows. Tense like there’s no coming back from this and Ichigo cannot take the building static in his veins or the hissing of betrayal in his ears, like snakes.

 He misses Medusa, suddenly. She would take his pound of flesh for him and then some.

 Ichigo go knows, for certain, that if he stays in this house he’ll go mad. Yuzu and Karin, they know something is up. Ichigo’s pretty sure Karin saw the hollow, Grand Fisher, at the grave site. Dead now by his blade, but the vengeance tastes like ash on his tongue. His mother is still dead. His father is still a liar.

 His sisters still love them both.

 Ichigo loves them, too. More than anything in the world, he fought gods and demons for their sake. For them to be born for them to have a future.

 But he can’t spend all of his time at home, and Chad is starting to ask questions that Ichigo has a difficult time answering.

 Not ‘was that a demon ghost you just punched in the face’ hard. That answer is ease. ‘Yes’.

 But ‘is everything alright at home’ hard. Chad had asked the first time he saw Isshin launch himself at his son in a surprise attack and he’s about to ask it again, Ichigo can feel it in his bones.

 So he makes a phone call.

 The rest of the world will never know what they did.

 The world will not know about him or Mash or Roman or Olga Marie, or the countless others that built Chealdea and kept her running. They’ll never know how much they fought, how much they bled, how much they sacrificed for the sake of the future.

 It’s fine with him.

 But there are some who know. The Mage's Association, and the United Nations. And a select few people from the Clock Tower in London, where Ichigo has already been offered schooling and job. They know that he stopped the incineration of humanity.

 And they      owe    him.

 Three years of pay for working in Chaldeas, and even more for everything else he’d done.

 He finds a backpack while he waits for a familiar voice to answer.

 “Do you have any idea what time it is?” There's a shuffle of sheets and a groan in the background and Ichigo barely pays it any mind as he stuffs a hoodie into his bag and goes looking for his running shoes.

 “Not a clue,” he said blandly. “But listen, Waver. I need a favor.”

 * * * * * *