#I guess I saw a post from someone that triggered some memories | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mcytblr-archive · 2 months

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Early MCYTblr Interviews: Anonymous

our interviewee today is the anonymous author of the "SBI Crit Post". he's asked to both remain anonymous and not to be sought out; he's been incredibly helpful and polite through this entire interview process, and i would ask you all to leave any residual feelings you may have from that time at the door. If you think you remember who posted it, please keep it to yourself. that said, let's begin!

Q: Before we begin talking about the ‘Crit Post’, I’d love to hear what your experience of MCYTblr was like before it was posted. Do you have any standout memories from this time?

A: Not particularly. There's some things that I guess looking back on nowadays is kind of wild, like how in the groups I was running in, shipping of any kind that wasn't DNF was super frowned upon (as in, I trigger tagged for IRL shipping)…but truthing wasn't really? Or, how back then the lines between 'critblr' and main mcytblr were super fuzzy. I hung out with both groups before the Crit Post to no issue. Oh!!! And this is a wonderful piece of MCYTblr lore that you may not know, but when I posted the Crit Post, I was apart of a MCYT art exchange themed after MCC called MC Creatives. I think it only happened once, and I can't exactly remember who ran it. They were a really nice DNF (? or just DTeam) blogger. I think it's cool to see that even back then the community was pretty tight knit and had overarching community activities like we see today. It's interesting to me that our fandom has missed out on some of the more important parts to being a fandom… not many big bangs, only one or two that I know of. It's very sad, but we are a weird fandom in general, and definitely a Modern Fandom, if you understand what I mean by that LOL. There is one memory that does stick out, completely irrelevant to this interview though. The fake Dreambur meetup. I pulled an all nighter for it. I was shaking. I drew fanart (though never posted it). Everyone was hysterical. And then it was faked and everyone went WHAT.

Q: As you let me know in your dms, you were the user who made the original “SBI Crit Post”. Would you mind giving a quick rundown of what it was exactly, for anyone who may not know?

A: I would, but frankly I barely remember anything about it. It was like… I saw someone being like "weird that we aren't as critical of SBI as we are of DT" and I thought, "Well, I can probably try?" and made shit up. It was nonsense. I can't even remember what I said about Philza. The points against the others were "Tommy is too young to be in this business" "Wilbur queerbaits" and… "Technoblade needs to be less honest about his ADHD he's glorifying it" or something like that. Again, it was nonsense at its best.

Q: What was your reasoning at the time for making the post? Did the overall culture around you play a part in it?

A: Here's the part no one knows: At the time of posting, I was 13 by maybe… one, two, or three weeks. And I'd spent almost the entirety of my time as a 12 year old in a community that was like "we need to be Critical of our Favorite Creators because this is Righteous and the Only Good Way To Engage With MCYT" and I was like "Everyone here is older than me and therefore endlessly smarter than me," and therefore just accepted it. You can see it very clearly in the part that was "critical" of Wilbur Soot. He was queerbaiting for what? Acting like he wanted to kiss men? Dressing nice? Ridiculous! But if we called Dream a queerbaiter (and never GNF, because everyone was convinced he was gay), then I thought surely Wilbur Soot could also be a queerbaiter! This made total sense to baby 13 year old me. It's not fair to really call that indoctrination: it's not like I was falling down an alt-right pipeline or anything. I was just a stupid kid with too much internet access who liked minecraft and knew nothing about like Dan & Phil or Septiplier (kind of thing that would make me suspicious of this activity--especially truthing). I thought I was fufilling some honor by saying "and yes, my favorite minecraft boys aren't without fault either!" The people that stayed friends with me after that… some of them were my closest normal non-Critblr friends, who refused to abandon me (shout out to you guys you know who you are), and the rest were the people in Critblr who were… okay with my behavior.

Q: I understand that the backlash to the post was very intense– what was it like from your perspective? Did it have any affect on you?

A: Lots. Lots and lots and lots. I lost a bunch of my close friends who weren't okay with what I'd said or how I'd doubled down, and it really messed with me as a kid in the middle of quarantine. There were times where I genuinely considered hurting myself irreperably as either a way to "apologize for what I had done" or just a way to stop worrying that everyone I knew was going to block me one day. Those feelings lasted for a long time, I still struggle with them to this day, over three years later (? I think). And I was kind of lead to believe that was an okay response. I recieved asks the night that it all went down where I was told I should hurt myself. Of course my own behavior wasn't cool, but neither was that. I know there was a post out there by a popular (at the time?) Technoblade blogger that detailed the faults in that post, but I never read it. All I knew about it was that people saw it, and harassed me because they saw it, and that the OP of that post hated me. It got to the point that seeing that blogger's URL caused me to have panic attacks, a ridiculous thing because that blogger as far as I know never actually did anything wrong. I don't know. Every once in awhile, someone in the server I'm in (hi some of you are definitely reading this :3 i love you guys) will bring up the post in passing and I'll have to mute the channel for 24 hours because I'm scared. Or even when we're discussing normal drama, if something feels too close to the Crit Post, or like it might come up, I'll get shaky and nauseous and have to mute the channel for 24 hours. It's weird, the shit being told to kill yourself because you did something dumb as a 13 year old can do to you.

Q: As a follow-up: What, if anything, do you wish had happened instead?

A: I don't know really. I guess the obvious answer is "I didn't make the post" or "I didn't double down", but I think the real answer has to be that I wish the community I was in hadn't taught me that what I was doing was an okay move.

Q: Do you have anything else to add about the Crit Post, MCYTblr, or the community as a whole?

A: Not really. I "retired" from MCYTBlr in I think 2022, but kept a passing interest in it for a long time, and I'm still active in a discord (hi again) comprised entirely of fans and retired fans. I loved MCYT, and in some ways, I still do. When I'm sad, I put on old Technoblade videos. When I'm really sad, I put on old Purpled videos. These things are my comforts, things that I haven't ever been able to give up. And that's good! Even if I don't talk about MCYT anymore, I'm glad it's there for me.

#Early MCYTblr Interviews #Volume 4 #Anonymous #SBI Crit Post

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herofics · 7 months

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could i ask for gojo or basically anyone from mha with a reader who's suddenly dealing with memories of cocsa? thanks

A/N: I picked Gojo, since I just felt like I wanted to write about him this time around. I know you just sent this, and I have a few older requests that I’m working on, but I wanted to write this right away for some reason. I don’t know any other meanings for COCSA other than child-on-child sexual abuse, so I’m assuming that’s what you meant. This request is a bit broad, but I just did some angst with comfort. I haven’t written stuff like this in a while, but there are some similar scenarios in my masterlist, which you can find in the pinned post. I feel like I’ve mostly dealt with my own COCSA trauma, but I do still find these kinds of things therapeutic to write. Not gonna lie though, this sort of triggered me and I cried a lot while writing this, but I’m all good now and it was therapeutic I guess.

Word count: almost 2k

Warnings: (Graphic?) mentions of COCSA/rape, mentions of blood, self hate and reader blames themself for what happened

Today was not a good day. You were almost glad Gojo wasn’t going to be home for at least a day, he didn’t need to deal with this too. He had enough on his shoulders already, he didn’t need to try to handle your shitty mood and flashbacks too.

It wasn’t like this everyday. The memories just resurfaced sometimes and it was like they knocked the wind out of you. It was like a punch in the stomach and it made you want to puke. Sometimes you could still feel hands on you and this was certainly one of those days. You scratched your arms and thighs but the feeling wouldn’t go away. It never did, but you still always hoped that maybe this time would be different.

You decided to take that shower you’d been avoiding the whole day, hoping that maybe the warm water would wash away some of the guilt and self hatred.

You were almost done taking off your clothes, when you happened to glance in the big mirror that covered the inside of your wardrobe door. You saw it again. It was like someone had turned back time and you were staring at your child self in the mirror. A little kid, crying, disheveled in just a t-shirt and bloody underwear, with bruises all around their body, and blood running down their inner thighs. You didn’t even notice you were crying too, before your legs gave out and you just sat on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Why me?” you whispered between your sobs.

Your whole life you’d been told it wasn’t your fault, but no one had yet managed to convince you that that was true. You knew it had been his fault too, that boy who did this to you all those years ago. You’d also convinced yourself that you were to blame. You were the one who went with him. You were the one who didn’t scream and shout, you were the one who didn’t try to run away until it was too late, and by then, he already had you in his grasp.

“Why did you follow him? Why didn’t you fight back?” you’d heard those questions countless times. It was horrifying how much parents tried to justify their kids’ actions. “Surely you did something to make him do this to you” was one of the phrases you would probably never forget.

You felt like you were drowning in self hatred and guilt. How could you have been so fucking stupid? “You were just a child” some reasonable part of your brain whispered, but that was swiftly drowned out by everything else. You were still just sitting on the floor, but now your crying was quiet. You were rocking yourself back and forth, as if in a trance. The words “It’s your fault” kept running circles in your brain.

Gojo knew he wasn’t supposed to be home yet. He knew you weren’t expecting him for at least another day, but he was just happy to get back to you. He pretty much skipped up the stairs to the front door, he missed you.

He opened the front door, the house was quiet, suspiciously so. The lights were on, so clearly you were home, but you wouldn’t answer when he called your name. Nothing was out of place, but something was wrong, he could feel it. He just didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t feel any hostility or strange cursed energy around, but something was undeniably wrong.

When he found you on the bedroom floor, sitting in front of the wardrobe, he could see your reflection in the mirror. You had this vacant look in your eyes, you hadn’t even noticed him come into the room.

Gojo knelt down next to you and put his hand on your shoulder. It brought you out of your trance immediately, but not in the way he expected.

“Please don’t-don’t touch me” you pleaded as you suddenly started backing away from him.

You hadn’t noticed Gojo come into the room, but the moment he touched you, you came back to reality. His touch felt disgusting, you felt like his hand would burn a hole through your t-shirt. God why was this happening? Why were you reacting like this to the person you loved so much?

“Okay, okay, I won’t” he assured. “What’s wrong doll?” he asked as he stuffed his blindfold into his pocket.

You had backed away from him until your back hit the end of the bed, so there was about a meter of distance between you. Gojo felt like there was a ravine between you, like he couldn’t reach you on the other side. All his powers and techniques wouldn’t help here. He hated feeling this powerless.

“Talk to me, please?” he almost sounded like he was begging.

You shook your head with this panicked look in your eyes. Gojo didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to comfort you if you wouldn’t let him hold you. It was like someone was tearing his heart into pieces. All he could do was sit there, and wait.

You wanted to tell him what was going on, you wanted to explain, but you didn’t know where to start. Would he think it was your fault? Would he blame you too? Before you could stop yourself, the words escaped your lips.

“I was raped”

Gojo just sat there, he felt like couldn’t process what you’d just told him. Raped? No, surely he heard wrong.

“What?” he had to ask, he had to make sure he’d really heard wrong, he really hoped he heard wrong.

“It-I was a kid and I was-I was raped…” you stammered.

He hadn’t heard wrong. Gojo had to really restrain himself to stop from embracing you. He wasn’t sure how else to comfort you. That was his love language, touch, but you really didn’t look like you could handle any of that right now.

You took a few deep, wavering breaths. You had stopped crying, at least mostly, but the self hatred and guilt were still very much there.

“I’ve been having some-some flashbacks and memories-and memories resurfacing today, and as you can-as you can see, it’s not a good day for me-me” you tried explaining.

“Do you need me to do something? I’ll do anything” Gojo stated very seriously.

“Can you just-Can you just sit there until this passes?” you asked apologetically. “I don’t- I don’t want to be touched right now, even the thought makes me want to vomit”

You didn’t want to make Gojo feel like this was about him, it wasn’t him touching you that made you feel nauseous, anyone would have gotten the same reaction.

“And it’s not about you, I just don’t want anyone to touch me right now” you added.

Gojo sighed in relief, for a moment he was scared he had done something wrong.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked carefully.

You were starting to feel more stable, not good exactly, but better than before. Gojo’s presence helped, he made you feel safe and like no one could hurt you again. It was also a bittersweet feeling, you just wished someone like him had been around back then. Someone to stop anything bad from ever happening to you.

“I-I don’t really know how to talk about it. People don’t want to hear about stuff like that, not really, even if they want to help” you shrugged.

“I want to help, I really do”

“I don’t think you need to hear all the nauseating details of it. I know you want to help, but I’ve only got myself to blame really. I was so damn stupid” you shook your head with a disappointed sigh.

Gojo had to stop himself from reaching his hand towards yours, instead he just balled his hand into a fist. You didn’t want to be touched, he needed to respect that. Hearing you say that made him so incredibly frustrated. How could you blame yourself for something so horrific someone else had done to you?

“You weren’t stupid, you were a child and that should’ve never happened” Gojo said slowly.

“That’s no excuse though, I should’ve known better. I should’ve know the things he did were wrong, before it was too late”

“I don’t know how old you were when this happened, but would you expect a kid that age to know what you were “supposed to know”?” Gojo asked.

“No, but-” you started but he cut you off.

“So why would you expect it from yourself at that age? You shouldn’t need to know better as a kid, other people should know not to do shitty things” Gojo tried to reason with you.

That shut you up quite effectively. You would never expect it from anyone else, so why would you expect something like that from yourself. You didn’t really have a counter argument, and it had undeniably shaken your attitude of self blame and hatred just a little.

“Hah, you can’t argue with that, can you” Gojo smirked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“You’re so proud of yourself for coming up with that” you rolled your eyes, but your lips curved into a slight smile.

“If it made at least a dent in all that self hatred you’re carrying around, then yes” Gojo nodded.

“It’s not like I actively hate myself, it’s just days like these… mostly” your voice faded.

“Then I want to make sure you’ll never have a day like this again” Gojo said with a very serious tone. He looked so determined.

“That’s sweet Satoru, but I can’t promise that, and neither can you” you smiled sadly.

“Well we can at least aim for less days like this, right?” he asked.

“I think that’s a good start yeah” you nodded.

You were still sitting on the floor against the end of the bed, but you seemed much more relaxed and calm than when he came into the room. Gojo was happy you’d shared more of yourself with him, but he obviously wasn’t happy about what you’d told him. If Gojo were to ever get his hands on the guy who’d hurt you, he wasn’t sure what he might end up doing.

“I think you need some food and a lot of rest. I can take care of the first one and cook you something, but after that, you're going to bed” Gojo announced.

“I’m not even gonna argue with you about that, because you’re right”

“I’m always right” he smirked.

“Oh yeah, definitely” you rolled your eyes with a playful chuckle.

“Let’s go, I’ll cook for you” Gojo said as he stood up, and offered his hand to you to help you up.

You looked at his hand for a moment, before looking up at him. It made you feel guilty that you didn’t want to touch him right now. You loved him so much, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to take his hand right now.

“Sorry I-I can’t, not yet” you apologized and got up on your own.

Gojo realized what you meant and pulled his hand back. He couldn’t help but feel a bit bad, he didn’t want to seem like he was pressuring you, even if he desperately wanted to hold you.

“No worries, you don’t need to apologize for that” he shook his head.

“I love you, Satoru” you smiled with some residual sadness still in your eyes.

“I love you too, (Name)” he smiled softly. “Now then, what would you like to eat?”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk scenarios #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jjk comfort #jujutsu kaisen comfort #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #tw rape #cocsa tw #blood tw

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theflyindutchwoman · 2 months

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Hello. In the post 'SEASON 06 | What we know so far - Chenford Edition' you mention LAPD Psychiatrist. Do you think, maybe this is a doctor for Tim? Can he seek help to get rid of his injuries and fears related to working undercover? Perhaps this is how the screenwriters see the solution to this problem. The problem itself will not go away, otherwise they will have to come up with a reason that will make Lucy give up what she has a talent for. Do you have any other ideas how this problem will be solved? which solution would you prefer?

From what I understand, this psychiatrist is going to be introduced in relation to the events of the s5 finale/s6 premiere. So if I had to venture a guess, I'd say she's there either to assist the team in finding out who's behind those attacks, or to assess the team in the aftermath of said attacks. But since she will apparently have a recurring role, she could be used for other storylines. And let's be honest, all the characters could use some major therapy after everything they went through along the years.

So, yes, it could absolutely be there to further Tim's arc regarding his trauma with undercover work (or childhood, army…). I honestly doubt it, but it could be. Especially since the writers intend to dig into Tim's past this season - this could give some meaty materials for Eric and be an interesting way to deal with this arc. I'm just not sure that's the plan. (EDIT - from @roguetwelve : 'Eric mentioned in a cameo chat that he filmed his first scene with the psychiatrist in 6x07' - so right after his big storyline...).

I don't really know how the writers are going to 'solve' that… It's so complicated and there's no easy solution. The one thing I want to see is Lucy and Tim be honest with each other. Talk about their fears. There was a glimpse of that at the end of 5.21, so I hope they'll continue on this path. Right now, it's clear that Tim is terrified and doesn't want to admit it (and I believe he didn't even admit it to himself either, not until Isabel's return and Lucy's subsequent UC op) and that Lucy is hiding her feelings because she's worried about him and his reaction. And that's not sustainable. The thing is I'm not sure Tim will ever be fully okay with Lucy going undercover. He's always going to worry, that's part of who he is. But maybe he can find a way to live with it without triggering him. I could be wrong of course, but in my mind, Tim thought he was ready for it when he took that leap of faith with Lucy. He knew that was the career she wanted, he encouraged her for it… And that was incredibly brave of him to take this risk again, to open himself to being hurt that way again. All of this implies some healing. But a part of me believes that he was also in denial on how much it would affect him. He saw her go undercover several times before they started dating and I could see him rationalise that this would be no different once they were together. Only, Lucy's first UC mission since they became a couple happened on the heels of Isabel's return, bringing back a lot of buried memories and feelings he probably didn't expect to resurface. So this is something they need to work on. Together. As a unit. It won't be easy but it is worth the effort.

I don't know if I have a preference when it comes to a resolution. I'd just say that if Lucy were to give up UC, I want her to make that choice for herself. Either because the UC lifestyle is not something she can live with or because it doesn't fit with the life that she wants (at least for long-term undercover ops). I simply don't want someone else take that choice away from her.

#ask & ye shall receive #the rookie #chenford #tim bradford #lucy chen

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kotamagic · 1 year

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Lore Olympus this week unveils not only where Persephone has been all day, but how there's now a baby Dionysos.

Given how wonky Greek mythology is, between people and gods turning into different things and why things are the way they are in the world, Zeus giving birth from his leg?

Pfft, please. That's just a Tuesday on Olympus.

True as it may be that mortals are fragile and, yeah, mortal, I'm calling bullshit on part of this.

In the original myth, Hera knew about Semele being pregnant. The Queen of the gods disguised herself as an old woman and convinced her dumbass husband to appear before Semele in his true form. Since mortals aren't meant to see that, Semele pretty much EVAPORATED on the spot.

If we recall, Zeus isn't the most honest god on Olympus. FFS, more like the LEAST honest. Remember that bullshit he fed Demeter about Hera marrying him being Hades' idea? Forever reigns the lies and bullshit....

Speaking of Semele, she looks lovely here. Pity we didn't get to see much more of her.

Appreciate the pottery-style art here. Those stitches make his leg look like a football, though.

Which also leads me to another point -- besides the stitches, what other proof was there of pregnancy? Real world women get round and swollen during pregnancy. I didn't see Zeus walking around with a fat thigh. Did you?

For all of these legitimate, important questions, all of Zeus' answers come back to "I don't want Hera to find out."

Asclepius should already have been aware since, you know, HE SEWED THE KID TO ZEUS' THIGH. Besides a threat from Zeus, what else was there to stop him leaking the secret to anyone?

Apollo was just a bad idea all around. He already tried to marry and SA'd Persephone to get at her fertility goddesses powers. Zeus is onto him, so getting him involved is a big, fat NO.

Eileithyia might have ratted Zeus out anyway. Unless I'm mistaken, she HAS to be present for a birth to occur. Her being the goddess of childbirth means she WAS present in some way for this. Before Artemis & Apollo were born, she was actively delayed and prevented from going to Leto.

Or was that another childbirth goddess that I forgot the name of?

Persephone seeing the similarity between Dionysos and baby Hades likely triggered her. She literally jumped from the dream dive to this, so what she saw is still very fresh in her mind.

Also, baby Hades in the last pic, despite looking anxious, is CUTE!

Zeus.... that face.... I fucking CAN'T!

(He deserves all the pain he's about to go through.)

Typical Zeus, dumping off his demigod progeny with someone else to be THEIR problem instead of his.

Refresh my memory--- is that the same place/nymphs that raised Zeus after his mom fed Chronos a rock? If so, I guess I can see why that'd be his plan, but that's still a shitty thing to do!

...aaaannndddd Persephone goes into "Fuck you, he's my kid now!" mode.

Going back to what I wrote about the previous episode, if Persephone & Hades do adopt him, it might be Rachel's way of making the Dionysos/Zageus link stronger. Also, consider that Dionysos was "born" in the Underworld, and the goddess of childbirth was not present. That could be part of the stillborn origin of Dionysos/Zagreus.

Anyways, thanks for coming to my LO post!

#lore olympus #lo zeus #lo persephone #lo Dionysos #lo Semele

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rubynationwins · 2 years

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So You Want To Tango? Part 2 (18+)

Stepbrother! Ransom Drysdale x Virgin!PlusSize! Reader (Soft!Dark!Ransom)

Series summary: All you were trying to do was lose your v-card, was that too much to ask? Apparently so, according to your stepbrother.

Main Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Chapter Warnings: Soft!Dark!Ransom, reader is a junior in college, plus-size!reader, virgin!reader smut, non/dud-con, fingering (f receiving), swearing, ransom being an ass, choking, manhandling, degradation, slut shaming, manipulation, angst, mentions of self-deprecation/body issues, stepcest. 18+ Minors DNI. DNR if you do not like or are triggered by such topics. Read at your own risk.

Word Count: 4,973

A/N: This part is a lot longer than the first, I guess that might explain why it’s taken me so long to fucking finish! But I did, woo-hoo! I also wanted to note that I've never written step-sibling stuff b4 this series so this is new territory for me. It's used more as a plot device and not as a 'kink' if that makes sense. I just wanted the kind of dynamic it creates & it works for me so whatever. (Fuck it, right?) Like, comment, reblog, I always appreciate feedback so plz let me know what u think!

This story should not be posted anywhere else without my express permission.

(If anyone is confused about the timeline, reader arrived from college at the Drysdale residence on Friday, part 1 takes place on Sunday, and this part is about a week after part 1. Hope that helps!)

Thanks for reading!

-Ruby

It had been a week since the incident with Ransom and you had done your best to act like everything was okay, like your ex-stepbrother hadn’t shoved his tongue down your throat and threatened to take away your virginity. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy as you had hoped to forget his twisted words.

“I’ll be happy to teach you how to dance like the slut you were always meant to be.”

An involuntary shudder ran down your spine at the memory of the intense heat of his body pressed against yours as he spoke those vile words into your ear. Whenever your… interaction with Ransom popped into your head, you felt a deep course of shame roll through you. Not only at how he utterly humiliated you, and not just at how he’d so easily set your nerves aflame but at how his accusations had hit you right to your core.

“When you get to be your age without having a dick shoved up your needy little hole, you open your legs up to whatever comes your way.”

You despised his misogynistic slut-shaming, but a niggling at the back of your mind said he was right. You had only agreed to Tod’s proposition because you just wanted to get it over with. You were tired of feeling excluded from your peers, tired of feeling like you weren’t mature just because you hadn’t “popped your cherry,” as some people put it. That pressure seemed to outweigh your moral sensibilities because you had given it up to the first guy to show you some interest.

You hadn’t really liked him – he was one of Ransom’s friends for fuck’s sake – but when Tod came on to you that day it felt like your only option. Taking him up on his offer for a quickie in one of the guest bedrooms hadn’t felt like all your hopes had finally been answered, it had felt like you were giving up. Giving up on a real relationship. Giving up on having sex with someone you actually cared about and who cared about you too.

You had already been regretting your decision when Ransom had burst into the room and sent everything to shit, but that wasn’t any excuse for the way he’d treated you like some hussy. He didn’t own you. He wasn’t in charge of your body, or your sex life, for that matter. You gulped when, again, you recalled what he’d said.

“I’ll show you who really owns this cunt: me.”

Fuck him and his domineering, supercilious attitude.

The more you thought about it, the more you were convinced his “promise” had just been another way to mess with you. The fact that you hardly saw him this past week seemed proof enough. He was a lazy trust fund kid who barely had a job, it’s not like he had much to do other than lay around the house whenever he wasn’t off with his friends partying and being a playboy douche. He was definitely staying away from the house, and if you had to guess you’d have a pretty clear choice as to why: you.

He was avoiding you. If given the chance, you would be doing the same, but it’s hard to avoid someone when they’re not around. His arrogant ass was probably worried you would try and take him up on his “offer” and that he’d have to back down.

Of course, you would never do such a thing, but it was clear that he viewed you as nothing more than a wanton skank who was going to throw herself at his knees, begging for him to rescue her from the woes of virginity. What a fucking joke. At least his absence saved you the constant anxiety of looking over your shoulder and jumping every time you heard a door shut, afraid he would corner you and try to make good on his word.

It was obvious now that he didn’t actually want to fuck you, it had been the heat of the moment that made his body react that way – that made yours react that way. Not to mention, he couldn’t possibly be legitimately attracted to you. It was just the forbidden thrill that riled him up.

You didn’t look like any of the women he’d ever brought home, he cycled through plenty and you recognized a certain type he preferred. A type that you had, and never would, be able to fit into – quite literally. That realization should have relieved you, but it somehow left a sour taste in your mouth. Whatever. The thing to focus on was that Ransom couldn’t give two fucks about you and the incident had just been a little blip.

With that confirmation in mind, you could walk around the house like normal and not act like some coward. Instead, you walked around confidently while internally wrestling with the feelings and images he had implanted in your head.

Sure, Ransom was conventionally attractive, handsome even, but beneath his well-defined stature was a rotted pile of bullshit. That’s what you kept repeating to yourself when the feel of his thick fingers digging into your ass flooded your mind. You replaced the sensation of his kiss that still lingered after how many days with the reminder of how many other mouths he’d shoved his tongue into before.

You were nothing to him, had always just been a footnote in his privileged path through life. The daughter of the woman who had replaced his mom and stole from the pot of gold he had amassed as an only child. You knew he looked at you and despised everything about he saw; your parentage, your background, your lack of original wealth. You weren’t worthy in his eyes. But that didn’t matter, because you regarded him all the same. ---------------------------------- It was Saturday night. The staff had the weekend off and Richard had left for some kind of overseas trip before you had even arrived last Friday.

Once again, Ransom was nowhere to be seen – thank god – so you had the house to yourself. While it was fairly large and isolating, you didn’t mind being alone in the cavernous home. On Tuesday, your stuff had finally arrived from college, so you’d taken up the guest bedroom furthest from Ransom’s.

When you left for college two years ago, your old room had been stripped of any trace of you. It was back to a pristine grayscale guest bedroom with navy accents and overstuffed furniture. Obviously, during all those years you lived in the mansion, you’d just gotten in the way of the Drysdale aesthetic of meaningless overpriced decor and detail.

Presently, you were in the kitchen, microwaving some popcorn for the movie you’d chosen to watch that evening. The popping of the kernels was loud and quick, and soon the smell of melted butter flowed through the room. A beep sounded to alert you that your food was hot and ready, so you opened the microwave door and plucked the now-inflated bag off the turntable. You held it at the corner, careful not to burn yourself, and turned around to grab the large, metal bowl sitting on the island counter.

You jumped when you saw the figure standing in the doorway.

“Whatchya makin, sunshine?”

Startled, you dropped the bowl and it tumbled to the ground, the clattering setting off even more alarms in your head. The popcorn bag had also fallen from your grip, and yellow-tinged kernels were strewn across the floor.

Ransom stood at the entrance of the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes crinkled in amusement as he examined the scene, taking in the spilled popcorn and silver bowl still comically rolling on the ground, making a loud whooshing noise. Looking up, his wolfish eyes landed on you. He pushed off the doorjamb and stalked forward, monitoring your shocked expression from the other side of the counter. He stilled the spinning bowl with his foot, the room now filled with tense silence.

“Well, aren’t you the fucking chef, sunshine?” He made a show of once again looking at the scattered popcorn, “I don’t remember you being such a klutz.”

Your heart was still beating fast from the surprise of seeing him, but you scrunched up your face and hissed, “I’m not a klutz. You’re the creep sneaking up on unsuspecting girls and ruining their dinner. How can you be so massive and yet so silent?”

He grinned, “I’ll take that as a compliment, sunshine. Maybe I’ll take to cat burglary one of these days. But it was pretty easy to ‘sneak up’-” his fingers made air quotes around the label- “on you when you’re making such a racket in my kitchen.”

Your jaw clenched at his choice of words. He was always laying claim to things like that, making sure you knew you were just a guest; unwanted, at that. He always made it clear that this place was his and not yours. Which didn’t really bother you. You didn’t want his life.

You ignored his attempt at a dig and walked to the long cabinet in the corner of the kitchen that held cleaning supplies and grabbed a broom and dustpan.

Ransom gave you a quizzical look as you swept up the fallen food, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? Cleaning.”

“Just let the help do that.” He actually sounded a bit baffled.

“They’re gone, it’s Saturday,” you stated bluntly as you swept the debris into a small pile.

“So? Leave it until Monday for them to take care of. That’s what they’re fucking paid to do.” His privileged tone dripped with sharp disdain.

You rolled your eyes. He was such a spoiled brat. “That’s how you get ants,” you said, secretly hoping your flippant tone would irk him. Inwardly, you were grateful for the task, though. You could focus on sweeping and not on Ransom’s intimidating form, or the memories it dredged up. “And I’m plenty capable of cleaning up my own messes. Although this was caused by you.”

Once you were certain all the popcorn was in a pile, you bent down, placing the dustpan on the ground and lightly sweeping the ruined food into it.

Ransom had been silent for a while, watching as you worked with a disapproving gaze, but when you bent forward, unknowingly sticking your ass out right at him, he changed his tune, “On second thought, you look pretty good as a maid.”

You scoffed and glanced back at him, eyes narrowed. He hid the glee that spread through him at your annoyance and pointed to a single kernel that sat right in front of his shiny brown shoes.

You stood back up and emptied the debris into the trash can hidden under the counter. “You have opposable thumbs and working limbs, why don’t you get it yourself?”

“You’re the one who said you were perfectly capable of cleaning up your own mess,” he countered.

Heaving a sigh, you trudged up to him. You stared him dead in the eyes before crouching down and snatching up the tiny piece of popcorn.

Your plan was to spring back up and flick it right into his stupidly good-looking face, but that was thwarted when a weighted hand pressed on your shoulder.

You looked up and Ransom’s blue eyes gleamed. “Why don’t you stay down there, sunshine? You look so perfect kneeling before me.”

A rush of heat flooded through you, but you batted his hand away, moving back slightly before standing up, successfully, this time.

“Ha. Ha. Ransom,” you tossed the last piece of popcorn into the trash as you walked over to the sink, “I know that you get some kind of sick amusement making misogynistic comments like that, but I’m not about to let your pompous ass intimidate me. Not again.” You turned your back to him and started washing your hands. The water was scalding, but you welcomed the distraction.

This time you would stand up for yourself. This time he wouldn’t catch you off guard. “So go back to whatever man-child frat party you came from and have fun with people who act just like you – drunk assholes with the mental capacity of 15-year-old boys who think being a dick is a personality tr-”

Two large, thickly veined, hands slammed down on on either side of you. They gripped the edge of the sink tightly, caging you in. You squeaked when you felt a domineering form hovering behind you. One of the powerful hands reached forward and turned off the roaring water of the faucet.

Hot breath prickled against your ear. “Looks like the little virgin’s finally got some balls,” Ransom’s low voice sounded sinister, even with his usual sarcastic bite, “I forgot how infuriating you usually are. Even though you play-act this strong, empowered, bitchy character, I know what you really are beneath all that big talk, and I miss that begging, distraught, wannabe whore.”

You flinched, feeling inside every bit as helpless as he accused you of being. You fought not to let it show, though, “Ransom, remove yourself from my personal space.” Instead of the strong, unbothered tone you were going for, your voice sounded hushed and weak.

His deep chuckle sent shivers down your spine. “Sunshine, what did I just say? Remember how the last time we saw each other, you were whoring it out in my home?” He shoved his hand between your thighs, cupping your mound. “All because this virgin cunt couldn’t last a single second more without being filled full of cock.” The heel of his palm dug into your pulsing core and your body curled forward, shocked by the sudden pressure. “I already told you that I’d give you the honor of losing that innocence to me, so I don’t see why we have to beat around the bush, so to speak.”

You clutched his hand and pried it away from your heat, not sure where you found the strength to do so. You pressed yourself against the sink, trying to leave as little room for another move like that as possible.

Instead of attempting to dive back in, Ransom rested his hand on your plush waist, squeezing tightly, “Still playing hard to get, huh? I know you want my dick inside you, sunshine.”

You shut out the millions of charged electrons shooting through you and blurted out, “Even if I wanted to have sex with you – which I absolutely do not – I don’t need some pity fuck from a two-pump chump like you. You could be the last person on Earth and I’d still rather die a virgin than let your limp little dick anywhere near me.”

Ransom stilled behind you, fully removing himself from your body. For a second you thought that was it, that he’d leave.

How foolish of you.

Strong hands gripped your hips and spun you around. Ransom dug a hand into your hair and pulled the locks tight. You felt the bite as they tugged at your scalp. Just like last time, his eyes suddenly lacked the mischievous glint that always seemed to shine in them. Instead, they were cold, sky-blue orbs. You could see a seething fire beneath his stoic face, only given away by the twitch in his left eye and the clench of his chiseled jaw.

He didn’t do anything though - not yet - he just held you there to cower before him, letting you become more and more fearful of what was spinning around in that twisted mind of his. You looked away but he shook the fist tangled in your hair, your eyes rattled in your skull as you brought them back to focus on him.

He breathed in deeply, “Pity fuck, huh?” He used his grip on you to tilt your head back and forth, examining your frightened features, “That’s what you think I’m doing, sunshine?” You gulped. He shook you again, “Answer me!”

“W-why else would s-someone like you be interested in m-me?” You squeaked out, hating the self-deprecating words, but not knowing how else to combat his advance.

His eyebrows turned up in something you assumed was supposed to convey sympathy. “Oh sunshine, that’s real cute. You know, I thought this shy, self-conscious shit was just an act to turn me off, but you actually don’t see what you do to me?”

He brought his other hand up and stroked your chin, grazing your jaw as he traced some invisible line down your neck. “Besides, when have I ever been known to show pity?” He spat the word out like a curse as his fingernails scraped your sensitive flesh.

His look of pure fascination as he watched his hand’s descent baffled you. You pushed your thighs closer together, unsure as to why his expression sent heat rushing between them. His ghosting fingers came to a stop right over your heart and he splayed his fingers out, palm flat against your sternum. He stared at his hand as it moved up and down with the rhythm of your breaths.

“Sunshine, I don’t know when and I don’t know how, but I can’t keep my eyes off of you. And even when you’re not around, you still won’t leave my fucking head. It infuriates me. That this girl that stumbled into my life, this nothing, suddenly flipped a switch in my brain. I mean, I’ve fucked plenty of chicks in my day, even went out with a lucky few, but none of them have done what you do to me.”

His other hand moved to grip your waist, kneading the soft slope. “I’ll be the first one to agree that you’re not the stereotypical type of woman I keep around, but maybe that’s just another reason every time you enter a room I lose sight of all reason.” His fingers bit into your soft flesh as his grip tightened. “I lose my fucking mind, sunshine, and it’s all your fault.”

You didn’t know what to say. All you could do was stare at him helplessly as his hand on your chest curled up to wrap around your throat. His eyes blazed with desire as he squeezed, leaning forward so that his lips brushed yours.

The way he was acting scared you more than him cursing and berating you. That you understood, that you could fight. But this? This spelled more than a one-time thing, more than misplaced desire or hate fucking. There was a possessiveness in Ransom’s eyes that terrified you.

Even more than that, though, his actions had your mind and body in overdrive. No one had ever wanted you like this before, and the fact that it was someone with an icy heart like Ransom, made you feel almost special in some fucked up sort of way.

Everything was wrong. You needed to get out of there. You shook your head and brought a hand up to pull at his wrist. “N-no Ransom, you don’t actually like me. You just like the idea of fucking someone who’s off limits and I’m off limits for a very legitimate reason-”

His hand moved from your throat to your mouth, muffling your protests. “Sunshine, you always make it perfectly clear that we’re ex step-siblings. Besides, it’s not like we were raised up together, it’s really not that big of a deal. But you’re not wrong completely, it does make this all the more enticing - and I bet you feel the same way, too.”

His hand returned to your core, this time diving past your waistband and into your panties. You shrieked, again grasping at it in an attempt to remove the appendage. It was buried in there though, so your attempts were futile and when he ran a finger along your slit you convulsed. Your body wasn’t used to this kind of sensation. It wasn’t used to any attention like this.

His sadistic laugh echoed off the sterile kitchen walls, ringing in your burning ears. When the fingers that had been rubbing through your folds, playing with the embarrassing amount of slick, moved to your clit, you lost touch with reality. The sodden digits working over your coursing bundle of nerves in rough circles was sending shocks through your system.

You cried out at the sparks and Ransom grinned. “That’s right Sunshine,” His fingers plunged into your drenched pussy as his palm ground into your clit. “Only I can make you feel this way.” You quivered against his touch, already feeling the pull of your orgasm. “You think any 20-something college shithead is gonna touch you like I do or make you cum like I’m about to?”

You pressed your eyes closed, trying to drown out his words and focus on the magic happening between your thighs. You tried to imagine it was anyone but Ransom touching you. He grasped the side of your face, turning you to look at him.

He jostled your eyes open again and you gasped at the intensity in his darkened eyes, the pupils overshadowed any of the icy blue they usually held. “Answer me.” His grip was bruising and pulled your focus from his relentless toying underneath.

You gulped, not wanting to say the words, but the need for release beat out your pride in the end, “N-no, Ransom, only you.” The words felt heavy on your tongue but your mind was clouded with electric sparks as he curled his fingers up into your g-spot.

A garbled cry fell from your lips at the new pressure and Ransom swallowed it with his mouth as he lunged forward, arresting your moans with his own as you locked lips. His teeth bit into your lower lip until they broke skin, the slight tang of blood mixed with spit as he dragged it into your mouth, caressing your tongue with his own as he growled at the taste and feel of you.

His fingers followed the motions of his tongue as they both explored all that you had to offer. His hand dropped from your face and moved down, roaming over the expanses of your skin. He pressed it against the soft curve of your belly, and you made a disapproving sound, your hand coming up to pull his away from the parts of you that you didn’t want anyone to know about, nonetheless touch. He growled a warning and batted your hand away.

“Mine,” he grumbled into the harsh kiss and continued to run his large, warm hand over you, over all of you. He took his time to squeeze and caress every part of you that you always hid away as if to force you to acknowledge that the feeling of his heated palm and deft fingers actually felt incredible. It made you feel desired in a way you hadn’t before, a way that made your knees weak.

His long fingers were pumping in and out of your aching pussy, the squelching sound that filled the room made you both ashamed and turned on. Your breath hitched when he focused back on your clit again, his fore and middle fingers dancing around it as you started to shake in his strong embrace. You felt lightheaded as Ransom dragged you to the edge, your feet scrambling for purchase because you didn’t know what was going to happen when you inevitably came. You had never experienced such a crushing, overbearing tension in your abdomen before, the pressure made your body tense like you were a live wire about to spring.

Ransom buried his fingers in your pussy again as his other hand ceased its exploration of your generous curves and came to join it at the apex of your thighs. He settled his fingers on your bundle of nerves and once more began his blissful torment. He worked his hands independently as one pistoned into you over and over at an agonizing speed and perfect angle and the other attacked your clit. His endless teasing was pure torture as he rubbed the pulsing nub, not letting you build on a simple incline but bringing you up and down over and over as he kept switching between determined, heavy pressure and feather-light touch.

His mouth was still devouring yours. It was like he was taking control of your entire being, working your body in a way that only he knew how, removing your autonomy from the equation. He was showing you that he was the only person who could bring this kind of soaring pleasure to you, not even your own hands could do what he was doing. It was as if he was inside your brain and knew just how to light up every one of your nerve endings.

He wrenched his lips away and you let out a lewd cry as he ran his teeth down your exposed neck, nipping and slurping as he went. Your hopes that he wouldn’t leave a visible mark vanished when his teeth bit into your pulse point and he sucked. You had always found hickeys to be vulgar and unnecessary, but the sound and heat made your knees weak.

Your voice was a mix of unintelligible sounds and a tumble of expletives and even Ransom’s name. Every time his name spilled from your lips, he pressed into you even further, which seemed impossible at that point.

He finally stuck with grinding his fingers against your clit fully as he added another thick digit to the two that were already thrusting in and out of your quaking pussy. He’d been keeping you at the crest of your peak for who knows how long. All you knew is you would say anything - do anything - for him to make you cum right now, and that sentiment played across your lips in a garble of wanton pleas.

He must have been able to decipher the mumble of your slurred words because he stilled. You whined, your hips bucking up, but he stilled you with a flat palm to your abdomen. A low laugh brushed across your collarbone as he licked his way back up to your ear. His hot breath sent tingles along your spine as he whispered, “You better remember that promise, Sunshine. Begging for an orgasm like the little cockwhore I always knew you were. My little cockwhore,”

You couldn’t combat his claims, heat flamed across your face at his cutting words. They felt true at that very moment, even though the part of you that detested him screamed at you to deny him. “But, who am I to resist when you beg so nice and pretty for me? Go ahead, I’ll give a fucking slut just what she wants, Sunshine. Give my pussy what she needs.”

With that, his fingers thrusted back into your hole, curling up as his other hand’s fingers practically vibrated against your aching clit.

You screamed as your orgasm overtook you, it blasted through your body in a strike of lightning that shook your bones and boiled your blood. There was nothing else there as the world collapsed around you, you couldn’t even hear the satisfied laughter of Ransom as you drifted through a fucked-out abyss.

Your legs fell out from under you and Ransom pulled you closer, grinding his hard-on into you, groaning into your ear. In the back of your mind, you knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help the muffled, “Thank you, Ransom” that flew from your mouth as his fingers worked you through your peak.

It felt like hours before you finally came down from your high, Ransom’s hand still buried between your thick thighs. He couldn’t remove it if he wanted to, not with how tightly you clenched around it. His free hand came up and brushed away the hair sticking to your sweaty brow, gazing at your still panting form.

He gripped the back of your neck and yanked you into another searing kiss before he bent down to your neck again and bit into the mark he’d already made, sucking even harder to make sure the bruise would last. “Mine,” his low voice grumbled, as he lapped at the mark.

He licked his way up to your ear before he spoke in a clear voice, breaking you from your reverie, “Gotta run, sunshine-” he managed to finally pull his hand from between your still trembling thighs. He wiped his drenched fingers on your shirt, staining it with your essence- “don’t get me wrong, I’d love to stay and continue the fun, but I’ve got a date with a hot piece of ass from my gym named Vanessa.” He spoke the name like it dripped molten gold.

For some reason, your heart sank to your stomach at his words.

He fully removed himself from you, straightening out his tight fitting, thin, sweater and rolling down his sleeves. His eyes raked over the messy, cockdumb state he’d put you in, a self-satisfied smirk played at his lips.

He checked his watch before he continued his cutting speech, “I’m already running late, not that she’ll mind though, it is me, after all.” He palmed his cock, shifting it in his straining pants. “Might have to skip dinner and head right to dessert, if you know what I mean,” he winked at you as he sauntered out of the kitchen.

Before he turned the corner, he paused, glancing back at you with fire in his eyes. “I’ll see you around, sunshine. You’re gonna have to return the favor, after all.”

With that, he exited your vision, the sound of his measured steps echoed off the hallway walls and rang in your head as you sunk down to the floor. Tears ran down your cheeks, unbidden by you, and you let out a shaky cry as you were once again left to wallow in guilt and shame and insatiable desire by Ransom fucking Drysdale.

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scribeofmorpheus · 6 months

Text

As Fate Would Have It (Part 22)

Paring: WinterSoldier!Bucky x Spy!Reader

Catch Up here | Masterlist | AO3

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Warnings: PTSD.

Note: And the fic has been REVIVED! We've moved onto post-Civil-War era! Yay! Let me know if you want to be taken off the taglist!

~WAKANDA, 2018

“Take it slow,” Bucky read Shuri’s lips from the other side of the glass wall. She was speaking to Y/N, the data pad in her hand screening several diagnostics.

Steve stood beside him, an unreadable expression weighing on his face, hands placed on his hips. Could be disappointment, but Bucky couldn’t face that right now, not while staring at the scars and track marks lining Y/N’s back like a fucked-up star chart.

It was his fault. And it made breathing impossible; to see her so broken.

“Do you know where you are?” he read Shuri ask Y/N.

Y/N stuttered for a moment, her gaze trailing from her hands to her reflection in the glass. Her expression was that of confusion, as though it were a stranger looking back at her. She was practically a stranger to Bucky’s eyes too.

“What about your name?” he read Shuri say, a knot forming at her temples. “Can you tell me that?”

Y/N shook her head, her frame shaking.

At that moment, Shuri looked towards the observation window, meeting Bucky’s eyes with concern. Bucky’s heart nearly stopped at the implication. Something was wrong.

Steve sighed, running his hand through his hair. Not as blonde as it used to be, and uncharacteristically shaggy ever since he’d been on the run.

It was still a shock sometimes, seeing his best friend as this bastion of justice—a larger-than-life symbol of endurance. And yet, here he was, stripped of his stars and stripes, looking every bit as human as any man in a hospital waiting room.

“I still can’t believe it,” Steve said, pacing the room. “Elle… or Y/N… she’s—she’s alive.”

Bucky instinctively reached for his stump, remembering all the times he’d lunged at her with his metal arm with the intent to kill… the time he’d slipped his blade between her ribs.

Fuck! he balled his fist. What kind of monster tries to kill someone who loved him?

Now he was struck by memories of Steve on the airship. His friend's face bloodied, and so terribly close to mortality. To the end of the line.

“Buck?” Steve’s hand was on his shoulder, worry present in the tension of his jaw.

“What?” Bucky blinked several times, shaking his head clear of the past.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked. “Ever since we found her… you—well… I guess there’s no right way to take all this in, is there?”

“I did this, Steve,” Bucky’s voice cracked. “I did this to her.”

“Buck, you weren’t yourself. You can’t—”

“No! Not this time,” Bucky shrugged off Steve’s hand. “You can’t make excuses for me this time.”

“I’m not making excuses,” Steve’s jaw clamped up, then released in a controlled manner, as if gathering himself. “What Hydra did to you, what you’re going through… it’s not black and white. It’s not easy. And Elle… Y/N, whatever her story is, there’s no good to be found in blaming anyone here.”

“I know…” Bucky nodded, believing none of what his oldest friend was saying. “I know. Doesn’t make this any easier. Seeing her like this.”

“Do you know who did this to her?” Steve hesitated. “Was it Hydra too?”

“N-no… I-I don’t think so,” Bucky stammered. “I never saw her when they’d take me out of the tank. Hydra could have done this but… No. No, I don’t think it was us.”

Steve's brow arched, “Us?”

Bucky froze. “Them,” he corrected. “I never saw them experimenting on her.”

“But you have an idea who did?” Steve saw something in Bucky’s eyes, recognition perhaps.

He remembered seeing blood in the snow through the Winter Soldier’s eyes. Remembered catching a glimpse of white hair over the tundra through his scope. He never pulled the trigger though. He wished he could say it was because some part of him knew it was her, even through the brainwashing. In truth, she wasn’t a kill worth his time. She wasn’t his target that day. Instead, he’d cleared an entire encampment of mercenaries hired by Yelena Belova, the Winter Soldier’s actual target. The little rabbit. Down the rabbit hole.

“47. One of my first missions after the… conditioning. My orders were to destabilise the black widow operation in Russia. Yelena Belova. Handler of the Western Front Operatives. One of my main targets. During the…” Bucky took a deep breath, fighting the pain knocking around in his reprogrammed brain. He cleared his throat, unwilling to relive the flames and tortured cries. “In the confusion, Yelena got away. I tracked her movements throughout Russia, and she nearly got away, until I came upon an ambush.”

Steve stopped pacing and sat down on one of the chairs, “An ambush? For you?”

“No. There was a convoy transporting prisoners from some facility in the north. It had been hit by mercenaries. They made camp a few clicks west. Then I…” a dry lump fixed itself in his throat, and he almost failed to finish his sentence; Then I found Yelena Belova and ended her life with my boot on her neck.

Steve’s eyes roamed Bucky’s form, taking in his shrunken stature, “Y/N was on that convoy, wasn’t she?”

“I think so… I think I saw her then. Through the scope. White hair in the snow.”

A mechanical hiss sounded out behind them, a pair of footsteps making their way closer, but they both ignored it—or rather, they were both too shell-shocked to respond immediately. Bucky from the memories, Steve from hearing his best friend tell him he killed an entire mercenary group that rescued POWs.

“You guys doing alright in here?” Shuri asked, her accent sounding more and more familiar to Bucky’s ears. Hell, Wakanda’s accent sounded less alien than Brooklyn’s would right now. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Never mind that, I got the diagnostics from the tests.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was too distracted by the scars on Y/N’s back.

“And?” Steve asked, standing from his chair.

“She’s fine, relatively speaking,” Shuri said, placing one of her Kimoyo Beads on an incave near a panel by the windows. The glass instantly turned opaque, blotting out the light with a matted effect, and then a hologram of Y/N’s body scans brightened the room blue. “Her electrolyte count is low, which is to be expected considering the cryostasis chamber she was in was ancient, possibly a fault with the defrost sequence. Left a lot of water to absorb into her system. A few vitamin deficiencies too, but we can treat those with supplements and diet.”

Shuri waved her hand over her Kimoyo Bead, bringing up an x-ray that showed multiple bone resets and mended fissures. One of them stood out to Bucky. Left ribcage, between the last two bones, a chip made from his military-grade issue knife.

“Looks like I’m staring at a veteran's x-ray,” Steve noted, his eyes filled with compassion. “Never would have thought… she was so… I don’t know. It’s hard to believe the woman who served us cobbler and coffee had broken so many bones.”

“She’s seen a lot of action,” Shuri nodded, “but these old breaks aren’t what’s troubling me. It's the oedema,” she waved her hand again, this time showing a brain x-ray with one part swirling and grey in a way the rest of the scan wasn’t.

“There’s swelling in her brain,” Bucky heard himself say the words like a man under some spell, never having intended to speak at all.

“It sounds worse than it is,” Shuri held her hands up to stop the both of them from freaking out, “But…”

“But?” Bucky pressed, not at all prepared for what he might hear.

“It’s causing memory loss,” she said carefully.

There it was. The other shoe finally dropped. And so did Bucky, nearly. He pivoted his weight onto his good hand to lean against the window overlooking the city, sagging onto the cool glass. His eyes focused on Y/N’s blurred figure behind the observation room’s glass, seated still on the medical bed, fidgeting with her hands.

Maybe this was a good thing, he thought. Maybe she can be spared the pain of remembering.

The image of him standing in front of the cryo-chamber, unfettered as it sealed Y/N inside with an air-sucking sound, was so jarring to relive. Then it all came flooding back: seeing cold mist fall over Y/N’s unconscious face; the name Elle leaving his unfamiliar lips; the bruising on his back taking the shape of a butterfly from caved in; the tingling in his spine as he remembered what the rubber cushioning of the mouth guard felt like as they strapped him back in his chair and made him forget.

“Is it… permanent?” Bucky asked.

“It’s too soon to tell,” Shuri worked a tense muscle in her neck, sighing. “She doesn’t remember her name, or what year it is… her memory could return once the swelling reduces, or it might take a little longer after the treatments, or…”

“Or it might not return at all,” Steve finished.

“For now, all we can do is wait,” Shuri plucked her Kimoyo Bead off the cupped indent and reattached it to the rest on her wrist. The window looking into the observation room became transparent again, startling Y/N from her thoughts.

Bucky met her eyes then, so familiar and so distant all at once. Those very same eyes had been filled with sadness the last time he saw her. A type of quiet acceptance of defeat. Now they were hollow—not in an emotionless way, just not holding any emotion towards him. And that hurt worse than any stray bullet he’d ever caught as the Winter Soldier.

“There is one more thing I have to look into,” Shuri said. “Her blood work shows a strange synthesised compound localised around both kidneys, its chemical markup shows similarities to yours, Bucky. I think she may have traces of supersoldier serum in her system, but it's not an exact match for either sample in our records. More derivative, from the compound structure. I'd need to run some more bloodwork to be sure, and maybe monitor her body's homeostatic imbalance when stressed, but for now, I think she's calm enough to receive visitors.”

Steve’s hand was on Bucky’s bad shoulder, ushering him to stand stronger, take a step forward. “You should go speak with her,” Steve said softly. “It might help.”

Bucky’s boots scuffed the floor, his footing unsure as he almost followed Steve’s advice. Then this clawing feeling of guilt ripped at him from the inside, tore him apart like delicate paper, and Bucky found it difficult to breathe.

“No… I… I can’t,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off a worse headache between the eyes. “I need a minute,” he shambled towards the door, forgetting words on his tongue, names of things, colours.

“Buck, wait!” Steve almost went after him.

Shuri stepped in his path, hand out as if she possessed telekinesis strong enough to hold Steve in place, “He needs time, too. We can’t push him, not when his mind’s still… confused.”

Bucky reflexively recoiled, feeling cornered, uncertain of everything. Suddenly, the room was too crowded, lights too bright. He had to get out.

Bucky looked to Y/N again, remembering her bittersweet promise as Elle, I can promise that my heart will always belong to you, Bucky, remembering her frightening conviction as she pressed the detonator in the cryo-storage basement, If I can’t save you, we’ll just have to burn together, and saw neither of those women in her.

He’d destroyed her. But he’d be damned if he’d be responsible for hurting her again. Without her memories, she was safe… from him.

“I have to go,” he said before storming out of the medical building.

TAGLISTS:

@fangirl-colo @dormousse @smallmarvel @ren-ni @sargentbucket @nikolett3 @wnygirl2012 @jentismyname @evilgeniuslabz-blog @myrabbitholetoneverland @sleepingspacedragon @500daysofbecky @reidreader @fairytaleprincess8314 @21st-century-daydreamer @httpfandxms

Permanent Tag List: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees @bookish-shristi @electroma89

#ASWHI #scribescribbles #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader

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phoenixs-fandoms-and-writings · 8 months

Text

Lucky Encounter

Fandom: Beauty and the Beast (2012 TV show)

Pairing: Vincent Keller and GN!Reader (though it can be seen as Vincent/Reader)

Summary: You had left work and on the way home, spotted your ex who saw you and tried chasing you.

Warnings: implied/referenced abuse, previous bad relationship

Notes: I don’t own Beauty and the Beast or Vincent Keller

I do not give permission to anyone to repost or translate any of my stories. I also do not give anyone permission to feed my stories through AI or to be posted to any third party website or app. If anyone sees any of my work posted anywhere but here or my AO3 (simplyreflected), then it has been posted without permission.

Read it on AO3 here

It had been a day; just like any other, when you saw your ex on your way home from work. They acted like nothing had ever happened and waved at you, smiling, calling you over. You decided to ignore them and just walk on, but it triggered some bad memories and you started crying.

You started to run, because you could hear them still calling out to you, starting to get angrier. Thankfully, you ran into your friend Vincent. He wrapped his arms around you before you could fall. Without realising it was him, you whispered in his ear, “please help me. There’s someone chasing me.”

“Who?” He asked in quiet anger.

“Vincent?” you asked as you pulled back slightly to look at him. You smiled softly upon seeing his face. You were about to look behind you to point them out when you remembered that he knew about your ex, so instead of turning around, you told him.

He looked over your shoulder, glaring at someone, you guessed it was your ex. He turned back to you, “how about we get you home and you can tell me what happened?”

The walk was nice, he kept his arm around you the whole time, it felt both supporting and comforting. Once you got back to your place, he guided you to your room, “once you’re ready, let me know what you want. I’ll bring you a glass of water.”

You changed out of your work clothes, and into something more comfortable, before walking out and over to Vincent. You sat with him as he held you close to his side, as you told him how you saw your ex and that seeing them triggered you.

He stayed with you for the rest of the evening. You had been having trouble all evening asking Vincent what you wanted, which was for him to stay so you weren’t alone.

He said goodnight but before he could leave, you grabbed his hand. He turned to you and the only thing you got out was a quiet, “please.”

He looked down at you, “you want me to stay?”

“Please, Vincent,” you whispered.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer. “I won’t leave you.” He pulled you back. “How about we move to the bedroom? You’ll have better luck sleeping and you won’t be as sore in the morning.” He started to guide you to the room.

He took his shirt off before getting into the bed with you, holding out his arms for you so you could be held by him, knowing it made you feel safe.

You went straight into his arms, and he wrapped them around you securely, kissing your forehead. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

#beauty and the beast #beauty and the beast 2012 #vincent keller #Vincent Keller fanfic #vincent keller x reader #vincent keller x you #hurt/comfort

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avaantares · 1 year

Text

(yet another) rant: Please stop with the frivolous Trigger Warnings

(Note: If you want to skip the recipe blog intro and get to the actual important stuff, scroll down to the header that says, "Which Warning to Use on Your Post")

Sooo I made a text post that had a few words in capital letters mixed in for effect (the rest of the text was in standard formatting). Someone reblogged it with the tags "tw: all caps" and "tw: capital letters."

The existence of these tags, specifically in the form of a trigger warning, struck me as weird. I mean, I can see why someone might be uncomfortable with an all-caps text block, if they've dealt with abusive/angry capslocked emails or something, and I can see how large blocks of capitalized text could be difficult to read, and some users might prefer to avoid them. But...

Limited capitalization as emphasis (e.g. dropping OH WAIT in the middle of otherwise lower-case text to indicate a shift in tone) does not present the same issues as a solid block of capslocked text;

I have not encountered this tag in the plethora of posts that employ the meme/joke format of subverting standard case usage or alternating case (yes, the SpongeBob meme is a thing with an actual academic definition, and it also predates the existence of SpongeBob by some decades); and

Most importantly, while formatting definitely affects user experience and can be worth tagging for that reason, I wouldn't have escalated it to the level of a trigger, which is a term with a pretty specific definition:

The concept of ‘triggering’ describes the re-experiencing of unpleasant PTSD symptoms such as intrusive thoughts being evoked by exposure to materials which spark traumatic memories. Hence, content warnings have a long presence in psychiatric literature. [source: Typology of content warnings and trigger warnings: Systematic review]

(Full disclosure for anyone who hasn't already learned from reading my rants: I have a background in behavior science, so I'm all about scientific definitions and correct application of same.)

But I thought that maybe I was misinterpreting what was being tagged, and I like learning what I should tag in future posts, so I thought I'd look deeper into those tags and see if I was missing something.

Welp. It sure was educational.

Turns out there are established "trigger warnings" on Tumblr for all of the following (not a comprehensive list; these are just the ones I also saw when scrolling through the caps tags, since many of those posts had more than one thing tagged):

any text with two or more capital letters in sequence

any text in italics

any text underlined

any text in boldface

any text in a font other than the default

any text in a color other than the default (as well as tags for each individual color)

images in black and white

images in color (how dare color exist)

images with... subjectively brighter? colors

images without ALT text

posts containing emoji

and my favorite entry, which for obvious reasons I can't describe by the content it's supposedly protecting us from:

"tw just in case"

O_o

So... where to even begin.

I guess I'll get the promised rant out of the way (for those of you who prefer to stay positive, skip ahead two paragraphs): It's no wonder that much of society mocks the very concept of trigger warnings, when they're used this... I have to come right out and say frivolously. Heck, even I'm having trouble taking the greater Tumblr community seriously right in this moment, and I've been part of it for *mumble* years and practically live here. Who in the academic/corporate/entertainment/quote-unquote real world is going to honor a request for content warnings when they see that the """kids these days""" consider italicized text a psychological trigger they need to be protected from? And you can just imagine some dudebro saying, "Wow, these special snowflakes are so fragile they're even traumatized by seeing color, lulz. We should see what really freaks them out!" ...and that won't end well.

The obvious rebuttal to that point is to argue that these tags aren't intended for use by the outside world, most of which already thinks Tumblr died years ago. Not that this has ever stopped Twitter and Reddit and Facebook users from screenshotting Tumblr posts to claim ownership of mock before, but honestly the extra-Tumblr world is the less important concern here, so I won't labor that point. The more immediate issue is how this affects Tumblr users, the Tumblr community, and the experience we're all so proud of being able to curate for ourselves.

The critical point is this: Tags exist for Tumblr users to find things of interest and avoid things they don't want to see. Warnings exist for Tumblr users to protect themselves. Conflating the two can cause not only confusion, but the opposite of the desired effect of being able to curate your experience.

Please note that it is not wrong to tag any of the things listed above. By all means, tag everything in your post! Tag away! Tag your text formatting and images and colors! Use that whole tag space so people can find/not find your content as desired! But none of these things should be categorized as trigger warnings. Trigger warnings, content warnings, and tags are all separate things, and should be used appropriately so people know what to look for/avoid in a post.

Now, you may well ask: Why do the semantics matter? If something's tagged, why does it matter how it's tagged? Isn't it better to warn people about anything and everything that they might possibly not like?

For those affected by PTSD, trauma, phobias, anxiety, psychosis, optically-sensitive medical conditions, etc., being able to trust tags -- and the community's overall reliability where they are concerned -- can be critical to their health and well-being. When the community's tags become imprecise, sloppy, or unspecified -- for example, when people start throwing tags like "tw just in case" on their posts instead of actually describing what is in the post -- it becomes unpleasant or even dangerous for those people to exist in that community. And although doubtless well-intentioned, the kind of overzealous helicopter tagging that labels things like text formatting or the presence of emoji as a trigger does two things: First, it can confuse filters and sandbag search results (for search purposes, tags are treated like a word bank, rather than individual line items). Second, it fosters a general lack of regard for real, life-threatening triggers. If Tumblr users get used to seeing every tiny little thing called out as a "trigger" -- trigger warning, there's a picture of a bird in this post! trigger warning, I can't spell so there's probably a word misspelled in this post! trigger warning, someone used a heart emoji in this post! trigger warning, here's a photo with the color orange in it! trigger warning, there's a banana in this post! Self image trigger warning, I'm having the worst hair day, lol! j/k! -- then subconsciously, "trigger warning" becomes synonymous with "lots of things random people find mildly annoying, so tag stuff if you happen to think of it" instead of "a few important things we should be diligent about tagging because someone's life might quite literally depend on it."

I know categorizing tags can be confusing, and in recent years there hasn't been much consistency in usage on Tumblr, so here's a cheat sheet to help you decide what warnings to use (and to be clear, I didn't make these up; these are sourced from academic literature and teaching guides, and were -- back in the Olden Days -- also more widely used on Tumblr.)

For a more thorough description of the most common types of content to post warnings about, see this PDF.

Which Warning to Use on Your Post:

Trigger warning (TW): Used to denote content that may trigger a PTSD episode, a severe psychological reaction, or a physiological reaction due to a medical condition (e.g. epilepsy). Broadly speaking, this warning is intended to mitigate risks that may exist because of a viewer's personal experience and/or medical status. Examples of things that should be tagged TW: sexual violence; child abuse; flashing gifs

Content warning (CW): Used to denote sensitive material that may make viewers uncomfortable or upset, or that some viewers may prefer not to see, but not necessarily invoke a traumatic personal experience. Broadly speaking, this warning is concerned with a viewer's comfort level. This can include general concepts (e.g. discussion of homophobia) as well as specific instances (e.g. use of homophobic language). Examples of things that should be tagged CW: racism; nudity; death

Descriptive tags (not warnings): Used to describe the content of a post, without value judgment, so that it is searchable and/or avoidable. (And also to write rambling comma-free essays, because Tumblr is just Like That. But that's a whole separate thing.) Examples of things that can be (generally) tagged: the themes or topics being discussed; black and white images; capitalized text; insects; the color green; memes; rainbows; digital art; literally anything else that appears in your post

Can people still dislike/be upset by things that aren't on a broadly-accepted TW/CW list? Absolutely. But that's not quite the same as a trigger, and that's why we also have general tags.

Here's an example of the difference between disliking or being triggered by content (source: "The right way to use a Trigger Warning," emphasis mine):

Trigger Warnings are here to prevent people who have experienced traumatic experiences to be exposed to something that might trigger a physical and/or mental reaction. Trigger is the key word here. “Trigger*” is used to talk about PTSD and mental illness. “Triggered” and “offended/upset” are not the same concept. I can be upset if I see a picture of a beautiful cake because I cannot bake, but it won’t trigger a post-traumatic reaction.

You aren't going to be able to anticipate every single person's likes and dislikes, phobias, emotional associations, and so on. There's a temptation to try to cover every base imaginable, but that's actually... less than helpful. Actively unhelpful, in some cases. In addition to the reasons I cited earlier, here's an example of how "I'll tag it just in case someone doesn't like a thing" warnings can be confusing:

Let's say I have two followers: WingHater96 has a deep phobia of butterflies, while ButterSuperFly78 adores butterflies. Tagging a post "butterflies" helps them both navigate my feed more efficiently: WingHater96 can block the entire "butterfly" tag, while ButterSuperFly78 can search for it.

However, let's say I tagged that post in the form of a warning like "tw: butterflies" and hid it below a Read More just in case someone following me didn't like butterflies. WingHater96 would still have that post blocked, because it contains the word "butterfly" in the tag. It would also still appear in ButterSuperFly78's search results for the same reason -- the presence of the warning doesn't affect search results at all. But when ButterSuperFly78 sees the warning tag, they might now be confused about whether the post is full of pretty butterfly photography (which they would like to see), or if maybe the reason I put a warning on it is because it's about butterflies being harmed, because why else would you warn someone about butterflies when they're the best things ever? But wait, does OP know that they're the best things ever? Is the warning there because OP secretly hates butterflies?? Do they need to unfollow OP now because they're a butterfly-hater??? and ButterSuperFly78 would not know whether to view the post or scroll past until they psychoanalyze me to determine my personal feelings on butterflies.

Adding the warning provided zero additional benefit for the person who already had the tagged thing blocked, but it caused additional problems for the person actively seeking out that thing.

Obviously this is a bit exaggerated (...though, speaking from experience, only a bit), but it's a lot more efficient to just list the things that are in a post in the tags without framing them as warnings. That way, people with different likes and dislikes can curate their own experience more easily, and know to take trigger and content warnings more seriously when they DO appear.

TL;DR Trigger warnings exist to help people avoid PTSD or adverse psychological/physiological reactions. Casually throwing the word "trigger" in front of things that are not triggers makes people stop taking the need for warnings seriously, and can confuse people trying to curate their Tumblr experience. Reserve TW and CW for actual triggers/sensitive content and use standard tags for other things.

#long post #tumblr tutorial #trigger warnings vs content warnings vs tags #frivolous use is one reason people are dismissive of the need for trigger/content warnings #tags already let people filter things they just don't like #not everything has to be a warning #ava rants about things #tumblr culture #(also this post contains all caps boldface italics colored text and font size changes if anyone is concerned with such things)

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dylanisdazed · 10 months

Text

Hey y'all! So my next story is pretty heavy and despite the main character's name, it's fiction. That being said, it's an emotional first part for me--I'm not sure if that will carry through to the reader because I'm not a good writer, but it was very emotional for me to write. I've read and edited it several times and can't seem to get through it without crying. Again, I don't expect it to necessarily resonate as much with the reader.

Trigger Warning: This part deals with thoughts/stories of suicide.

Dylan’s bedroom was painted dark green and filled with plants and candles. The walls were lined with records and band posters. His nightstand was littered with prescription bottles—for his depression and anxiety. He was a very attractive, fit but thin boy, who was well-liked by all. But he saw the world differently and he very rarely liked what he saw. His shaggy dark brown hair often hid his almost black eyes and long dark eyelashes, much to his mother’s chagrin. His best friend Jack had just run up to his bedroom, which was over the family garage. It was raining heavily and thunder rumbled the earth as Dylan opened the door.

“Do you ever think about killing yourself?”

Dylan sat on the bed in his messy room, looking up at his friend as he stood there confused.

“What…? No.” Jack replied concerned.

Dylan looked down.

“Do you?” He asked.

“Yeah. I mean not realistically or anything but yeah, I do.”

Jack stared at him. “What the fuck man? You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Yeah, well actually I can say it and people should say it. It’s just a lot of things I guess.” Dylan continued to look at the ground.

“What kind of things?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I feel things more than others. You know that.”

Jack stared at him.

“It feels like nobody really cares.”

“Dude, what are you talking about? You have tons of people who care about you. Everyone at school loves you and you’re my favorite person on the planet.”

“Yeah. I’m not even talking about me necessarily, just in general. People pretend to care. People are always fucking pretending. They see some sad story about an abused puppy on Twitter, tear up, wonder how somebody could do that, and then scroll on. Move on with their day. They never think about it again. Then they like some post that makes fun of someone else because they are different from them. Or some issue they don’t understand. People are liars and they’re cruel.”

“What does that have to do with anything, Dylan? What does that have to do with you? There have always been assholes in the world and there always will be. It sucks, but it’s how it is.”

“Yeah. I guess maybe I wonder if I want to live in a world like that then, ya know? You remember Becky, from school? She killed herself because people made fun of her weight.”

“I know. It wasn’t that long ago.”

“Just every day, non-stop, people would crack jokes about her. People would put her down, over and over and then she goes and hangs herself alone in her room and of course, the town is shocked but I wasn’t.”

Dylan started crying uncontrollably with his voice trembling but continued, “Then the whole fucking town has a fake ass memorial, and teachers talk about the severity of bullying and then a month later nobody gives a fuck about Becky. I didn’t go to that memorial. We weren’t really friends but we had some nice talks. I couldn’t go to that memorial because I knew half of the fucking kids there, holding candles, and praying, were the same ones who called her names. They were the same ones who hurt her, over and over and over. They made her life a living hell. And for what? Tell me, for WHAT?”

“I don’t know.”

“Those kids are gonna continue on, graduate, go to college, get married, and have kids, all while Becky is rotting six feet under. She’s a rotting corpse. Nothing happens to them. Absolutely no consequences. And it’s not just Becky--that’s the thing. It happens every day, all over this goddamn world; good people, kind people, creative people, smart people, and funny people, who are a little bit different or don’t fit some narrative get bullied and harassed. Not all of them commit suicide, but I know it still fucking hurts.”

“Man, I don’t know what to say to you.” Jack wiped away tears.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Wiping tears away, eyelashes dripping.

“You are a deeply loving person and that’s a good thing. It’s a great thing. You care about other people even if it doesn’t affect you and that’s so rare, Dylan.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, and the world needs people like you.” Jack put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “The world needs heroes and loving people like you to save us from the bullies; the monsters.”

“No, they don’t. Nobody listens.”

You can continue part one on my patreon.

#dylanisdazed #dylie #patreon

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spaceyflowerswriting · 2 years

Note

Hello Adrien~ how are you? I hope you've been doing well! Thank you so much for taking the time to accept and write the request I submitted to you. You released it at such perfect timing b/c I was in bed, sick and miserable, but reading your Jonggun x reader made my week and made me feel nice and comforted🥰 as always, I enjoy your characterization of lookism characters and I'm amazed on how you're able to write for so many characters in different prompts like you're a great writer and I hope that you continue to do what you enjoy doing^^

Since I saw that your requests are back open, is it okay if I request a reunion between Jonggun x reader who broke up a few years ago b/c Jonggun didn't want to involve reader into his life as a full-time Yamazaki head since his lifestyle would put them in danger but he and reader still love each other? Whether or not they decide to get back together is totally up to you! Please and thank you for always gracing the Fandom with your wonderful writing❤

-🍒

perhaps (gun park x reader)

details: soft angst-y oneshot, gender neutral reader written in 2nd pov, general canon au, you and gun are exes that still love each other

summary: gun has a sudden reunion with his ex. many feelings are spilled.

a/n: hello cherry anon !! ive indeed been well, i hope the same goes for you T_T + thank YOU for sending requests and enjoying my writing !! im glad it made you feel better 💓

also i really appreciate ur compliments :(( 💖💖 hearing that people like my characterizations always cheers me up ;_;

here's your request, thanks again <33

Gun's hand reached into his pocket once more to grab his box of cigarettes. He pulled out another cigarette for the night and put the box back to feel around his pockets for his lighter. As soon as he found it, he quickly lit up his cigarette and put the lighter back away as well.

Slowly inhaling... slowly exhaling; watching the smoke escape his lips as he blew it out. The only thing that made it visible were the dim lamp posts nearby the fountain he was currently seated on the edge of.

Feelings of temporary relaxation filled him up, as well as the cool, fresh air of the quiet city night. This was what he needed after his long day. No, make that a week.

He felt rather pathetic thinking about the heavy weight on his mind that he allowed to cause such a wreck of a week for him. And to think it was triggered by a song he hadn't heard in years, playing on an old record player he was looking at in an antique store.

Was this simply a period of grieving he was going through? Was he missing the bittersweet memories of a person he cut off and tried to bury long ago? Ah, but "person" was rather insulting to use to describe you. "Someone he deeply loved and cared for," was a much better descriptor.

If only you were just a "person," though. He wouldn't be feeling so sentimental then. He wouldn't care so much.

The particular memory resurfaced every once in a while, it was just easy to ignore when it was a thought. Hearing something directly from the memory causing him to nearly relive it, however, that he could not just ignore.

Muffled but recognizable, a traditional Japanese song was playing from the inside of Gun's home when he stood outside to have his last conversation with you. He figured one of his older relatives was playing it. Such a small detail, yet it was something that stuck with him. As for what was said in the conversation, he couldn't recall exactly, but your glossy eyed expression and the emotions he felt that day he remembered crystal clear.

At least because of those clear memories, he could guess what he said to you. Something rash, something immature and inconsiderate of your feelings. Despite that, he--in some strange way--still felt like he did the right thing, but he wished he had listened to you more instead of turn you away by insisting what he was doing was the best option for the both of you.

It felt selfish to think such a thought, though, because the reason he regretted breaking up with you the most was hurting you and not having you by his side anymore. He missed having someone that made his heart race in a way that wasn't related to fighting. He missed having someone he could wholeheartedly trust. He missed having a companion.

He missed you.

Of course, he hoped you felt the same. But how could anyone still harbor love for a person that pushed them away so harshly?

"Oh my gosh, hi! I didn't expect to see you here," a rather cheerful yet stiff voice called out.

Gun moved his gaze from the empty sky to the side where he saw someone smiling nervously at him. They sat down too closely to him for a stranger and asked him how his night was going.

He blankly stared at them, unable to feel much other than slight irritation. He just looked the other way and continued to inhale the smoke of his cigarette, every breath helping to keep his mood steady despite his rampant thoughts.

"Right, haha..." said the person, as if Gun replied with something. They then cleared their throat and very quietly said, "Sorry for disturbing your night, but someone's been following me. I'm hoping if I pretend to hang around a friend they'll leave me alone."

Ah. That kind of situation.

Gun knew he had no business playing hero, but he was a decent enough man to help someone innocent in need if it was happening right in front of him. Plus, he had time to spare anyway.

He dropped his finished cigarette onto the floor and gave it a firm stomp. After making sure it was extinguished, he picked it up to flick it into a trash can nearby and finally turned back to look at the stranger.

"I see. Let's talk, then." Honestly, he had to applaud the stranger for daring to approach him. Surely he must've looked as scary as whoever was following them?

"Thank you!" The person set down a bag they were holding into their lap and began to ramble about random things concerning how their day was spent. Gun listened half-heartedly, nodding and replying when polite, and occasionally checking his watch. He wanted to get home before 1 AM at least.

However, the longer he spent with the stranger, the more he felt himself losing track of time. They started to feel familiar. His intuition was never wrong, so he tried to study this person and make connections. The way they spoke, their mannerisms, their facial features: everything about them lead him to a blurry conclusion.

This stranger... were they you?

"What about you? How was your day?" The person still looked nervous. "Oh, wait, nevermind, I've definitely talked too long now. I should head home, thanks for keeping me company!" After an awkward beat of silence, they added, "Friend!"

Gun eyed them suspiciously, but with no malice. And in his ever so straightforward fashion, he said, "Of course. But before you go, may I ask you something?"

"Yes?"

"Is your name..."

When he finished his question, the stranger's--your eyes widened.

"So it is you." Gun nodded, not quite sure how he was feeling at the moment. Ironic was most likely the best word. "Do you perhaps remember me?"

"Uh..." You fidgeted with your fingers, looking away. "Gun," you muttered, "Jonggun Park?"

"That's right." A new emotion washed over him. Relief? Happiness that you had kept him in your memories after the passing years? Well, you most likely didn't remember him in a good light...

You shifted in your seat before turning back to look at him, laughing sheepishly. "I knew you looked kind of familiar. No one wears slicked back hair as good as you." The compliment made Gun raise a brow as quickly as you had slapped a hand over your mouth. "I'm so sorry, that was really inappropriate to say." Your hand slid down and you vaguely gestured with it. "I-I meant no one wears slicked back hair like you. As in, um, it's a very... you look. You know?"

Some people really don't change no matter how many years go by.

A chuckle left Gun before he could stop himself. He'd imagined many times what it would be like to see you again, and the things he'd say. He would apologize first and foremost, but then explain himself and ask if you'd like to start anew. If you said yes, great, if not, then he'd respect your decision.

This time he would hear you out. Maybe there would be an argument and you both would part just as terribly as in the past, or maybe you two would make up and mutually agree to stay out of each other's lives.

Whatever scenario he thought up of, it wasn't anything like this. Still, he knew you better than that.

"We should cut to the chase, don't you think?"

Your smile faded as your brows slightly knit together. "I know we're exes, but that doesn't mean we have to be hostile to each other."

Gun still had a raised brow. "Even though the reason we aren't together anymore wasn't peaceful?"

Immediately, any lightheartedness in the mood blew away with the wind, revealing only the tense feelings shared between the both of you.

"Gun..." You moved your gaze away once more. "What's happened in the past can stay in the past. I've moved on." You held up a hand just as he was about to question you. "And before you ask, yes, I can't help but still hold a little grudge against you, but I understand now. I was upset back then, but after having years to think about it and mature, I get why you did what you did."

He nodded, taking note of your sincerity. "I suppose I don't have to explain myself then."

"No, you don't," you sighed softly.

"Then... at least allow me to say I'm sorry, too." You stayed quiet. "I didn't give you a chance to explain your feelings. It was arrogant of me to decide where we should take our relationship without hearing your input." Gun subconsciously turned away from you as well. "But I will say I don't regret what I told you. You knew very well the dangers that came with associating with someone involved with the Yakuza. Especially as the head of a clan."

"Right. You were keeping me away for my own safety. I know." You sounded tired, like you were being lectured at. "It probably was the best decision for our relationship. Didn't really stop me from hurting, though." A somewhat bitter laugh came along your last sentence. "It definitely hurt a lot more back then when I didn't understand, but even today..."

Gun didn't need to hear you finish what you were going to say to get the message. He said your name and then, "I feel the same. In all honesty, I miss having your presence in my life." He looked back at you. "You know, when I said I don't regret what I said, I meant it. Although, I do somewhat regret what I did: cutting off all ties with you. It was the logical thing to do, to ensure no one could trace you to me or vice versa, but sometimes I feel it did more harm than good to us."

"Hm." You shrugged with little emotion. "You look like you did fine without me."

"And you?"

"I turned out fine, too, I think." You didn't lift your head up to meet Gun's eyes, but you turned back at least to look at him. "I'm not dressed in rich people brands or anything, but I'm living. I have friends and a comfortable home."

The mention of his clothes mildly embarrassed Gun, but he quickly brushed it off. "That's good. You're living a normal life."

"Yeah. The kind you wanted me to live."

Well. That just stung.

He went quiet for a moment, thinking carefully of what to say next. "Are you happy--"

"What's the point of this conversation?" You cut him off, voice strained. "I know you hate beating around the bush, so just tell me what you're trying to say."

"...You're right." Gun sat up straighter and rested his hands on his knees. "I miss you. But I'm still living the kind of life I told you to stay away from. Do you see my problem?"

You let out another laugh, this one sharp and short. "Glad to know you haven't changed much. Still living a dangerous lifestyle and still not asking for my opinion."

"Except this time I don't think I need to ask for your opinion. You've made it rather clear where your feelings lie for me."

There was a moment of silence before you sighed. "I hate your confidence and your knack for reading people correctly."

"I think even a child would be able to pick up that you miss me from the bittersweet way you spoke."

"Shut up." He smiled softly, seeing you attempt to hide the small smile on your face. "What do you want me to say anyway?"

"I want to hear what you think. I'm making up for my past mistakes. Most importantly, I want you back in my life, but only if you want me back in yours as well." The unfamiliar feeling of mild nervousness had Gun conflicted on what to do. "Back then, I said we should never see each other again, no matter what, but maybe if we tried now we could make it work."

Finally, you looked up to make eye contact with him. "Why don't you just leave your criminal life behind?"

"I can't. And I don't want to." As your expression turned into one of concern, he went on to say, "It's just the kind of life I'm suited for. Call me immoral or a bad person; I'll be whatever that allows me to keep fighting. You already know I live by my own standards anyway."

"You're as weird as ever," you chuckled with a shake of your head.

"Yet you fell in love with me anyway."

"I know. That was my fault."

"Give me some credit for charming you at least." He leaned to the side just in time to dodge your hand moving to whack his shoulder.

After a huff, your shoulders dropped and a worried frown replaced your smile. "I don't know what to do. I do know I want to be by your side, though, and it's honestly relieving to hear you've been missing me all these years, too. It's just... are you sure this is okay? What do you mean by we could work things out now? How's it going to be any different from the past?"

Gun slowly replied, "The harsh truth is that it won't be any different. I still advise you to stay away, but my selfish side wants you by me despite the danger. It tells me I'll just make sure my work doesn't affect you." You nodded along while he added, "I won't force you into my lifestyle, either, of course. It'd be inappropriate to shove someone into a life they're not made for. Even if I do get you used to it, that doesn't guarantee you'll ever grow fit for it. Some people are not made for certain things. And... I want you to be happy with me, not miserable."

He let his words hang in the air for a while, to make sure you could properly digest them and then said, "There. That's all I can say." He crossed his arms. "I now leave the decision up to you. We're both adults now, aren't we? We've had time to grow and we can make our own decisions and talk things out like adults do. Whatever you choose, I understand."

"This is all very sudden, you know." Your frown turned even more lopsided. "After experiencing the horrific feeling of thinking someone's following me, I run into someone who I thought vaguely resembled my ex from when I was a teenager, only to find out he IS my ex and wants me back the same way I do, too. Except it's not that simple." You sighed in frustration and Gun nodded in sympathy.

"I'm not expecting you to think of an answer right away. I understand this is all very sudden." He reached a hand out, placing it atop of yours which was resting on the fountain edge. "I'll wait as long as needed. As long as you give me an answer, I'll be satisfied. Patience is needed for love, after all, whether that love flourishes or is buried as a loving memory."

"Okay." It seemed like you were trying to give him a reassuring smile as you stammered, "I'll--I'll think about it, then."

"Please take your time." Gun glanced at his watch. It was nearing 1 AM, and he decided you two had spoken enough. "It's become rather late, so I believe we should head home. Would you like me to walk you to your place?"

You scrambled up, grabbing your bag with a hand and leaving the other free to wave at Gun. "Oh, no, it's okay! It's been quite a while, I don't think the person following me is still sticking around."

"Nonsense, how ridiculous would it be if I let you walk home alone only to find your death on the news tomorrow morning?"

He had tried to say it in a half joking way, but the wide eyed look you gave him said you clearly didn't see it that way. At least until you began to laugh.

Once you quickly settled down, you had a soft smile resting on your lips. "Asking me a question only to ignore what my reply is and do whatever you want. Your feigned politeness hasn't changed either, I see."

Gun decided not to mention he was attempting to make a joke. "I hope you realize you haven't changed much either. You're still the same person I loved then, and love even now." He smirked when you began to look a little nervous.

"Right..." You side stepped and gestured forward. "I'll get going then. You can walk with me since you insist."

"Good." He followed after your stride, walking alongside you and easily keeping up with your pace. "What were you doing out so late, if you don't mind me asking?"

You glanced down at the bag in your hand. "Um... midnight snack craving."

Now it was Gun's turn to laugh and bring up the repeated sentiment of, "You really haven't changed."

"Whatever." You playfully rolled your eyes. "Can I ask why you're wearing sunglasses at night?"

"...That's a story for another day."

"...Right." Your eyes lit up as a new topic popped into your head. "Oh, and I can't believe you smoke now. I know you did it a few times whenever you were offered a cigarette when you were younger, but you should really stop if you want to live a long life."

Gun chuckled. "I'll think about it."

In some miraculous way or another, the rest of the walk to your house went peacefully. With a little healthy bickering, of course. You both exchanged phone numbers before finally parting ways.

On his way back home, Gun found himself thinking again, "Ah, that was exactly what I needed." Forget the cigarette he was using earlier as a stress reliever. Apparently what he needed most was a real conversation with the ex he still loved, and luck decided to be on his side today.

Yet, out of habit, (and because his walk home was extended by accompanying you home) he was pulling out another cigarette and lighting it.

"I wonder what decision they'll make."

#lookism x reader #gun park x reader #gun park #requests #i have decided to leave the relationship status to the reader B]#anyway i feel like this oneshot perfectly captures/allowed me to show how i characterize gun #like hes just some freak but he's Romantic and not entirely heartless despite how harshly he acts #that side of him is best shown thru eli; letting eli go by saying hes 'gotten soft'#and then him actually keeping olly's promise to not hurt eli?! youd think gun would be like-#'nah eli got me fucked up im gonna kill him anyway' but he stayed true to what he told olly #'i only grant dead people favors.' he truly lives by his standards only..#him being harsh is just how he is as a 'nuturer' (according to his genius title lol)#outside of that tho? hes cold. calculative. but hes still human. youd just have to be damn lucky to even get a glimpse at his softer side #hes surrounded by coworkers anyway he doesnt find the need to be 'nice' to them only 'professional'#maybe im being delusional and am only romanticizing a criminal but. oh well 💖#shoutout to anon for this request!!!!!! got me writing a whole mini 'character analysis' essay in the tags !!!#btw if ptj releases anything in the future debunking my gun analysis i will cry 💔 /lh

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archiveikemen · 10 months

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Koihana Bakumeiroku Prologue: Chapter 6

I do not own any of the Koihana Bakumeiroku content being uploaded on this blog, everything belongs to CYBIRD and Animate. Please support them by playing the game and buying stories. Not 100% accurate, expect mistakes.

read this before interacting with my posts

Mori: Let’s go to my residence!

At Mori’s invitation, I went to his residence.

…

Rin: This is your house…

(What a luxurious western style mansion…)

Tokyo had opened itself up to other countries, so there was a lot of western architecture that could not be found in the rural areas. But amongst those buildings, this one looked especially impressive.

Mori: That’s right. Come, let's go inside!

Rin: O-Okay!

…

I was brought to Mori’s bedroom and before I could admire its furnishings, I bowed my head.

Rin: Please excuse my sudden intrusion!

Mori: Didn’t I personally invite you over to my house?

Rin: Oh, erm… I came to Tokyo without really contacting you.

After I saw that letter, I travelled to Tokyo on impulse.

Mori must’ve found it troublesome that I suddenly showed up in front of his house.

Mori: Nah, it’s alright.

Even so, Mori still gave a clear-cut response.

Mori: Your grandmother was very concerned about what would happen after she passed on.

Mori: Back then, I even thought of adopting you.

Rin: I-Is that so?

Mori: Yeah. So I’m not surprised that this day eventually came, and there’s no need for you to be anxious.

I heaved a sigh of relief when I heard that.

Mori: And as I had mentioned earlier, it’ll be nice if you could live here while working as a service staff and helping me out at the same time.

Mori: Ah, speaking of helping me out. I’ll only be giving you some minor tasks, so they won't be too much of a burden for you.

Mori: And besides, it was also your grandmother’s wish for you to live with someone, instead of be all alone.

(Grandmother…)

My grandmother had indeed said before that being with people is happier than being alone.

(Then… since Mori also says so, I guess I can accept the offer.)

Rin: Thank you. If it’s possible, please allow me to live here.

Mori: Yup. You can live here for as long as you want. With you around, I’m sure lots of happy things will happen.

(What… does that mean?)

Mori smiled gleefully, and I cluelessly nodded my head, unsure if that was what I had been expecting.

(Mori sure is an unusual man. … Oh!)

I suddenly thought of something.

Rin: I’ve been wanting to ask you about my memories…!

Mori: … You memories, huh.

Mori lowered his head and answered slowly.

Mori: I’m sorry to say this, but… I’m not so sure I’ll be of any help with that thing about looking for clues to your missing memories.

His response wasn't completely unexpected, but even so… it caused a heavy feeling in my heart.

Rin: I see…

(I knew it… this won’t go very smoothly.)

Mori cast me a concerned look.

Mori: You can take your time to search for them in the future. Moreover, I don't think your trip to Tokyo will be in vain.

Mori grinned and raised his index finger.

Mori: Tokyo has the most number of people in all of Japan, which means that there’s more sources of information here as compared to your home in the rural areas.

Mori: From a medical perspective, your memories can come back to you upon being triggered by an external event.

Rin: You have a point.

Mori’s words sounded very convincing.

Mori: I’ll be sure to let you know if I recall anything as well. So cheer up.

Rin: … Okay!

My mood started to get better.

(Right. I’ve only just arrived in Tokyo.)

Mori: I also think that working as a service staff for the Meiji Government will be very useful in helping you search for your memories.

Rin: Really?

Mori: You’re going to be working at the Ministry of Home Affairs. There's no place better than that to obtain information from all over the country.

Mori: I believe you’ll be coming across various types of information while working.

Rin: That’s true…

(If it’s the Ministry of Home Affairs, I might get to know about what happened that led to my injury…)

Mori: Anyway, I won’t force you either. … Come on, let me show you to your room.

…

Rin: … Amazing!

The room was filled with furniture that I had never seen before back home in the countryside.

Mori: I’m glad you like it. You can use anything in this room as you wish. Well then, good night.

The moment Mori left the room, I immediately laid down on the western style bedding.

Rin: Wow, it’s so soft…

(This must be the “bed” I heard about from the customers at the restaurant…)

(Although I’m not used to sleeping on this type of bedding, it’s undoubtedly very comfortable.)

Rin: Now that I think of it, today was a really eventful day…

I met Mori, the person I had been searching for.

I also met Saito and received help from him.

And then there’s Kido and Katsu, who were important figures in the Meiji Government.

(I decided to live in Mori’s house, but…)

I was unable to get any leads from Mori — the only person I thought could help me.

(What should I do for my memories to come back…?)

As Mori had mentioned, my memories could return if triggered by an external event.

In that case, I should interact with more people and things.

(The more information I have, the easier it’ll be for me to find clues to my missing memories…)

Whenever I closed my eyes, I would think about my lost memories. It was all foggy and unclear.

(I really want to know more about myself.)

(I want to live with knowledge of my own life events.)

In order for that to happen…

– Flashback Start –

Kido: … Rin. If it’s alright with you, how about working as a service staff for the Meiji Government?

…

Mori: From a medical perspective, your memories can come back to you upon being triggered by an external event.

Mori: You’re going to be working at the Ministry of Home Affairs. There's no place better than that to obtain information from all over the country.

Mori: I believe you’ll be coming across various types of information while working.

– Flashback End –

(I’ve made up my mind. I—)

…

Unlike yesterday, Kido was working in his office.

Kido: — So, what did you want to speak to me regarding?

I bowed my head to Kido, who smiled at me.

Rin: Please let me work as a service staff for the Meiji Government!

#koihana bakumeiroku #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #otome #cybird x animate #koibaku prologue #niki translates

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canyouhearthelight · 9 months

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Leather Houses, Chapter 1

Mike lives in the same small, boring town he grew up in. Then he gets a panicked call from his best friend, Joanie. What originally seems like her overreacting turns into a nightmare that starts to consume their neighbors - and possibly them as well.

Another horror story. Like any horror, there are some content warnings for this one. I’m going to try to tag them, but just in case:

Body Horror (pseudo. Not actually bodies, but potential trigger)

Emetophobia (nothing graphic or on screen, but referred to)

Memory loss/Gaslighting

Blood mentions

Death (off screen)

I was originally going to post the first half of this, since it’s 4 parts total, but I want to see how well this part does before I post any more, since it’s such a departure from what I’m known for on here.

It all started in the most mundane way possible: my best friend, Joanie, called me in hysterics. To be clear, she did this quite frequently. Joanie was prone to getting worked up over the smallest things, like spilling water on her shirt, losing her sneakers for the third time in a day…. any little inconvenience. Every molehill became the next Mount Everest when it happened to Joanie. The only reason it was tolerable was the fact that, when things really got pear-shaped? She was rock solid in an actual crisis. Just… not in the face of a stubbed toe.

As usual, I let her ramble until she ran out of breath. “Joanie. You know I can’t understand a word you’re saying when you’re this upset,” I sighed heavily. “Did someone send another letter about your house?” She had bought her first house about a year prior and immediately painted the exterior a glorious tangerine color. It made me smile every time I saw the absurd, shining beacon of her personality.

Her neighbors though? No smiles there.

A few sniffles came through the phone as she tried to calm herself down to a dull roar. “Michael. I know I sound crazy, but please humor me. Where is the closest grocery store?”

Confused, I played along. “It’s on the corner of Fourth and Maple. Right where it’s been our entire lives.” Sanderson, Vermont, clocked in at a robust 500 inhabitants, and not much in the way of shopping. Fourth and Maple wasn’t just the closest grocery store – it was the only one we had.

“And who owns it?” she demanded.

“Uhhhh… I guess Max MacReady does now, but his parents used to.” I sat down and rubbed the back of my neck. “Joanie, what’s going on?”

“I ran out of coffee, so I headed over there to get some more. Normal day stuff.” I prepared myself for her to tell me the store was out of coffee, and preemptively started telling myself not to strangle her. “But when I got there, it was boarded up.”

“Wait, what – “

“Boarded up, Michael. And it looked like it had been boarded up for years, if not longer.” She was starting to cry again, and stopped to take a couple more deep breaths. “I went to the library to ask Suzie Fuller about it, and she looked at me like I was speaking another language! She swore there not only wasn’t a store there, but there never had been. And she told me she never heard of any MacReadys living in Sanderson.”

“Joanie,” I groaned. “That doesn’t make sense. Everyone knows the MacReadys, she was just pulling your leg.”

“No. You don’t get to tell me I am over-reacting,” she nearly shouted. “I asked around. Unless the entire town is in on the joke, no one here has heard of them.”

“Joanie – “

“Check the phone book,” she demanded. “I’ll wait.”

Swearing under my breath, I decided to humor her. Sanderson had stopped printing phone books a while back, like most places I would imagine, but I had one from about twenty years ago under one leg of my kitchen table to keep it from scratching the floor. I managed to pull it free and tucked my phone back into the crook of my neck. “Okay. Looking at the M’s…..” I froze in my tracks. The list of names jumped straight from Mackintosh, Abigail, to Meyers, Thomas. “Maybe they’re unlisted,” I pointed out. “I’ll grab one of my yearbooks. Max was only a couple years ahead of us.”

“You think I didn’t try that, too?” Her voice was tinged with the kind of laughter that belonged at a funeral. “But go for it.”

It took a moment to find it, but eventually I had my high school yearbook from freshman year. I flipped through the sophomore, junior, and senior classes, trying to find a photo of Max, but to no avail. And it was clear that it wasn’t because his photo wasn’t taken – a handful of other students had placeholder silhouettes instead of actual photos.

Max just didn’t exist in the yearbook.

I was arguing with myself as much as with my friend at this point. “People don’t just stop existing,” I tried to explain.

“I know,” she sniffled. “But you’re the only other person I’ve found who remembers anyone in that family, or the store, ever existing.”

I was halfway through putting on my jacket before I even realized I had made a decision. “I’m going down there. This has to be some kind of prank.”

“A prank wouldn’t change a fifteen-year-old yearbook,” Joanie pleaded. “Or a phonebook that isn’t even being printed anymore.”

“I have to see it for myself. I’ll call you back.”

_______________________

On the walk over to the store, I constructed arguments in my head with whoever the person pulling this insane stunt was. It was so mean-spirited, so cruel. I couldn’t even imagine who in Sanderson was even capable of so thoroughly erasing someone’s entire existence. Or better yet, why? This was beyond witness protection level stuff – the movies always seemed like the person going into witness protection would ‘die’ and then suddenly a new person would move into a house across the country. I was so focused on trying to figure out who was doing this, and why, that I was startled out of my thoughts only by one thing.

The door to the store wouldn’t open.

I realized that I had, on autopilot, walked all the way to the store and attempted to walk in like I had done thousands of times over the years. But the door was locked, in broad daylight. I gave it a couple more, experimental tugs, but it remained firmly closed. A closer inspection showed a lockbox covering the deadbolt, the kind that realtors used when they were showing houses.

Slowly, I stepped back and looked around. Joanie hadn’t been kidding when she said it had been boarded up for years. The signage was gone, paper lined the windows on the inside, and a few roofing tiles had blown away in one lopsided patch over the entrance. Even the windows, which had been pristine and well lit the day before, showed yellowed cracks in a couple of spots – the kind of cracks that came from age and temperature changes, not from vandalism. In one corner, close to the bottom of the glass, I found a place where the paper had been chewed away by a rat or something. Kneeling carefully, I cupped my hands around the hole and peeked through.

What I saw sent me running in a panic to Joanie’s house. When I got there, she opened the door while I was still pounding on it and yanked me into the house. Now, I was the one babbling incoherently on her couch, while she poured me a glass of water and waited for me to stop. The inside of what had been my neighborhood grocery store the day before, was covered in decades of filth and rodent droppings. This wasn’t possible.

“While you were seeing for yourself that I was telling the truth,” she glanced at me pointedly, “I did some digging. Tax records, births and deaths, anything I could try to dig up online about the MacReady family.”

“Praise Google,” I murmured.

“Hold the hallelujahs,” she warned me. “Even online, they don’t exist. The store never existed, either.”

“Except it did.” I was about to fall to pieces. “We both remember it.”

“I know,” she sighed. “What I don’t understand is why we are the only two who do.”

________________________________________

Joanie and I spent every spare moment we had for the next week trying to find anyone else who remembered the grocery store being there, or any clue as to what was going on. Online research was more frustrating than helpful; we kept finding information about something called the Mandela Effect. Except, this wasn’t a moment in history that we weren’t part of, or the title of a kids book, or a TV show that we may have made up or mis-remembered as kids. This was several generations of a family that suddenly vanished without a trace except the memories of two increasingly-frantic people.

Right when we were forced to give up asking questions or risk being hauled away to a hospital under a psychiatric hold, the entire story took another horrible turn: Suzie Fuller, the town librarian, vanished next.

She didn’t disappear from one day to the next, like the MacReady family seemed to. It was a Saturday, and I had arrived at the library early with a goal of digging through old newspapers on microfiche to see if anything similar had happened in Sanderson’s past. Suzie was there when I arrived, still waking up and waving to me as she took a sip of her coffee. Four hours later, when I was heading out to grab some lunch, the assistant librarian – Steven Holden – was there, instead.

“Hey Steve,” I greeted him, confused. “Suzie have to leave early? She okay?”

Steven just looked confused and laughed nervously. “Mike, what are you talking about? I’ve been here all day.”

“I swear I saw Suzie when I got here.”

“Dude… who the hell is Suzie?”

A finger of ice trickled down my spine, but I tried to bluff. “I have no idea,” I forced myself to smile and shake my head. “Maybe I’m just tired. Too much research.”

The former-assistant librarian’s face cleared as he grinned. “I’ve been there. Got too caught up binge-watching a TV show and called Eddie the wrong name one morning.”

I grimaced on cue. “Thankfully, I don’t have a spouse to piss off. Just you to give me funny looks.”

“Take a break, man.”

“On it.” I gave a half-hearted salute and forced myself to walk calmly out the door and around the corner before I called Joanie

As soon as she picked up, I hissed at her frantically. “Who is the librarian in Sanderson?”

“Suzie – “ She cut off with a sob. “Oh god, Suzie?”

“Steve has never heard of her,” I whispered through clenched teeth. “She was here this morning, when I walked in. She had coffee in that huge travel mug she always carries, and that ugly floral dress she wears every damned Saturday like clockwork.”

“The cabbage roses,” Joanie affirmed half-heartedly.

“Right. I thought she had just gone home early. Maybe she was sick, I don’t know. But no, Steve didn’t know who the fuck I was talking about.”

“I’m headed to your house,” she told me, tears in her voice. “I can’t be alone right now.”

“Way ahead of you,” I agreed. “You remember where the key is?”

“Yeah, the hanging plant across from the porch swing.”

“See you in a few.”

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#leather houses #original horror #writeblr #supernatural horror #tw blood #tw emetophobia #tw gaslighting #tw memory loss #tw body horror #tw death #original fiction #my writing #my fiction

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sevdoesnotexist · 2 years

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Hey do you know what happened to @cock-dealer/morg? Sorry for the random ask i saw you reply often but like. i was offline for like a week straigh5 and now hes gone + im genuinely sad and also worried bc he was one of my fave bloggers lmao is he okay?

Hey so a lot has happened since March if you haven't been around. Essentially (from my understanding), Morg experienced abuse at the hands of medical staff during a hospital stay that left him in a really bad place dealing with the trauma that was brought on by that. He is and was often posting about his poor mental health and suicidal ideation.

A few weeks ago he had attempted to kill himself, I don't know him well enough to say what attempt # it was for him overall but I'll say "the first time" even though I don't think it was. In around this time too, there was "slur discourse" happening around who should and shouldn't call themselves a cripple and a lot of discussion around honouring Tai's memory by respecting the origins and meaning behind the cripplepunk movement.

A lot of emotions were running high and honestly I had seen the discourse in the community as petty insquabbling until shit hit the fan. I was kinda not touching it past my opinion on cripple being a slur that only some people can reclaim. Anyways through this discourse Morg had been receiving a lot of anon asks egging him on, telling him he's a shit person, really just generally horrible stuff and some anons who weren't necessarily approaching in bad faith got caught in the crossfire, which those interactions were used by the handful of people vocally disagreeing with Morg to further the narrative that he was a Big Bad Exclusionist™

Eventually Morg got pushed past the point of frustration and presumably while under the influence of whatever he had taken in an attempt to take his life or I also know he has mentioned the stress of it let to a psychotic episode which seems to make a lot of sense to me. Basically, he sent an anon to one of the people who was one of the instigators and main users furthering the discourse vaspider an ask that read along the lines "you got what you wanted" and posted that he had tried to kill himself for the "second" time. Around this time I know I was personally very worried and constantly refreshed his blog and sent him anons with kind messages like everyday just trying to combat the SHEER amount of hatred he was receiving not FROM users like vaspider and happysadyoyo but BECAUSE of how they were framing his mental health crisis was definately resulting in MASSIVE amounts of anon hate and suicide baiting.

The final straw for me is when I made a vent post about my feelings on the matter and vaspider literally shouted me down and called me an asshole for venting about my medical trauma and my feelings on the cripplepunk discourse. It was a really mask off moment for me I think they felt like betrayed that I didn't side with them since we were mutuals or something but regardless it made me really uncomfortable and honestly was incredibly triggering also so I blocked them as well as y'know, whoever I felt like, as I'm allowed to :))

Then like a week after that all happened, happysadyoyo, a user who WAS mutuals with me and vaspider but had actually NEVER interacted with Morg in his life, made a fucking YOUTUBE VIDEO about morgs suicide attempt, relating it to the show Thirteen Reasons Why and his own time spent being a manipulative asshole, essentially trying to insinuate that Morg had tried to take his life as a way to guilt and manipulate someone over Internet slur discourse. Yup. I was disgusted by the behaviour and openly said as much. The link is actually still up as far as I'm aware, yoyocunt refused to take the video or even the post with the link down, citing "his own psychosis"

From there I guess people who were watching this happen to Morg from the sidelines thought it would be funny to give those users a taste of their own medicine and started sending them a lot if gross anon hate including stuff like scat porn. I also think this was probably an attempt by some to paint Morg and his followers in a bad light. I mean while we had a giggle over the misfortune of people who had been royal douche canoes, we also all have made it pretty clear that we don't condone sexual harassment or suicide baiting. Those users often take screenshots of posts Morg makes without the context of a reblog or the notes cropped out in order to give the impression Morg is like, actively telling his followers to send them death threats and poop vids but like, that's just not the case.

So like you missed the most batshit insane turn of events, I don't think I covered everything concisely because I'm high but yeah basically people started disrespecting a dead kids movement and memory as well as trying to villainize a mentally ill trans dude for disagreeing with them and being rude about it

And, he's still here by the way, he's just @penis-peeper now.

#answered #ask #cpunk #ableism #Morg #penis-peeper #cock-dealer

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itsjustnobody0 · 2 years

Text

Chapter 5.

Hi guys!! Nobody here! Hope your all good and welcome to part 5 of my fan fiction. It’s about to get interesting!!! If I haven’t hit you guys with enough drama yet this is going to knock you off your feet completely! If you haven’t seen the drama in the last chapters here is the links to go catch up on it:

Chapter 1- https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/itsjustnobody0/693832797859856384?source=share

Chapter 2- https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/itsjustnobody0/693832797859856384?source=share

Chapter 3- https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/itsjustnobody0/693835729264082944?source=share

Chapter 4- https://at.tumblr.com/itsjustnobody0/chapter-4-hi-guys-and-welcome-back-i-hope-your/lbq8794dbbp8

So hopefully your all caught up! I haven’t posted in a while and I’m not feeling the best mentally but I had most of this chapter done anyway. I only write a few lines today the rest has been written for forever so I kinda forgot what direction it’s going in. Enjoy guysss!!

TW for chapter 5-

Alcohol

Dilated Pupils

Blood

Passing out

Beatings

Basements

Sharp knife

Kicking

Stabbing

All of these are briefly mentioned some not even the word, I just put them on in case. They probably won’t even trigger people who get triggered by them but just in case. Enjoy!!

Ranboo set his laptop down and logged in. I grabbed the memory stick out of my pocket, I had grabbed it after I saw Jack. I took a deep breath and plugged it in. All the videos and pictures loaded onto the screen. We clicked on the first one and saw me in a park. I was on the red and black swing, laughing while my dad pushed me. It was kinda cute, it was definitely not how I remembered my dad. We clicked the arrow and saw me with a rucksack with books in holding someone’s hand. You couldn’t see who it was. Then we clicked the arrow and found a video. We turned the sound to midway and pressed play.

The camera pointed at my dad, he wore a stained, white, tank top and his hair was messy, pupils dilated. He held a belt in his hand and he looked angry. I could here my mother laughing behind the camera, it was shacking slightly as she did. The camera then turned to what looked like a 7 year old me on the floor crying.

“GET UP YOU LITTLE BITCH.” My father shouted. I cried some more as I pulled myself up off the ground. I was shaky and unstable and I was bleeding all along my back. My dad whipped me again and again around my back making it bleed and go red. I wasn’t wearing a shirt just underwear.

I stared in shock at the computer screen, I had forgotten about them filming that. They normally only filmed the bad beatings but that was one of the first ones so I guess they wanted it for future reference. I didn’t dare look either side of me at the two boys sitting next to me. I pulled my hand towards the computer and clicked the arrow again, it was another video. I clicked play.

It was in the same room again, a basement type thing. That was where I was locked most of my life. I was a bit older this time, around ten, a year before I ended up on the streets. My father was holding a sharp knife in his right hand.

“Now, now, you little bitch. What should I draw today?” He rhetorically asked me. Of course, the condition I was in I wasn’t fit to answer anyway. My mother was once again, cackling behind the camera like the witch she was.

“I don’t feel very arty today so maybe some basic patterns. Some long lasting scars.” He pondered what he was going to do. He brought the knife to my bruised, agitated skin. He stabbed it quiet far into my back, then he dragged it in a wonky line down it. My screams pierced the air, they were super loud. My dad joined in with my mothers laughing. I soon passed out from blood loss and pain. The video ended with my father kicking my in the head, hard.

I felt both of the boys staring at me. I looked at each of them a bit nervous about what they were thinking at me. They looked sorry for me but also shocked. They probably weren’t expecting to see what they just saw but then again neither did I.

“You know what, how about that movie?” I asked them. They both quickly nodded. I took my memory stick out and placed it back into my pocket. We got on Netflix and we put on the basketball diaries and relaxed watching the movie.

(yes I know that isn’t on Netflix anymore but it’s my favourite movie so deal with it)

Eventually the movie finished and my eyes were getting heavy. I looked at the other two boys and they looked wide awake.

“What time is it?” I asked

“Almost ten o’clock.” Tubbo told me

“Oh it’s not even that late.” I mumbled

“Are you tired?” Ranboo asked me

“No not at all.” I said in the strongest voice I could master. I heard them chuckle at me.

“Heyyy. Don’t laugh at me.” I said grumpily

“Go to sleep.” Tubbo laughed.

“Well if you insist.” I nodded.

Soon after I fell asleep leaning against someone.

That night I had nightmares. Bad ones. They were all of the place. And of my parents. Memories of them beating me. Scarfing me for life, both mentally and physically. They were horrible and vivid nightmares as if I was really back there.

I was sitting in a ball on the floor, screaming loudly. I was crying, my salty tears streaming down my bruised face. I knew what was coming next, my father hovered over me holding the sharp knife, the one he used to torture me. He yanked me up by the neck, holding my off the ground slightly. I kicked and thrashed my feat in hope that he would drop me. He threw me against the wall hard, I landed on the floor with a loud thud. I couldn’t move very well, all I could do was scream and cry.

“STAND UP!” He screamed at me. I knew better then to ever disobey him so I did what he asked. I used the wall to pull myself up and face him. He looked at my with disgust. I looked down at his feet, afraid to look at him.

“LOK AT ME! NOW!” He shouted. I quickly moved my head to look at his face, it was contorted in anger. I wasn’t sure what I had actually done but my father liked to punish me for a lot of things.

He walked towards me and I tried not to whimper away. He raised his fist and punished me hard in the head. My lip busted open and I could feel the blood dribbling down my chin and neck. I looked at him again because if I didn’t it would get worse. He raised the life at me and pushed me against the wall. He held me there and put the knife up to my head. He dragged it down, making a jagged scar over my eye. It hurt so much and I tried to get away, not caring what he would do to me. Me trying to do that was a mistake, when he got to my eye he pushed the knife in. I could feel the cool blade inside my eyeball. It was so horrible and it hurt so much. At first all I could see was red out of my one eye, and then black. I was screaming and crying so much that I didn’t notice that until he dropped me. I closed my eyes and hoped this wasn’t real, I hope that not of this had happened, but it had. I opened my eyes and looked around, I couldn’t see anything, this made me cry even more, my own father had made me go blind. That was the day I knew I had to escape, that was the day I realised that anywhere was better then there.

I woke up in the middle of the night sweating and tears streaming down my face. I quickly wiped them away, I hated crying so much. I sat up and turned the lights on. I saw that I was in my own room somebody must have taken me back there. I didn’t dare go back to sleep that night.

I went to the window I had climbed out two days ago and looked out of it. I opened it and looked up. The drain I had recently climbed down was also available to climb up. I swung myself onto the windowsill and grabbed the drain. I pulled my weight over to the drain and climbed up, it was surprisingly easy to climb up. I got onto the roof, it was a red slate kinda roof, not very slippy, but also not easy to keep your balance. I slowly stood up and walked further up the roof. It was sloped a bit but not enough to make it impossible to walk on. I’m sat down and watched the sun rise, it was very beautiful. I sighed thinking about everything that had happened in the last week, it was hard to process. I missed the streets and I wanted to get back to them but I didn’t want to leave here that bad. I had made two friends, even though they probably thought I was annoying. The food here was nice enough, and I had a place to sleep. The rules were a bit shit but I could bend them enough. It wasn’t if they would kick me out, it would put me back to the start and after all the effort they had put themselves through to get me here it wasn’t worth just kicking me out again.

Soon after I heard noise from inside the house, meaning people were finally up. I climbed down from the roof and back into my room. It was starting to get messy, I made a mental note that I had to tidy it later. I put my coat and beanie on over the joggers and T-shirt I was wearing. I walked downstairs and saw Niki cooking something.

“What you making?” I asked loudly

“Pancakes.” She smiled at me. I gave her a half smile back.

“Can I have one please?” I asked politely

“Of course you can Y/n!” She answered

“Thank you.” I smiled properly this time.

I decided to watch her mix everything, it looked very confusing but also fun. She was humming something as she worked, the thing she was humming sounded familiar, like I’d heard it somewhere. Before I knew it I was singing along. I didn’t know the name of the song but I’d heard it when I was younger, it was comforting to hear something familiar. We laughed and sing together and just had a good time, I was enjoying myself and before I knew it my pancake was done.

I could only have one as I hadn’t been eating much for the last few years and I didn’t want to be sick but I enjoyed it so much. Niki’s baking was so good and she was a talented baker.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” I asked gesturing at the ingredients.

“Sure! Come here I’ll show you!”

#sleepy bois inc #sbi x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #x reader #adoption au #sbi #philza #sleepy bois x reader #sbi adopt reader #reader insert #ranboo #niki nihachu #tubbo #tommyinnit #philza minecraft #wilbursoot #dream smp #technoblade

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