JUNE 2023 VS JUNE 2013

Decided to redraw a piece from ten years ago that was very important to me back then. Many things changed from that time, and it's always nice to have a look above your shoulder to see how far you've come ♥

The original:

Details under the cut

Hello! I'm back for another review on the recent chapters I have read on your dark! Aemond Fanfiction (this might be a bit long so I do apologize for the long read 😵‍💫)

So far I am loving where this is going, the dark themes, the psychological in depth dive into both love interests is making me sit at the edge of my seat!

Chapter 3: "Just like her heart, the clouds had descended over King’s Landing, covering the sky with a thick blanket of grey."

That starting sentence alone was such a good hook and vivid. Just a few words and a whole picture was already painted for the reader, already set the tone for how this would pan out. Amazing, gave me chills the first time I read it.

"A heavy weight swayed in her chest like a pendulum, striking back and forth against her ribs as if her heart were so weighed down with despair, that it ticked out of rhythm."

Again another amazing description, you have such a way with words that just know how to make the heart ache and the mind comprehend and sympathize with that pain you are describing. The sorta personification of what the MC is feeling deep inside just further deepens just how heavily this whole situation is weighing on her both mentally and physically.

Overall, the situation with her siblings and the neighbor is still a heavy drive for her to keep pushing and doing better. However, it's the part that mentions how she wishes to be a child once more that stuck to me. The Mc is so selfless that she hardly ever expresses or thinks to herself much of what SHE wants and yet when we finally do see a glimpse of what she desires it is so innocent and wholesome it only hurts more when the reality of her situation sinks in.

I also have to say I am enjoying how this seems to be interlaced with the main Canon story of Hotd, it only adds fuel to the fire on aemond's motive to do what he is doing to her. And it's all not just sadistic evil from his end, especially on the next chapter on how this is emphasized on his part later on!

Chapter 4:  "She remembered scrubbing Aemond's bedsheets for an hour straight after that night, using the hard bristled brush to rid the white fabric of her blood, which in reaction to the air had blackened." "  It was a stain difficult to remove. But she felt it more so in her heart than anywhere else."

This alone was so good I felt that stain in my own heart. You truly feel for, especially with how she is trying to find some normalcy in her life by doing what she always does in her day to day chores but even that doesn't wash away the guilt and self loathing she is slowly being consumed by the longer these transactions go by.

It just makes me want to be able to reach through the screen and hug her tightly, it's so hard to swallow her pain and I think you showed that beautiful so far through your story.

We also finally see how much further aemond has gone to his cruelty from her point of view. How he resulted to a more sadistic approach the longer the situation has gone and how he seems to enjoy that he can do anything to her because she ultimately has become his own little stress ball to find relief from. It further villainizes him in the eyes of the MC but it all quickly got scrambled when he started to be gentle and THAT was when we got a peak from behind the curtain for proper moment.

The truth behind his actions, and it all can be summed to one sentence , "Nothing is scarier than a humiliated man" (yes, I stole that from AHS) and I can't explain the satisfaction it brings to be able to see this unfold the more I read.

We see aemond struggle with wanting to be tender, in a sense, the type of love he always craves want to come out and give but so much has been taken from him that he feels like he is owed and so he takes and takes and who else would he take from if not from someone so much weaker than him in not just physical appearance but even in life. We see time and time again how hard and draining the MC's life is because eof her statues in life and gender alone and how aemond's struggles are internal the majority of the time.

Her struggles are easier to sympathize with when compared to his therefore its easier for him to target her since she basically is already a victim in the game called life.

 "The dragon inside there had started to breathe its fire into her, burning her from the inside out."

This line has me screaming into the abyss, I am off to read what happens next and I'll be sure to give my full review on this as well, amazing work! 👏🏻

eeeee this ask made me all giddy, so glad you're enjoying the series so far! <3

However, it's the part that mentions how she wishes to be a child once more that stuck to me. The Mc is so selfless that she hardly ever expresses or thinks to herself much of what SHE wants and yet when we finally do see a glimpse of what she desires it is so innocent and wholesome it only hurts more when the reality of her situation sinks in.

Yeah I just like to make myself sad ksksksk 💀 I think a lot of us can relate to wanting to be a child again!

You truly feel for, especially with how she is trying to find some normalcy in her life by doing what she always does in her day to day chores but even that doesn't wash away the guilt and self loathing she is slowly being consumed by the longer these transactions go by.

can i just say I LOVE how you describe these as transactions? cos that's just so kdvdsofbkjlaOdbak ACCURATE

I'd die for her, body and soul

Nothing is scarier than a humiliated man

Aemond that u ? 👀

i love your deep dives on this <3 thank you so much for sending this in 🥰🥰🥰 you're so sweeeet xxxx

Reticence (soft! Yandere Hoseok)

Summary: You were always terrified of getting kidnapped when you were younger, and now that you’ve been taken by a man who claims to want to take care of you, you recede within yourself so far you refuse to even eat... but Hoseok is determined to let nothing hurt you, not even yourself.

Warnings: Kidnapping, kind of Stockholm syndrome, mentions of not eating so if you’re sensitive to that kind of stuff pls be careful <3 Yandere behaviour, though I am kind of romanticising it in this fic, please remember that that is all it is: Fiction. Obviously in real life this behaviour would be unacceptable and horrifying. 

Word Count: 2.2K

Masterlist :)

a/n: my first hobi fic!!! this is for @kpopgirlbtssvt​ from a request made about a billion years ago (sorry :/ ) for made-for-each-other verse! Yandere Hobi with a shy reader who wouldn’t talk even though he begged her to, and then him coming home from work to her telling him she missed him and was glad he was home. this was a lil less fluffy and a lil more angsty than i intended, but its still a ‘happy ending’ bc im a weak bitch with simple pleasures, what can i say lmao

Reticence

“What do you want for breakfast, sunshine?” 

Silence. 

Hoseok sighed, then straightened up again, walking over to the refrigerator. You remained sat by the kitchen island, empty gaze fixed on the marble countertop. 

“Omelettes it is, then!” He exclaimed with artificial excitement, trying to be cheery in the face of your taciturnity, but even the sunshiney optimist that was Hoseok was finding it more difficult than he expected. He had hoped that by now you would’ve accepted him, but you remained as quiet and unresponsive as the day he brought you home. Not that you thought of it as ‘home’ yet, but he hoped you would eventually. Hoseok was not a patient man, but he was willing to wait forever for you. 

You didn’t even blink when he set the plate down in front of you. It didn’t seem like you were going to attempt to eat it either. Hoseok sighed. He could understand if you didn’t want to talk to him yet — even though it had been months and he’d been nothing but kind to you — but he drew the line at refusing to eat. 

You had lost weight. The cute cheeks he loved to watch bunch up as you smiled were now sunken. Your beautiful figure which he had admired from afar was starting to become worryingly waif-like. Hoseok frowned, a crinkle between his brows forming for the first time as his usually exuberant features warped with agitation.

“Listen, Y/n-” Hoseok sat down at the kitchen island across from you, bracing his forearms against the table and leaning forwards. “You have to eat. I promise there’s nothing in it that could hurt you. Look, I’ll even eat it myself!” Hoseok carved out a small piece of the omelette and popped it in his mouth, exaggerating his chewing and swallowing. “See?” You offered no reaction, and Hoseok felt his disappointment join the omelette on its way down to his stomach. 

“I can understand that you maybe aren’t so happy with me right now, but that doesn’t mean you have to punish yourself. Just, please, please stop shutting me out.” His pleading tone did nothing to move you. You just sat there like a ghost, and a groan of frustration slipped out of Hoseok. 

“Please! I’m begging you! Just eat! I don’t understand, all I want to do is take care of you! All I want to do is love you, why won’t you accept me? Why won’t you even talk to me?” 

The only sound was Hoseok’s harsh breaths after his outburst. If he couldn’t see the slow rise and fall of your chest, Hoseok would think you weren’t alive at all. He slumped in his seat, allowing himself to wallow in self-pity for a moment, before forcing himself to get up and ready for work. When he passed through the kitchen again on his way out the door you were still sitting there, staring at the countertop. 

The front door banged shut, the sound echoing in the apartment. Then, silence. And then, very quietly, the noises of cutlery moving against a plate and chewing. 

~~~~~~

“I don’t know what to do~” Hoseok whined, his head buried in his hands. Around him, his shocked friends were gathered in an informal circle. Each of them had an expression with varying degrees of surprise and confusion — they had never seen Hoseok, the literal personification of sunshine, so dismayed. 

“It’ll be ok, Hoseok. I know it’s bad at the moment, but you just have to wait until she trusts you. Once you achieve her trust, you’ll both be the happiest you’ve ever been.” Taehyung reassured him. Taehyung was obviously the source of authority, since him and his wife were basically the perfect couple. 

“But what if she never trusts me?” Hoseok fretted, before groaning again. “She won’t even eat! I don’t know what to do, I’m just watching her slowly starve in front of me and she won’t even look at me!” The rest of the group paused as they digested this new information. It seemed this girl was particularly stubborn.

“Force feed her then.” Jin shrugged and Hoseok’s head shot up in outrage.

“No! I could never hurt her like that!”

“You’re hurting her by letting her starve.” Jeongguk pointed out, and Namjoon smacked the back of his head, chastising. Meanwhile, Hoseok looked like he was about to cry.

“Listen, Hoseok, are you sure this girl is the one?” Jimin questioned, bracing his clasped hands on his knees. 

“I know she is.” Hoseok replied with a conviction he rarely used. “The second she came into my life, it was like I was born again and she was the first thing I saw. The only thing I could see. Her face- God, it just… glows. She’s like sunshine. She’s an angel. She’s so beautiful and kind and fragile and I want to protect her from everything, and I don’t deserve her but no one else does either and I know we’re meant to be together. If I thought I could’ve let her go, I would have. But I can’t. I have to have her, she has to be mine.” 

The circle of men was quiet for a second, before a quiet chuckle broke the silence. 

“Well then,” Yoongi rasped, “if she’s all that you say she is-”

“She is.” Hoseok interjected fiercely.

“Then all you can do is have a little patience.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It was incredibly boring being kidnapped. Especially when your kidnapper did nothing interesting except make bad food and dance along to music from the TV surprisingly well and cry sometimes when you wouldn’t look at him. Frankly, it would have been easier if he were more of the torturey-type, because it was really hard to stay stubborn in the face of his sparkling eyes and radiant smile.

When you were younger, there was a poster up on the wall of your homeroom at school. On it was an old man with an ugly sneer and a beige trench-coat, with the slogan ‘DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS’ superimposed in glaring red letters. You used to stare up at the poster and wonder how anyone could be so stupid as to talk to someone who looked like that. 

You were never afraid to yell ‘STRANGER DANGER’ at the highest decibel your little lungs could manage whenever a person brushed too close to you in the mall. It was almost a habit — you were avidly fixated on your own personal safety, much to your mother’s chagrin and public embarrassment. Being banned from all the surrounding stores within a 20 mile radius had two consequences:

You had to drive forty minutes for a new pair of socks.

You stayed at home a lot more than you went out.

You became a homebody, and it was certainly not something you were unhappy about. Staying safe in your room meant there was less risk for someone to kidnap you. The comforting layer of your blanket was a shield from everything bad in the world. When your parents were arguing constantly, screaming at each other every other night, you would just tuck yourself in and read a bedtime story on your own since they were both occupied. When your parents eventually divorced, you buried yourself under your duvet rather than answer their questions about who you wanted to stay with, and what your preference was. When your mom died in a car crash, and your dad started drinking, your mattress was the shoulder you could cry on, your blanket was a warm arm holding you close. You had always felt safe in your bed. Perhaps that was why you were having such an averse reaction to being taken from it.

Hoseok was not a man with an ugly sneer and a trench coat. He had an impeccable sense of style, and his smile was breathtaking on the few occasions that it appeared. You more often saw his face twisted into a pained grimace. For a kidnapper, he was awfully sensitive. You were pretty sure it was reasonable for you to be holding grudge, and it’s not as if you were actively fighting against him or anything. You were just refusing to acknowledge him. You were highly skilled at repressing things, or ignoring them, and you were resolved to do the same now. 

By 7 o’ clock, your resolve was slightly eroded. Hoseok always arrived back at half-past 5 on the dot. He was a very punctual person, and you felt an unwelcome sense of worry curl along the edges of your mind as the clock counted away the seconds of him not being there. You remembered feeling the same way when you waited for your mom to pick you up from your dads, watching the clock hand sweep past the numbers, increasingly taunting. Of course, you hadn’t realised that she was at the time caught in between a lorry with a drunk driver and a very steep incline. You wondered if you were being similarly clueless now. 

When the door clicked open at quarter to 9, you had to restrain yourself from exhaling in relief. Hoseok came in looking slightly disheveled, his collar undone and his hair mussed as if he had ran his hands through it over and over again. He gave you a quick once over to see if you were alright, shot you a small, forced smile and then went straight to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

That was odd. He never closed the door to his bedroom. He had always left it open in case you needed anything, despite your refusal to acknowledge him. First, his late arrival and now yet another uncommon action? You felt curiosity bubble within you. That was it. Curiosity. It’s not that you were at all worried about him, you were just being nosy. Of course. 

You tiptoed towards the door, tracing a finger around the door frame lightly. What if he didn’t even come out again for dinner? You doubted he had dined out without you, he had been eating his meals sitting across from you while you refused to touch yours since the day he stole you. You really should check on him, if only for the fact that if he dies then you’re trapped here with a high chance of starvation.

Before you could convince yourself not to, you opened the door and stepped inside. The only light-source came from the moonlight filtering through the window, casting Hoseok’s form lying on the bed in a deep blue. His eyes, which you assumed had been closed previously, shot open to observe you as he propped himself up on the backs of his forearms.

“Y/n.” He rasped, and a pleasant shiver ran down your spine. “D-do you need anything?” His tone was both excited and confused, probably because you had literally never directly interacted with him before. 

You didn’t speak, and for the first time your silence was due to speechlessness, rather than a conscious desire.

“I-I, uh,” You stuttered, and Hoseok sat up ramrod straight, hearing your voice for the first time. “You… were late home.”

Hoseok felt like he couldn’t breathe. Your voice was so soft and pretty, fuck, and you were actually looking at him, you were actually talking to him, holy shit- and you called the apartment home. You said he was late ‘home’. Hoseok somehow managed to keep his shit together. 

“I was?”

“Yes.” You confirmed with a small nod of your head. Fuck, you were so cute. “You normally come back at half five. It’s almost nine now.”

“I’m sorry. I was working late.” He was staying at the office because he felt guilty for not taking proper care of you and wanted to avoid seeing the proof of your unhappiness, but you didn’t need to know that. 

“It’s ok.”

You remained standing at the foot of the bed, locked in his gaze. The bed looked so comfortable, moulding to support his body, and his warm body was exactly the comforting presence you were searching for all those years ago and you found yourself asking,

“Can I sleep in the bed with you?” 

It was a quiet, timid suggestion but Hoseok reacted to it like a bombshell. His eyes practically popped out of their sockets and his entire body tensed. You were about to rescind your offer when he reached out a tugged a corner of the blanket down, welcoming you into the warmth. 

You awkwardly sat on the edge of the mattress, nudging off your house slippers with your toes before slipping under the covers. The relief was instantaneous, shrouded in comforting and familiar warmth, and you couldn’t stop yourself from plastering yourself against his side, arm reaching out tentatively to rest on his chest. You felt his muscles jump under your touch, before his arm slid under you and tucked around your shoulders, drawing you into him closer. You closed your eyes, letting out a quiet little sigh, and you let yourself say the words you wish you could’ve said all those years ago when your mother never returned.

“I’m glad you’re home. I missed you.” 

Helmsman: Wake up somewhere new

Grand: You are doing more paperwork, fuckin kill you with a culling fork. More and more and more and you satisfy yourself by reading one, telling the sleeping psion the joke that is these assholes requesting aid, and write 'Fuck Off' in big spiky letters across the whole thing. That goes in the Done pile. Next paper, type a moment to research what the fuck they're even talking about, because you stopped hiring motherfuckers to know more details than you when they kept fucking dying or leaving. Getting exiled. Whatever.

Your typing hand leaves the husktop to run over the fuzz of the psion's warm fragile skull while you read some more shit, strike out some more shit, and sigh. "Motherfuck, I need a vacation," you mutter, and it's a joke because this is about as close as you GET to a damn vacation, but not a joke funny enough for you to laugh. You look up round the room, all the medicullers absent save the one you successfully disarmed (okay, that one you'll laugh at), and he's dead the fuck asleep. Everything's in white, save the floor which is a multihued stain down to the drain in the center of the room, though it is mostly subtle variations of purple. Not a lot of offcolor fucks that you consider WORTHY of gettin tended to, after all.

This helm don't know how lucky he has it.

Helmsman: Stirring, your hornbeds crackle with power as the sedatives start wearing off. The dull, fullbody pain makes you groan under your breath and squinch your eyes tight, before it fades and you can settle again. 

It occurs to you that you're being touched, but you don't sense any animosity from it, which is strange and new. Along with this feeling of not-bad is the voice you recognize. The one that makes you feel. Not-bad. 

Your blue eye creaks open to survey your surroundings, and you grimace at the white, zapping the troll next to you to get their attention. 

"Hey. Can'ya turn off th'lights? Ssbright." Grumble.

Grand: The crackling of his horns takes a moment to register, the groan less so. You finish writing Fuck Off on this next illustrious waste of tree pulp, running your off hand down his nug til you get to the base of it before you withdraw--Just in time to get zapped. You let out a curse that's actually just a verse of your most holy of texts (elixirs 5:18; pour one out for you, your blood is paint yet to be spilled), and bare your teeth at him, eyes flashing with menace. 

Oh. He's just waking up. 

“Poor motherfucker," you croon, and it's a mocking tone that you speak in. But what the fuck ever, you can stand for a break. You turn off the lamp closest to him, shut your husktop with a finite click, and captchalogue the stack of important papers that you've filled out. ... Oh, and the not done ones too, if for no other reason than state secrets or whatever the fuck.

Helmsman: "Thenks." Your voice is rough from both overuse and underuse, and you clear your throat a few times before swallowing a little bit of blood. Gross.

Blinking your eyes open, you take a better look at the room around you, and then up at the troll looming over you.

"Oh sshit." Oh shit is right, because if you aren't mistaken, that's the fucking Grand Highblood. In the flesh.

"Sso. Are you the personification of the Angel of Death, or am I hallucinating?"

Grand: "You fuckin flatter me," you say, batting your lashes a bit. "Either that, or you're hallucinatin, cuz I ain't been called angelic in a while." Your hands are to yourself, but you know the sound of a fucked up voice when you hear one. You wonder if you'll have to shove a tube in his mouth to get him to take somethin from you, or if he'll take it just to make you stop botherin him.

... But you also take the chance to look him over. Mostly just his face, which has the capacity for expression now, and is therefore finally actually interesting. "So surprised to see me? I told you I'd help."

Helmsman: You look confused, and a bit upset, like you'd had a present ripped away from you. "Then... I'm not dead." Thin eyebrows furrow and you attempt to sit up, which is hard when your arms feel invisible. After a bit of struggle, you flop back down heavily, hissing at the pain. The light in your eyes seems to pulse, like you're trying to focus. "The- the data..?"

Grand: "Not a fuckin clue." This is definitely about to get spicy, and you don't grin. But you want to. You want to rub your 'i told you so' in his moronic fucking face. "You ain't dead. You're limbless and on my ship, after you tried to fire up a single fuckin cannon and immediately fainted. Whether you managed ta finish transmittin your entire self into the space between helms, i ain't got an iota of an idea. But I told you that you didn't have to shoot me, that i would wait for you to get your business done. So I don't know that I feel like that's my problem."

Helmsman: "Limbless." Yeah, that explains why your arms feel invisible. You failed. After everything you did.

After all that pain and hard work just for it to fail. You're silent as you process this, before your eyes grow damp. You can't even wipe the frustrated tears away, so you curl away from the clown so you can cry with a little bit of fucking dignity.

God your life goddamn SUCKS. The sobs hurt as they rip out of you but you can't make them stop, thin frame heaving. He should have let you die. You shouldn't have told him anything. God you're so stupid!

Grand: ... Oh.

You expected this motherfucker to fight. To flare up bright, like you saw he could do in the ship, like you know he could do as a ship. The fight wouldn't do much good, him limbless and you your powerful, merciless self, but you woulda had fun trying to take him out without takin him all the way out.

You look over him, crying, weeping and just barely able to turn away from you, and you feel

something.

Fuck knows what.

"For fucks sake, we doin this shit?" you snap, and you think it should have come out a little harsher, a little louder. Or maybe you should be laughing, perhaps. No motherfucker would be surprised to hear you laugh.

"Like I ain't the most powerful motherfucker this side of the damned universe. Where the shit are your files or what the fuck ever."

Helmsman: Shaking your head, you laugh through the tears, a mirthless, harsh noise. "Where the fuck do you think they are?"

Crying is such a relief, though. Like you finally can expell all the horrid feelings you've been holding close to your chest for so long. You've been ripped from your ship, sanitized, bundled up all careful in a medical cot, what more do you need to hide? What would it possibly change?

"I was always doomed. What difference does it make now."

Grand: You grit your teeth at that unrighteous sound, but what the fuck is it you can do? Where the fuck indeed. You keep your helms and your files separate, at the rate you burn through them, and why the fuck wouldn't you? But you've never thought about the logistics of how the fuck one would store themselves, never thought about how it wouldn't be in ship storage unless it was some place the fish bitch could see.

For a second, from the way you have trouble breathing, and from the way your pump aches, you think you're finally kicking it. It's only a breath, only a beat, but still enough to get your fronds all wound the fuck up in the soft silk of the hospital bed. Still enough to have you reeling.

"Well. Guess you're gonna have to stay lively long enough ta write your fuckin memoirs, ain't ya?" you say, and it's quiet, and not all that funny, and you don't know what the hell is going on. "So, let's see to that."

Helmsman: You half feel vindicated from seeing that conflicted look on GHB's features, but the other half of you feels really bad. The guy went out of his way to save your useless life, used his resources, time, and energy to pluck you specifically from death's door and sit next to you.

Memoirs he says, like that isn't a ridiculous statement to make this late in the game. How are you gonna write them without arms, you wonder. It makes you laugh again, and this time it feels better to laugh. Once the giggles have settled down, you look at the troll next to you, really look at him, yellow streaks run down your cheeks and staining the white pillow under you.

"You've been here the whole time, right?"

Grand: There you all in all your glory, thousands of sweeps old and not quite so young looking as you were when you first caught this motherfucker, wearing what amounts to your casual clothes and the tie you wear when you're feeling like you should get yourself in the head for business. Your hair has grey, your paint has a fine line or two in it, but you're still an unholy terror when you want to be, which is still fucking most of the time. 

Your hands unfist in the covers, and you roll your eyes at him, recline in the chair you stole from your office because fuck if you're gonna use a visitor's chair, you're the fucking king. "Nah, motherfucker, I got shit to do other than tend to your pathetic ass." Your ankles cross and you look up at the ceiling, casual as you fucking please. "But I been here often enough. When I ain't preachin or doin other holy shit. Medicullers just ain't made like they used to be, and some don't know how to ask first instead of puttin their knives where they ain't wanted. Can't have them makin that mistake when I went through all the trouble to nab your scrawny ass, can I?"

Helmsman: "Well. Thanks, I guess. You've got your reasons I don't doubt, but." You avert your eyes, not that he can tell. "It was better than being alone."

Okay you need to sit up Now. Cracking your neck, you test your reach with your psionics, the energy roving over the whole room as you manually adjust the power. Ugh, that feels weird. It takes a negligible amount of thought to arrange yourself a bit more upright against the pillow, and it does wonders making you feel less like you're at the mercy of circumstance. 

"... You haven't changed a bit, huh you shitty old man."

Grand: You roll that thought around your head, feel it shifting shit behind your eyes. It was better than being alone, he said. Ain't that a terrible weakness of his, that dislike of being alone? Feels like the fucking point of a wriggler's afternoon special, soft and sweet and weak as it is. Pathetic, is what it is. 

You watch him out of the corner of your eye, watch him sit himself up with power that you still don't trust not to be pressed into the flesh of you, though the thrill keeps you from locking it away tight with something or another, and you are a little impressed that he even knows how to use those when he's spent so long being sucked dry of em.

"Course I've changed. I think I've gotten taller. Definitely gotten older. I think I've killed a few more thousands of fuckers, though I might be off by a decimal point or some shit. You gotta be more specific, motherfucker, if you want to get a particular answer."

Helmsman; Scoff. "It was rhetorical, fuckhead." The residual psionics definitely is filling the air with static, and now that you've tapped into them it's increasingly hard to tamp down on them. Guess you're going to be fizzing like a carbonated beverage for the next little while. 

"I do have some questions for you though."

Grand: You bark out a laugh, as your head fills with static and your hair puffs up faintly like an angry cat. You're going to have to rub him down with fuckin drier sheets or some shit, just to get some peace and not have your papers stickin to you. 

"What the fuck else have we got to do, bitch? Go on, ask."

Helmsman: You chew on your lower lip as you think of the right way to word it. "Does Survivor know I'm alive?"

Grand: "Yep," you pop the word sharp, rocking back on your heels and two legs of the chair. More throne than chair, really.

Helmsman: Would be a shame if he were to fall backwards and hurt himself... Someone's gotta teach this guy not to lean on the back feet of chairs. He could hurt himself. What a shame. 

The front two legs slam back onto the floor, and you sneer at him. "The last thing I need is for you to suffer some kind of concussion right now."

Grand: You yelp, an unseemly noise, as your chair is forced groundways, making you a six legged shape once more. "My skull is thicker than that, for messiahs motherfuckin sake, ask your damn questions instead of fussin over my old ass, you motherfuckin limbless horror."

Helmsman: “It'd just be inconvenient, is what I'm saying. Like I'd bother fussing over you, nightmare fuel." 

This fucking guy. You shut your eyes, exhaustion hitting you like a truck all of a sudden. "Will I see her anytime soon or am I just gonna be stuck in this glass bottle forever so you can keep prodding me with sticks?"

Grand: Nightmare fuel. You like that, and it makes you chuckle different, a low bass rumble in your chest. 

"You'll see her when she comes up with a plan that her and blue think will keep me from wreckin their shit, and as soon as you can get jostled without openin up every scab you got from nose to nook, which believe me, are plentiful.. And maybe a little longer than that, dependin on your amusement ta annoyance ratios. Don't go tryinna manipulate em to your wantin, cuz I ain't gonna tell you which keeps you here longer."

Helmsman: "I'm going to be honest with you: I'm a doer not a schemer. I'd pinky promise you, but, well..." 

Shrug. 

"As long as I get to see her again." You forgot what it was like to yearn for someone, but right now it's all you can take to be away from Bastet. You were being honest earlier when you admitted you don't know how to be alone anymore.

Grand: You hear that, and you tip back in your chair again, arms crossed behind your head, and you smile. Fuck yes. "Ain't that sweet," you chirr, and it could be nice if it was anyone other than you. But you are, as he said, nightmare fuel, and you ain't particularly inclined to be anything else. 

"Give it a week or two. A perigee, tops. You'll get where you wanna be. Think you can wait that long, motherfucker?"

Helmsman: "Only been waiting the majority of my life." Sinking back into the thin blanket. "If you're going to stick around, do it goddamn quietly, for fucks' sake." 

You're starting to feel lightheaded, and want to sleep now.

Grand: A snort. "And here I thought you liked my company. You'll tolerate it or you won't, and it ain't my problem either way." 

Still, when he nestles himself down, you draw the blanket up past his damaged shoulders so he don't catch chill and kill himself on something nothin much at all. And you go ahead and take off your business garb (the polkadot tie you wear when you're deep in the shit creek that is your backed up paperwork), twirling it around your finger before you captchalogue it. "Just fuckin sleep, you're gonna need it."

Helmsman: “Don't need your permission." You bite back, already fading off into dreamland. Geez, being a sassy sourpuss takes a lot of energy.

Grand: He falls asleep to the low rumble of your laugh at his expense, amusement in the face of his fucking spite. Once he's out, you realize you forgot to make him drink, and decide you'll get on with it when he's a little more conscious. No point forcing him if he's not around to make you work for it, is there? 

You don't turn on the light for a good hour or so. You just sit back in your throne, the back legs of it worn away from just such play, and you think. And you speak a few more times, half thoughts that you don't bother to explain cuz he ain't around to ask. But mostly, you just think.

MARY MACDONALD is TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD and a BARTENDER at THE FOUNTAIN OF FAIR FORTUNE in HORIZONT ALLEY. They look remarkably like QUINTESSA SWINDELL and considers themselves aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. They are currently OPEN. 

→ OVERVIEW:

tw: body dysmorphia, blood

Romantic and liberal, Mary day dreams in floral patterns and vanilla perfume. Pockets of love heart sweets and the feeling of fall leaves beneath their feet, they are renowned as a social butterfly. Born an only child to a young single mother, the pair lived comfortably in their home in Nottingham with only each other to hold. A summer romance had led to Mary, with news of a child their father left as quickly as Autumn came; slipping into the thick of night without a word of goodbye. Harbouring questions of why, their curiosity was merely avoided only accompanied with their mother’s face of displeasure. Adamant not to recall a man that had left her so broken hearted. Still, it left an unwavering feeling of disconnect and a sense of being incomplete. Attempts to not let it bother them fell short, the burden and weight of abandonment manifested in their chest, the simple question of why weighing heavily. While Mary’s father had been absent, their mother had been anything but. Lifting them up and showing them the love held in the world if only they had the bravery to seek it. It was the determination to stand tall again after being hurt that counted the most. Trying despite the odds and having the courage, strength and heart to get back up if you fall. They learnt that asking for help held its own strength and was never something to be ashamed of. Above all, always offer your own hand to anyone who may need it. Their mother’s compassion was mirrored in Mary, finding that people would always be the best part of any given day.

Stays in London were frequent, with their mother working for a high end fashion company Mary longed for the buzz of the city and thrived in the vibrancy. Capturing diversity through their vintage camera, they craved the feeling of belonging. Moments in independent cafe’s were always their favourite, hot chocolates and colourful folk from all walks of life filled their film reels. Delighting in the fact that in London, anyone could be anything. Predominantly, their times in the city revolved around glamour. Accompanying their mother to offices, events and photoshoots, Mary was exposed to the complexities of the fashion industry and subsequently the lifestyle from a young age. Seeing slim models fixate on appearances, subconsciously Mary started mimicking behaviours. For an insecure youth, being surrounded by subjectively beautiful people made them over analytical of their own appearance. Combined with their mother’s need for high presentation at social affairs, it instilled deep rooted self scrutiny in an attempt to fit into a box of idealised beauty. Mary tried to be the personification of perfection. Behaving how they thought others wanted them to rather than being their own person. Sculpting themselves to fit within the young ‘fashionistas’ they’d befriended due to their mum’s job; when really they never felt a sense of belonging. Hope of normality and blending were thankfully dashed when they started to receive their letters to Hogwarts. If anything, it came with an overwhelming sense of relief. Knowing their differences didn’t just make them odd. It made them unique, literal magic. 

The wizarding world was everything Mary dreamed it would be and more. With it, they came to life. Sorted into Gryffindor, the sorcerer was keen to meet new friends hoping finally they would belong. Solitude and loneliness was never something they had an affinity for, preferring a room filled with laughter to one where they were subjected to their own thoughts and company. Luckily Mary found comfort and kinship in LILY EVANS, MARLENE MCKINNON and DORCAS MEADOWES, friendships that would last a lifetime. Holding unconditional love, they became a family away from home. Friendly by nature, Mary quickly found themselves befriending folk from different houses. Namely witch ABIGAIL FERNSBY who would gladly offer giggle water whenever Mary popped into their line of vision. Unlike their friends, Mary wasn’t the most outstanding student. Often in trouble gossiping to close friend ORLAITH MACMILLAN or from dozing off on a text book after dancing and drinking the night away at one of the Marauders famous parties. Each instance was met with exasperated dismay from teachers such as PROFESSOR MINERVA MCGONAGALL, landing them in detention from time to time. Despite their preferred desire to spend time whispering about the latest Hogwarts gossip, they kept their grades up with help of Doe and Lily. While they didn’t shine in academics, photography continued to be a means of expression for Mary. Deemed a novelty by peers, the portraits they capture are something they enjoy privately to remember their time at Hogwarts; mainly the people.

Captivated by romances, Mary dreamed in soft pinks, whispered moments and a summer breeze as it blows soft petals into the air. While some considered their air of hopeless romance a mere naivety, it was their strength. Building and safeguarding hearts, Mary was many’s confidant entrusted with secrets. Namely in Doe’s affection for Marlene, Mary always had a shoulder and hand fulls parma violets to distract from heart ache. Offering kindness and soft hand squeezes in moments of dismay. Many pass Mary off without a second thought, appearing seemingly unthreatening as they pass them humming muggle pop music in the corridors. Creating love affairs in their head, Mary spends hours doodling hearts on the corners of parchments as they imagine a happy ending with whichever boy had accidentally brushed their hand in the hallway. They fell hard and often for people who never fully appreciated them. Being taken advantage of more than once, tears stained their cheeks as they cried into their room mate’s arms. Offers of hot chocolates from Lily, help finding someone new from Marlene and the offered threat to teach them a lesson from Doe, they would all mourn yet another heartache together. While Dorcas warned maybe finding themselves was a better solution, Mary passed off the comments deeming it in ridicule. Knowing the value of connections, there was never a scenario where Mary would miss a party; unwilling to squander their chance of meeting someone over a beverage. Though, there was one connection they wish they could rewind and cut; infamous Slytherin LARKIN MULCIBER.

Things didn’t start out as sinister as many like to believe. None of them had expected for Mary to fall as hard for Mulciber as they did. Cautious words came from all their best friends lips the moment they’d alluded to their romance. Concern that a purist had bothered giving them the time of day let alone the evening when there were plenty of Pure-Bloods lined up to take their place. Still Mary fell and hard. Convincing themselves they could fix whatever was broken in his heart, they saw him as a lost soul rather than Lucifer himself. Swept by stolen moments, his insistence to keep their relationship a secret was prevalent so they obeyed. Besides Lily, Doe and Marlene, no one knew of their love affair. At least that’s what they had thought. To this day Mary still dissociates with the downfall. One moment they were encapsulated in his arms, taken by that smirk until it had turned devilish. Lips trailed to their ear the only thing they remember is an uttered ‘Imperio’ before everything went dark. The next? Found screaming in the Black Lake with blood stained hands. Lily’s attempts to sooth them fell short. Spending the following weeks in the infirmary, too shaken and betrayed to deal with the twisted actions Mulicber has inflicted. Mary disassociated, fragments only coming back unwillingly in nightmares. They’d been a fool. Shame followed them like a shadow as they caught the pity lingering in everyone’s eyes. By their final year, Mary couldn’t wait to escape. Longing for a fresh start and to meet people that weren’t so familiar with their past. 

Mary found comfort in simplicity. Nights spent in the company of close friends JAMES POTTER, REMUS LUPIN, SIRIUS BLACK and PETER PETTIGREW over a drink at The Fountain of Fair Fortune, things felt normative. Though change always came at the least welcome time. An unrest lingering in the air, Mary can’t help but feel on edge. Still dealing with the trauma that was forced upon them, the idea of that torment becoming widespread was sickening. When ALBUS DUMBLEDORE came into the tavern to inform them about The Order Of The Phoenix and the involvement of many of their companions, Mary was extremely hesitant. Having seen first hand the horrors of the unforgivable curses, the fear of being subjected to more torture was terrifying. But worse was standing ideally by while others faced the same fate. Despite concerns, Mary accepted. Slowly being trained under the mentorship of CHARITY BURBAGE, they have been tasked with keeping an ear to the ground for any potential sorcerers coming into the tavern who could be helpful in the fight against injustice. While still wary and worried for their friends, Mary is trying to come to terms with having to face Larkin again in due course. Knowing he is a valued member among the Death Eaters, Mary wants to bring some kind of karma as justifications of the pain he caused them. While they fear the repercussions it could hold, facing their past is inevitable and something they hope could stop Mulciber inflicting the same nightmares on others.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Muggle-Born

Pronouns → They/Them

Identification → Non-Binary 

Sexuality  →  Up to Roleplayer 

Relationship Status → Single 

Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Gryffindor)

Societies → TBD

Family → N/A

Connections  → Lily Evans (best friend), Dorcas Meadowes (best friend/room mate), Marlene McKinnon (best friend), James Potter (close friend), Remus Lupin (close friend), Sirius Black (close friend), Peter Pettigrew (close friend), Larkin Mulciber (ex-fling/adversary), Abigail Fernsby (friend), Orlaith MacMillan (close friend), Maren Linwood (close friend/colleague), Laurel Linwood (friend/colleague), Adairia Linwood (friend/boss), Emilia Grey (friend), Cassiopeia Kim (friend), Cressida Abercrombie (friend), Gilfred Abbott (friend), Caradoc Dearborn (friend), Poppy Hookum (friend), Aurora Sinistra (friend), Charity Burbage (mentor)

Future Information → N/A  

MARY MACDONALD IS A LEVEL 5 SORCERER.

out of my league // t.h — 10

Pairing: Tom Holland x Critic! Reader [I use female pronouns]

Warnings: depressive/triggering thoughts, explicitly mentioned; slight mentions of physical abuse; swearing; eventual fluff; angst; hurt/comfort; pining; a little bit of cliche because come on.

A/N: THERE’S A LOT THAT HAPPENS IN THIS CHAPTER. Please read the warnings before reading! 

Also, if you want me to add you to the series taglist, just drop a note or comment! ^^

Word count: 3727

Series Masterlist

 09 | 10 | 11 |

    “Let me get this straight, Susanna is living with you?” Aditi’s voice was low that afternoon when they were having lunch together.

(y/n) rolled her eyes at Aditi’s surprise. Nodding, the girl decided to keep mum about her manager’s situation. It was not her secret to share. Aditi continued eating her lunch, without further pressing into things. She liked Susannah enough to not gossip about her or her situation, and was fine with learning more about the situation if Susannah wanted her to know.

Susannah had been rather quiet ever since moving into (y/n)’s place. It was never a decided deal that she’d stay, but (y/n) insisted. They worked together and were comfortable with one another, therefore there was no issue. Susannah seemed quiet because there were a lot of things on her mind, which (y/n) understood, and precisely why she wanted to give her manager more time to let things sink in. However, all through this time, never had she once thought that giving someone space meant forgetting that they could feel lonely.

    That evening, (y/n) was approached by Susannah for a personal request.

    “I need to go over to William’s to grab a few of my things.” Susannah’s voice sounded tired, almost physical; like there was no motive left that could bring her happiness.

    “You want me to come with you?”

Susannah nodded, not meeting (y/n)’s eye. (y/n) sighed before placing a warm hand on her manager’s shoulder, earning Susannah’s attention.

    “Susannah, don’t hold back from asking me for help. Please. I want to help you. And I know you’re hesitating.”

    “Come with me?”

(y/n) smiled before nodding. A soft smile almost appeared on Susannah’s face, but it died as a thought and never came forward. Right after work, (y/n) and Susannah got into her car and drove to her old residence, William’s flat. There were many questions (y/n) wanted to ask Susannah, she wanted to ask her if she was okay, if she was comfortable with how things were moving, with the pace of her life. However, there were times when you are constantly unsure if it is the right time to ask if someone is okay, because asking them that would invariably make them realize that things weren’t fine.

(y/n) wanted her manager to be as strong as she possibly could at the moment. She prayed for her strength, and wanted Susannah to get to a point where she could easily release her sorrow, a point where she needn’t worry about more. Once she gets her things from William’s flat, Susannah would be free of any restriction.

    The flat was relatively posh looking, but (y/n) made no comment. Though the drive was silent, she could tell that there was no awkwardness between them. Mere comfort disguised as silence, enveloping the two; Susannah got out of the car and waited for (y/n), after which they both made their way to William’s door.

    “What things do you have to collect?”

    “Some of my clothes, I got most of my things that day in my car.” Susannah’s voice almost broke at the end, and (y/n) refrained from touching her shoulder.

Standing outside William’s door, Susannah trembled. She turned to (y/n) with a worried expression, to which (y/n) responded with a firm nod. Turning back to the door, Susannah knocked. The door opened after four attempts, the fourth attempt being her bravest. William opened the door, obviously intoxicated, and shot Susannah a nasty grin.

    “Come to take your things, Susannah?”

Susannah didn’t respond, but barged inside, (y/n) following quickly after. William bellowed with laughter a moment after, but Susannah ignored him. (y/n) barely knew who this male was, but felt anger, despite not knowing enough. Turning to Susannah’s growing red face, she prayed that she would not drop her confidence.

    “You still dressin’ like a fucking whore, Stephen? Who’s this with you? Your new play thing—”

    “Excuse me?” (y/n) snapped, frowning at the male.

William scoffed. “Stephen, this is bullshit. You know you need me. Stop messing around—”

    “Susannah,” (y/n) broke down clearly, “does not need the likes of you.”

William deadpanned at the woman before rolling his eyes. Susannah was quickly grabbing her stuff, praying quietly that (y/n) doesn’t say anything more. Don’t engage, Susannah thought before sighing once. She turned to spot William by the door of their previously shared room and refused to give him what he wanted.

    “I won’t bow to you,” Susannah said. “You’re weak for not accepting who I am. I’ve got nothing to lose.”

William was shocked for a moment, before stepping forward aggressively. (y/n) stepped forward in defense, forcing him to stop on his heels.

    “Are you dense?” (y/n) said, lowly.

William raised his hand, almost looking like he was about to smack at (y/n), and she didn’t back down. Scoffing, the man turned on his heel and walked away. Coward, (y/n) thought, not because he didn’t hit her, but more so because of he had thought of it.

    Once back in the car, (y/n) let out a sigh. Susannah turned to her with a scowl, “Are you out of your mind? What if he had hit you?”

    “He didn’t, Susannah. And he wouldn’t have. If he had touched me, he’d have had it. You know this. He’s a jerk and he’s absolute scum. I am so glad you’re out of there.” (y/n) sounded angry, though Susannah knew it was not directed at her.

What (y/n) then thought had helped Susannah, what (y/n) thought was the end of her manager’s troubles, was only an inception. Susannah turned away from her, starting the car, muttering a soft ‘thank you’, and sunk in her mind. This was not just William, she wanted to say. This was not as simple as a beginning and an end. Susannah felt like her heart had been so thoroughly and irreparably broken that there could be no real joy again, that at best there might eventually be a little contentment.

    She was aware of what (y/n) thought for her, felt for her; as would anybody in her shoes. (y/n) wanted her to get back up on her feet, to help her, and have her feel better again. She wanted Susannah to get help and rejoin life, pick up the pieces and move on, and she tried to, she wanted to, but she just had to lie in the mud with her arms wrapped around herself, eyes closed, grieving, until she didn’t have to anymore.

There was no real help when all your mind does is scream. She turns to (y/n), who sat beside her, staring outside the window, thoughts to herself and wondered. Susannah didn’t want to inflict on to this woman any more pain. Not that she was a burden, but (y/n) reminded her of what she had lost. It wasn’t (y/n)’s fault, it was the moment she was in. Everything in the moment—her life, her job, (y/n) and Aditi, even the intern Bruce, reminded her of everything she had lost, everything she had to move away from. And the guilt seeped into her like a transfusion.

    Sighing, she understood: there was always some relief in giving up.

*

It was the morning after when (y/n) realized that Susannah had gone missing. She was just about to reply to Tom’s message, when something felt off—you always know, inside your gut, when something smells odd in the air; like it isn’t supposed to be. It wasn’t as if Susannah was a significance presence in her life, she was a friend, a mentor, her manager—she was all those things that (y/n) would have understood if she went missing. The news hit her the instant she thought of Susannah that morning, and ignoring Tom’s meme, (y/n) rushed to the room Susannah was supposed to be in.

    She had left it as it was before she had come in. There was no trace of Susannah, no strand of hair to indicate that she was ever here. (y/n)’s heart dropped, fear enveloped her skin like a parka in the cold, and her hand flew to her jaw. Immediately dialling the police’s number, (y/n) did the one thing she had never wanted to do. Report a missing friend.

When the police arrived, (y/n) saw that Harrison was trying to contact her. Ignoring the call, she continues telling the police about Susannah, about her having been Stephen, about William, everything she knew about her manager—hoping, praying and wondering where she could have gone. Please be safe, please, please, please, she prayed to almost everything and nothing that could hear her, help her.

    “Ma’am, we’ll take a look. She’s probably gone to another friend’s place, we can’t take in a missing report unless it’s been 72 hours.”

    “But, she won’t leave like this. This is unnatural! You’ve got to help, with all that’s going on, something might have—”

The thought made her anxious and nauseous. The officer saw the dilemma in her face, but had no other option.

    “There’s really nothing we can do, ma’am.”

Groaning, (y/n) dialed Aditi’s number before explaining the situation to her. Aditi quickly got on it, almost as if the girl had expected this to happen. However, that wasn’t the case. Aditi was agile that way, her brain had been hot-wired to expect bad news; she was on the move through most of her job, and this was how she functioned. Aditi was perhaps, the best person to trust when something goes south. The girl was a living personification of the word power.

    A moment after, Harrison calls (y/n) again, which she ignores. It’s his third call all morning, and (y/n) felt terrible ignoring him. However, she knew she’d let them both know what had happened, once everything was sorted. The police couldn’t help her, but she prayed Aditi could. What’s happened? I thought everything was okay, she thought, before sitting on her couch, and letting the nothingness hit her veins. She rubbed her palms over her face and felt the tension in her facial muscles. (y/n) had known she wouldn't be able to simply shut off her thoughts and go to sleep. Her entire body—everything she could feel, at least, was like a tightly coiled spring.

After what felt like an hour, there was a knock on her door. (y/n)’s heart jumped, her first thought being Susannah, as she raced to the door, tears flowing down her eyes as she opened the door to find someone she least expected to see.

*

    “She’s not picking her calls, mate. She’s apparently not at work, either. I don’t know what’s wrong.” Harrison said, over call.

Tom felt ridiculous. His instinctive thought was if he had done something wrong again, but he knew that there had to be a strong reason for (y/n) not to communicate. Sighing, he nodded, knowing what he had to do. Knocking on her door, he had never imagined that seeing her in that state could cause him that much blind panic.

    “(y/n)? What’s happened?”

    “Tom?” Her voice was a whisper.

Tom went inside, shutting the door behind him, his hands rushing to her face, letting her cry—this was a disaster, I’m glad I came, he thought before shushing her, too scared to hold her and too scared to let go. The balance he found was incomplete but that was all he could do.

    “What’s happened?” he asked, once more, feeling his heart race.

    “Susannah’s missing,” Tom blinked. “She’s… She’s never done this before! With what happened with William yesterday, I really believed she was alright. That she was going to be alright. I’m scared, Tom. I’m scared—”

    “Breathe,” Tom said, pressing his forehead to hers. “Breathe, (y/n).”

A moment later, (y/n) explained to Tom everything that had transpired with Susannah and William, the bits she knew, and his agitation grew. He held her trembling hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of her palm, listening to everything she had to say, studying her fears, analysing her reactions—looking for nooks and corners where he could enter and comfort her. Tom watched her as she cried, wiping her own tears, and trying to be strong.

    “Hold on, let me make a call.” Tom said, before calling his manager.

    “But, you’re an actor—”

    “You’ll be surprised with how much I can do with this fame, (y/n). Let me help.” Tom said, smiling a bit at her.

(y/n) instinctively embraced him, shocking Tom and sending his mind on overdrive. She held onto him, placing her chin on his shoulder, and thanked him repeatedly—Tom’s hand slowly went around her, and pressed her to him; rubbing her back as she breathed. A second later, it was when she started to tremble did Tom’s grip on her tightened radically. (y/n) must have been shaking, because he put his arms around her so tightly it hurt. Though, she found herself loving the pain of his attention. It was the pain of safety, of care, of being broken just enough for release. Tom breathed into her hair, pressing his cheek to hers, but knew he had to let go of her. He had to help, he had to make a call, and when he began pushing away, he realized how hard it was.

    “I’m sorry…” She whispered.

    “Shh,” he said, kissed her forehead, catching sight of her growing blush, and took his phone out.

Tom called Harrison and asked him to help out. Harrison knew one of the higher ups in the police department, and he immediately got on the job. Tom held (y/n)’s hand and squeezed, earning a soft smile from her side.

    “Is she alright?” Haz asked, and Tom looked at their connected hands.

    “Yeah.”

*

Fucking piece of trash, Aditi thought as she stood in front of William’s house. Opening the door, Aditi could smell the marijuana radiating off the white man, before allowing herself inside.

    “Who’re you?” He was most definitely high, and Aditi didn’t care.

Aditi turned to the male and growled, “I’m a journalist, I’m covering the story for the missing woman.”

William laughed and said, “You mean man?”

    “Fucking idiot,” She cursed under her breath and said, “Yeah, that’s the one. Any idea where she went?”

    “Didn’t she leave with that funny woman?”

He must mean (y/n), Aditi thought before saying, “She’s missing, nimrod.”

    “Right, right. Stephen’s parents’ are dead. So he musta’ gone there.”

    “It’s Susannah, asshole. Anyway, great. You’re useless as ever.”

Stepping out of the house, Aditi instantly called the police who had contacted her earlier that afternoon. She had no idea how the chief of the police department got her number, but she knew one thing—he was on the job, and this was more serious than one could have imagined.

You better fucking be alive, Susannah, Aditi thought before getting back to her car.

*

What felt like hours later, (y/n) woke up. She was on the couch, still, a shawl was over her; it was raining outside, and she couldn’t remember when she fell asleep. She felt passionless, though she couldn’t clearly remember in detail what went wrong. Susannah was missing, but she didn’t know why; she felt hollow, though she didn’t know why; and for some reason, she felt lonely—as if she had skipped the chance to be honest and embraced a lie instead.

    She heard a shuffle from her kitchen and froze. She recalled that Tom was here, before she fell asleep so abruptly. The clock struck 4, and she sat up straight, wondering where he went. Getting up, she patted her heart twice to calm her instincts, and waltzed into the kitchen to come face to face with Tom’s back.

    “Tom?” Her voice was soft.

Cherry pink, Tom thought, battling a smile. Turning to face her, he grinned before placing a cup of black coffee in front of her. She stared at the cup before looking back at Tom with a confused expression.

    “I’m sorry I made use of your kitchen,” Her heart skipped a beat, “And no sugar for the miss.”

    “Thank you…” She said, transfixed.

She took the warm cup in her hands and took a sip, before letting the warmth embrace her whole. Tom smiled at her before watching her, the sleep was fighting in her eyelids and her face was pale with worry.

    “Your friend Aditi,” Tom began. “She learnt that Susannah might have gone to her parents’ house. I’ve asked Haz to speak to the chief and send someone there to check. We’ll know tomorrow, or later tonight.”

(y/n) nodded before muttering another thank you, feeling warm on the inside. There was silence that ensued when Tom made himself a cup of coffee, with sugar and milk. Both of them went back to the couch a moment after, the outside still raining.

    “I’m sorry, I don’t even remember dozing off—”

    “You were stressed. And you didn’t even sleep for long. Probably an hour.” Tom said, taking a sip of his coffee.

    “What were you doing in that hour?”

Watching you, he thought but knew it’d be creepy if he said it, “Hm, nothing important. I came to make coffee in a bit.”

(y/n) smiled, blushing. She suddenly felt Tom’s proximity, the warmth radiating from his shoulder and transferring to hers. She thought of the hug she had given him, and the tightness from the same—Tom had held her as she cried, and the thought caused her stomach to turn into a trapeze artist. Her face reddened, and she took another sip to cover it up. The hug turned her giddy, the hug was leaving her speechless.

The hug was a simple gesture. Perhaps, the end of the cold war. Perhaps, the fragile beginning of love.

She turned to Tom and saw how effortlessly handsome he was. It was not just in television, it was here—on her couch, in her home, how Tom Holland managed to captivate her with his charm. By doing absolutely nothing, Tom proved to be one of the best things she could lay eyes on, his effortless mastery over how easy it was for him to be himself.

    “I’ve always wanted to ask,” No, she didn’t, she was feeling awkward over the silence, “Why did you become an actor?”

    “It wasn’t impulsive, my mum thought I’d not even make it, you know?” Tom laughed, causing her to smile. “She enrolled me to this carpentry course, just if things didn’t work out. But, when I was cast as Spiderman, life changed. I’ve always adored Spiderman. It was like a dream come true.” Tom said, speaking of it fondly.

    “That’s lovely. I adored Spiderman. I thought you were cute as Peter.” (y/n) said, giggling.

Tom’s heart skipped a beat but he acted as if he was cool, “Yeah?”

    “Yep. Cutie.” She teased, not realizing what it did to him.

    “What about you?”

She hadn’t ever been asked this question. Perhaps, Susannah was the only one who knew this fact about (y/n), missing Susannah, who was perhaps in a lot of pain herself. A bitter smile rose on her lips as she formed her words in her mind.

    “I think Susannah’s the only one who knows this but,” Tom blinked up at her, “I’ve always wanted to write for a TV show. Adapting a book into a TV show.”

    “That’s insane! Why don’t you—”

    “Come on, Tom,” (y/n) rolled her eyes. “Not everyone is lucky enough to become famous.”

Though her voice sounded bitter, Tom felt the strangest of nostalgia behind her words. It was as if a dream had been given up on before being attempted.

    “Maybe that’s why I ended up becoming a critic instead? Because I know I can never get there—”

    “I think that’s bull, honestly,” (y/n) was shocked, and immediately turned to him. “You’re one of the smartest people I know. And I know a lot of people.”

(y/n)’s eyes were wide, and she could hear her heart beating in her ear. She instantly scoffed and turned away, half afraid he’d spot her blush, and half shy.

    “Tom, you’re just—”

    “I’m not just saying that, love.” Tom’s voice was low.

(y/n) turned to look at him, his eyes fixated at her. Her mouth opened, as if she were about to say something but forgot the words. Eye contact, she realized right then, was more intimate than words could ever be. Both their souls, at that second, caught on fire as they remained transfixed with one another.

    There is no moment in Tom’s life that can be compared to when he looked at (y/n) and found that she was looking at him in the same way that he was looking at her. The moment in which she bestowed that look that says, "I see you." The rough copy-and-paste-moment on a mere glance. The slow drawing near, but remaining fixed to your spot. This moment, as it seemed, always took its time, it can seem like hours and hours and more endless hours, however, only minutes have passed. Languor is the word that describes best. Tom’s persona made its way casually toward (y/n)’s persona, over a plethora of hesitant actions. Many years pass before they finally meet, but the years are seconds.

Still, everything is decided. Tom and (y/n) made love in that one glance.

Her thoughts rush to him kissing her forehead and she stops, looking away, shyly—understanding the significance of this moment in its entirely. Tom continued to look at her, at everything on her face to her hair to her eyes to her lips to her nose to her eyebrows to her chin. At this moment, Tom knows what he feels for her, but is afraid to voice it even to himself.

     He’s an actor, she stops herself from feeling, stops herself from allowing herself to imagine what it could be like, a ‘what-if’ being born in a moment of passion.

And Tom could never forget the way their eyes met, and the words he had thought. Words he hoped he could tell her someday.

*

series taglist:

@strangemaximoff​, @aestheticgaybish​, @noobmaster63​, @why-are-all-the-teens-gay​, @wonders-of-the-multiverse​, @boushalaivre​, @jackiehollanderr​, @nerdypisces160​, @yourwonderbelle​, @quackson606​, @stickyqueenbouquetsstuff​, @fandoms-stuff​, @danicarosaline​, @toolateformcrtooearlytoleaveemo, @multiverseprincess @spider-mendes @jazzhandspotter @the-rad-mad 

Uther and Merlin Pt. 8

Aka The Final Battle or JESUS CHRIST, UTHER!

The secondary title there is really not a joke. Uther + Vortigern = Nothing good. Warning for violence, death, and a bit of torture.

“Come out and fight, Vortigern!” Aurelius yelled, Merlin using magic to amplify his voice so it echoed up to the castle towers. “Face the consequences of your actions! Face your own karma as if you actually had honor!”

Damn, if Merlin didn’t know better, he would’ve thought Aurelius had actually gotten more than four hours of sleep last night with a speech like that.

Beside him, Uther bounced on his heels impatiently, clad entirely in armor. Merlin just stared in fear and wonder at the grand city of Camelot. Vortigern presumably hadn’t taken good care of it, for the stories of grandeur Aurelius and Uther had told him were vastly different than the run down, spike-laden walls he saw now, but the majesty was still there. With a little work, it wouldn’t take much to restore it to its former glory. That is, if they survived the day. It had taken so long to get to this point, so many deaths, but now, the final battle was at their feet.

The response to Aurelius’s challenge was a barrage of arrows, which Merlin had to guard against as the army rushed forward, with battering rams and weapons and fury. Even though he knew it was all in his head, the stench of fresh blood already filled his nostrils, making him gag.

A hand grabbed his and started to pull him toward the fighting. He looked up with wide, scared eyes into excited blue ones. “Come on! It’s finally time!” The expression on Uther’s face was almost manic, to the point where Merlin felt a little relief when he turned around to see where he was running to. That feeling managed to scare him more than the battle, if he was being honest.

It didn’t take long to break down the gates. Vortigern’s forces were scattered across the land, dealing with peasant revolts as the common folk realized that the time had come where they didn’t have to deal with his shit anymore. The ones that were here had been consolidated inside the city rather than meeting Aurelius’s forces on a proper battlefield, thus putting the populous at risk. Aurelius had given the order that no civilians were to be harmed, but in the heat of battle, such an order could be hard to follow, or ignored by some completely. Merlin trusted that Ulfius would obey, and he hoped Uther would as well, but honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure. Uther could get a little ruthless in combat.

Case in point, Merlin thought as a splatter of blood coated his front as Uther decapitated an enemy soldier. The manic laughing of the prince rang out across the screams and anguished final yells as soldiers fell to the ground, dead seconds after their bodies hit the dirt. The dust that was kicked up in the chaos seemed to have a slight red hue to it and so many awful smells surrounded the fighting. Rank sweat, metallic blood, grainy dust swirled around the air, stabbing into his nostrils, pooling into his lungs, even worse than how he had imagined it.

Uther just kept pulling him along and if it wasn’t for the warmth of his blood-soaked hand, Merlin would’ve broken down, covering his ears, right then and there to drown out all the commotion, all the death, all the destruction.

Anytime a blade lashed out at them, Merlin shielded them from the attack while Uther retaliated. They ran up to the castle, doors shut tight. Uther slammed at it with a closed fist, then turned to Merlin, eyes cold and deadly. “Destroy it.”

For once, Merlin had no objection to this request. Lightning crackling at his fingertips, he held out both hands and let the power flow through him, blasting down the door and sending it rocketing inside. The heavy wood mowed down many guards stationed inside, and the rest were quickly taken care of by Uther. His viciousness, his blade slicing through the enemy, all of it seemed more ruthless, more angry than usual. He was so close, so close to having Vortigern on his knees before him, one of his greatest desires. Merlin knew all of this, but the sight of Uther no longer smiling, his face hardened into something primal, hateful, scared him infinitely more than when the prince had been maniacally laughing while cutting down his enemies.

Uther stormed over and grabbed Merlin’s hand. “Come on, I know where he’d be.” Without waiting, he pulled the wizard behind him, climbing stairs and taking advantage of Merlin’s shields to kill without fear any soldiers that got in their way. Merlin wanted to tell Uther to stop, to let him use some magic to incapacitate rather than decapitate, but something stopped him. He could feel his hands shaking and tried to tell himself he was only afraid of the battle, not his friend. Uther wouldn’t hurt him, Uther would never hurt him. But it didn’t stop the fear from creeping into his veins. He blasted down a door at the top of the staircase when Uther ordered him to, despite wanting his friend to wait and think for a second.

Merlin’s first impression of Vortigern was… anticlimactic. He wasn’t big, muscled, or brawny. He was actually quite thin, as if he hadn’t been eating well. He had bright blond hair, stringy and slightly graying. He didn’t look like a personification of evil, but when he turned to face them, his eyes told a different story. Merlin saw spite, cruelty, cowardice, and everything in him said that this man was a lowdown rat. He smiled when he saw Uther, actually smiled, a crescent-moon shaped lecherous grin, that froze the prince in place. “Is that little Uther all grown up? You and your brother are hard to pin down. And who’s this? A servant? One of your vassals? A friend?”

His voice was surprisingly amicable, throwing Merlin off for a second, but he knew this was all a ruse. No one was this genuinely friendly when faced with the boy whose father they killed and paraded in front of his children. Uther gritted his teeth. “You’re going to die, you son of a bitch.”

Vortigern sighed and shook his head. “I really don’t think I will. Remember? I knew you growing up. I babysat you, and your brother. Aurelius? I suppose he might have it in him to kill me, unarmed and in cold blood, if he had to, but you?” Vortigern shook his head. “You were such a cute kid, running around, catching butterflies, falling into hysterics when you saw a dead bird. It took ages to calm you down and afterward, you insisted on a grand funeral for that little robin.”

He took a fearless step forward and Merlin saw something glinting up his sleeve, but knew Uther didn’t, the prince’s hateful gaze was focused on Vortigern’s face. “Uther, I know you’re a kind boy. You don’t know what hate really is, so I know you can’t, and won’t, kill—” He was cut off mid-word by Uther’s sword running through his chest, a little off from his heart or lungs. The dagger hidden up his sleeve clattered to the floor and Uther only showed a little surprise by its existence.

“Let me explain something to you.” Uther’s voice was cold as he shoved Vortigern to the floor. “You don’t know me. You knew what I was like, but you don’t know how much I want to make you suffer, and how little I give a shit about whether it is ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ to end your pathetic existence. I know you can’t see the literal wagonload of corpses I created to get up here, but know they’re there, so believe me, I’m absolutely killing you, and I’m absolutely making it painful.”

Vortigern was gasping on the floor, holding the stab wound with one hand and shaking, staring up at Uther with wide eyes, shock and fear in them. Uther smiled, then stomped on his twitching hand with an armored boot. The crunch resounded throughout the room and made Merlin cover his ears just in time for Vortigern’s anguished scream to come bursting out of the man’s lungs. The smile on the prince’s face widened, and he proceeded to do the same thing with the other hand, only this time he dug in with his heel for a few seconds, grinding the bones.

“You killed my father. You murdered my mother. You have tried to kill my brother and me for basically our entire. Goddamned. Lives.” As Uther spoke, he callously and oh-so-casually stepped on Vortigern’s wrist, at one point standing on just that foot, then twirled his sword around in a circle. “You really think I give a single shit about your life, other than how painfully I can end it? Speaking of which, Merlin?” Uther glanced over his shoulder, taking the opportunity to stomp on the other wrist. “Got any suggestions?”

“W- what?” Merlin could hardly believe the man in front of him was the same one who had offered him a home, friends, a purpose only a couple years ago.

“Is it possible to boil someone’s blood in their veins? Rip their muscles apart slowly? Make them vomit up their own digestive tract? Anything along those lines,” Uther asked.

“U- Uther, your father wouldn’t want—” Merlin somehow knew that was the exact wrong thing for Vortigern to say even before Uther reacted. The blue eyes flashed with anger before Uther turned around and impaled his sword directly into Vortigern’s knee. The scream this time was even worse than the others, which only increased in pain and volume as Uther wiggled the blade around, dislodging the kneecap beyond repair.

Shaking with fear, but unable to take any more, Merlin whispered, “Uther.” The prince paid no attention, but simply focused his gaze on the other knee. The world spinning from his own fear, the noise, and all the smells, Merlin managed to find his voice. “Uther!”

“Did you remember something?” asked Uther, only sounding vaguely interested, but more annoyed by the interruption.

“Stop. Just stop. You’ve won, he’s suffered, let him die,” Merlin begged.

Uther rounded on him, hand still on his sword. “Did you forget the shit he’s done to you, too? He gave those psychopathic bastards who would make you into nothing more than a breeding cow more power and permission to do whatever the hell they wanted! Why the hell shouldn’t I take my glorious time making sure every second of the life he has left is agony?”

“It- Uther this is wrong!” Merlin had no idea how else to say it, how else to convince him. How on earth could Uther not understand this? “This is torture for the sake of torture! You’re not getting anything out of this! Let him die!”

“I’m getting a deep sense of euphoria from this,” Uther retorted.

“I- I- I…” The words left Merlin and he quickly found himself unable to speak. Uther turned his attention back to Vortigern and continued in the same vein as he had before. Magic tingled at his fingertips, and before he was even aware of what he had done, Merlin sent out a quick, but powerful shock. The lightning hit Vortigern’s body, unnoticed by Uther, and Vortigern’s scream stopped, his body going limp.

Uther took a step back and spat on the floor. “Weak son of a…” His hands shook and he stormed back over to the corpse, grabbing it angrily as he sheathed his sword. He dragged it over to the balcony and kicked open the doors. Merlin quickly put up a shield around him and followed as Uther threw the body over the railing, holding it by one arm. “Your false king is dead!” he yelled. Somehow, even without Merlin doing anything to amplify his voice, the cry rang out across the city. The sounds of fighting slowed and finally almost stopped entirely. A crowd soon started to gather, staring up at the dead, mutilated body hanging from the balcony. “He’s dead like the dog he is! Long live King Aurelius!”

“Long live King Aurelius!”

“Long live King Aurelius!”

The cry started among only their own soldiers, but soon the common townsfolk took up the cheer, and eventually even many of the enemy soldiers, some probably just in a desperate attempt to save their own hides. Merlin couldn’t see Aurelius from here, but knew he had to hear the oath of fealty ringing up to the heavens.

The war was over.

black & red

twelve : tyler //trigger warnings and gender neutral reader throughout//

Hesitant at first, Tyler led them into the back bedroom, hoping to god they wouldn’t think he was insane. Technically, he was, or at least he thought himself to be, but he wished that it wouldn’t compromise their relationship. How else are you supposed to tell the one you love that you have a fucking demonic mind controlling you, coating your skin in black paint and burning out your eyeballs, lowering your voice and manipulating all your thoughts? It’s not something you can just announce with a greeting card or a text message, something to bottle up and celebrate whenever you wanted to. It was like sharing the results from a cancer test or getting a phone call from the doctor’s telling you that they don’t have much time left. The worst part of it all was Tyler thinking that y/n wouldn’t believe him.

“Okay,” he closed his eyes, and reopened, sitting on the bed beside y/n. He just needed to take it slow. Think over his words. Put it in a way they might understand. “Uh, you know like, when you feel sick? And you’re not quite yourself? You’re grouchy and grumpy and your hair is a mess and you haven’t showered for days and you’re stuck on the couch and your voice is hoarse and scratchy and your eyes are bloodshot and it’s almost like you’re not even in control of your body? Cause there’s this miserable terrible pain inside of you that keeps you from doing what you want?”

“Yeah…” they drew out the word, staring at Tyler, still hesitant.

“Or uh, like in horror movies, when someone gets possessed,” Tyler cleared his throat. “And they’re still there, but they aren’t in control. There’s something else that controls what they say and do and takes over their body. It’s not them, but it is, in a way that they are overtaken by a different force.”

“And your point is?” y/n raised an eyebrow. “Are you sick? Did you get possessed?”

“No, well yeah, I mean-” Tyler shut his eyes tight, taking another deep breath. God they were making this so much harder than it needed to be. Maybe it was his own fault.

“Just say it,” y/n insisted. “Just tell me. Skip the analogies and metaphors and fancy bullshit. Just say what’s on your mind.”

“I have this thing, uh, in my head,” Tyler explained. “I call him Blurryface, because it just sort of fits. I’ve had him for a while, but it’s gotten worse. A lot worse.” He glanced at y/n, almost as if waiting for them to say something, but they just look back at him, still listening. “It’s weird, Josh kind of, uh, he says it’s like a personification of my depression. And it wouldn’t be so weird if it was all in my head, but it takes on my body physically too.”

“Schizophrenia?” y/n cocked their head to the side.

“A little bit, but not quite,” Tyler replied. “It takes over not only my mind and my thoughts, but what I do and say. My breathing gets all constricted. My hands and neck are coated in this black paint like substance that drips down my skin. My eyes start burning and glow a deep red color. My voice drops to a distorted mumble of words. My brain turns to static. My body starts to shake and I can’t stop crying. It’s like a panic attack, but worse.”

“Is this just in your head or like, for real? Actual paint and red eyes and-”

“Yes,” Tyler cut them off. “All of it. Real.”

“Josh knows about this?” y/n swallowed hard. “All of it?”

“He’s seen him before,” Tyler whispered. “Blurryface.”

“Have you told a doctor?” y/n wondered. “Have you tried to make it go away? Get help?”

“They gave me meds, but uh…” Tyler’s voice drifted away. “I overdosed once and things didn’t go so well.”

“Is he the reason for your self-harm? Blurryface?” y/n asked.

“He makes me do it,” Tyler looked away. “And yeah, that sounds like a bullshit excuse, but it’s true. Whenever I try to fight him it just makes things worse.”

“Does anyone else know?” y/n inquired. “Not just the self-harm, but Blurryface.”

“Just Josh,” Tyler moved his eyes to the floor. “And now you.” He took in a shaky breath. “Mark and Brad, they just think it’s my anxiety, that I get really bad panic attacks and need some room to breathe. They don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” y/n put their hand on his knee and Tyler turned to look at them once again. “I mean, I don’t quite understand, but I understand more than I used to. It’s alright, Tyler.”

“Y-you don’t hate me?” he questioned.

“No, I don’t,” y/n shakes their head, letting out a soft laugh. “I don’t exactly like to see you hurt, or keep secrets, but I still love you, Ty. No matter what.”

“I’m sorry I’m so messed up,” Tyler mumbled, eyes gravitating back towards the floor. “You deserve better.”

“Hey,” y/n’s voice softened. “Don’t talk like that.”

“It’s true,” Tyler insisted. “You deserve a guy like Josh.”

“Shut up,” y/n laughed. “Josh is a dork.”

“So am I,” Tyler rolled his eyes.

“Josh is my best friend,” y/n pointed out. “You’re my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tyler sighed, closing his eyes.

“Can I get a hug?” y/n opened their arms. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Tyler nodded, meeting them in the embrace and burying his face into the crook of their neck, letting out a soft exhale. “Thanks for uh, not breaking up with me or hating me or anything.”

“I’d never do that,” y/n reassured, hugging Tyler tighter. “You’re my everything.”

“And you are mine,” Tyler squeezed them tight, closing his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

Both of them released the embrace and Tyler swallowed down his anxiety, giving a soft smile at y/n, making them smile back. “You know, ever since Josh met you, he wouldn’t shut up about you,” y/n began. “Not that I’m complaining, but you know, I thought you must be pretty special for him to talk about you all the time. I thought he must be head over his heels, totally in love with you. But he wasn’t. He just saw something different in you, something special. You weren’t like anyone else, not even like me.” Y/n bit their lower lip, studying Tyler’s face. “When I first met you, I couldn’t stop staring. It was hard to believe that I had spent many hours listening to Josh ramble on about some depressed ukulele boy from Columbus, Ohio and now that very boy was standing right in front of me. I just knew there was something different about you, Ty.” They gave a soft laugh. “Maybe not as different as demon possession or depression manifestation or whatever you had just explained to me, but uh, I wouldn’t change it for the world. Not one bit. Because all of it, even the secrets, the self-harm, the insecurities, the uh, the Blurryface… it all makes you. And I would never change you, Tyler. Not for the world.” Y/n reached for Tyler’s hands, holding them softly, giving a squeeze. “I love you so much. And I know we still have a lot of work to do, but I’m in this for the long run. These past couple months have been amazing with you, and I just want to make sure I can help you get through this. Yeah?”

“Thanks,” Tyler let out a sigh of relief. “I love you, y/n. A lot.”

“Me too,” y/n responded. They leaned in and kissed Tyler on the lips. When they pulled back, they looked at Tyler, almost hesitant still.

“You okay?” Tyler wondered, nervous.

“About the whole locking yourself in the bathroom thing…” their voice faded off. “I know, I realize uh, you probably don’t want me to see it. But, if you could, maybe try to let me talk to him? At least meet him? Try to understand what’s going on with you?”

“I’m just afraid he’s going to hurt you,” Tyler argued quietly. “He hurt Josh once. More than once.”

“I know,” y/n insisted. “I’ll be okay. Just, I want to see them. I know that sounds weird, but I do. I’m trying to understand you, Ty, and I think meeting this Blurryface would help me put the puzzle pieces together.”

“Just once,” Tyler decided. “One time.”

“One time,” they repeated. “Good enough for me.”

“Just promise me that you’ll be safe,” Tyler insisted. “If they ever hurt you, I need you to tell me. I need to know. Okay? Promise.” Tyler stared them in the eyes, expression grave. “This is something serious. Do you understand?”

“Promise,” y/n nodded. “I understand.”

Abuse In Gymnastics or My Thoughts After the Larry Nassar Trial

*Warning - discussion of mental, emotional, and sexual abuse, suicide, and injuries*

I am currently a gymnastics coach, and I competed in gymnastics for 6 years. My mom competed at the collegiate level of gymnastics, coached for almost 40 years, and owned her own gym for 30 of those years. Unfortunately she sold her gym and moved to another state 2 years after I started gymnastics, and I ended up in a gym where I went through hell for the next 4 years.

I fully realize that I am one of the lucky ones. I have never had a coach, assistant, physician, therapist, or teammate, touch me in any way that I felt was sexual or which made me feel uncomfortable. As far as I know, none of my teammates have either. I am not trying to compare my experiences to anyone else’s, I am only writing this to explain that abuse doesn’t only happen at the higher levels of this sport. Every single one of my teammates went through severe emotional and mental abuse, as well as endured improper coaching which has permanently injured the majority of my team, all girls under the age of 16. The abuse was so severe that I actually attempted suicide at age 14. I also have a difficult home life, and I was the oldest girl in the gym, which is probably why (to my knowledge) none of my teammates were affected to that extent. I can only hope and pray that’s true.

As a person who has been in and around gymnastics for years, and who grew up hearing about the sport from my mom, I had heard quite a bit about Dr. Larry Nassar. His name was an immediate recommendation for any technique or treatment that could help gymnasts, since my mom, like most coaches, believed he truly was a good doctor. I was absolutely horrified to hear about the accusations brought against him. I never doubted his victims, but I couldn’t understand how such brazen abuse could go unnoticed or unpunished for such a long time. The shock of the news combined with my personal experience and my teammates’ experiences have caused me to seriously reevaluate my opinion of this sport and it’s governing body. The proudest day of my life was the day I completed my training and received my coaching certifications, but now that I know the truth about the organization I received them from I feel only disgust. I find it incredibly ironic that the certificate I have for completing a course on how to keep children safe from sexual predators is digitally signed by Steve Penny, a man who enabled a sexual predator. When all of the information on Larry Nassar came to light, I began to seriously reconsider my decision to start a career in gymnastics. For weeks I cried and wrestled with my conscience as I watched the sport I love be exposed for what it truly is. I’ve come to the decision that I will keep coaching, and I will fight from the inside to tear down this corrupt institution so no child ever has to suffer abuse in the name of gymnastics again. And that starts by telling my story. Right now I am too afraid of the backlash to name anyone publicly. My current job depends on a good recommendation from my former coaches, some of my friends will disown me, my family will be angry with me, and I doubt that anyone I know will believe my story anyway, so until I work up the courage to go public I won’t name anyone involved. I realize this probably makes me a coward but I don’t think I could survive the consequences right now, and I have to consider my own mental health.

When I first went to this gym, I naively thought all coaches were like my mom - honest, hard-working, kind, fair, well-trained, and respectful of their students. Unfortunately my new coach was everything my mother was not - she was cruel, manipulative, unprofessional, ignorant, lazy, and cared only about winning competitions. She was abusive to everyone, but the fact that I was new made me her scapegoat. She repeatedly told me that I was not as good of a gymnasts as her other students, and that I would do horribly in competition. When I outscored them, she punished me by completely ignoring me for weeks, not giving me equal equipment time, and making me use the same equipment as girls nearly half my size, all of which forced me to coach myself and work with my mother at home. She noticed me looking at my mother in the observation area, and she reported to the gym owner that my mother was a disruptive influence. My mother was called into the owner’s office and reprimanded so harshly that she cried the entire way home. Afterwards if I so much as looked at my mother I was either yelled at or punished with conditioning. I continued to win competitions, so my coach changed tactics. She would make the other gymnasts sit down and watch me preform, then tell them that was the example of what not to do, and that my routines were bad because I didn’t listen to her. I was afraid of a certain tumbling pass, so she made fun of me for being afraid and told me I was a failure because I couldn’t “just throw it.” She would often tell me to try it and make everyone stand around and watch while I stood in the corner and cried, or attempted the skill, stopped mid-way and fell, often very painfully. Other times she would punish my teammates with conditioning until I tried the skill. These tactics were pretty effective with the younger girls, but I watched them all injure themselves trying skills they weren’t ready for. When I received private tutoring from another coach, she exploded. She took me aside to tell me that I was lazy, disrespectful, cowardly, un-talented, a bad influence, and that I should quit the sport because I would never make it at the next level. She said that since I made the decision to get private tutoring and her coaching “wasn’t good enough for me” she would never coach me again. I worked out on my own with absolutely no feedback for the next few months until I was able to move to the next level and away from her.

The damage of that year on all of us was indisputable. Out of a team of 14 girls, 10 quit the sport for good. My parents took me to a doctor because I was having dizzy spells, nausea, insomnia, and some mild panic attacks. When my doctor heard about my coach she informed us, with a horrified expression on her face, that I probably had depression and anxiety, and that I should leave the sport and begin counseling immediately. I begged my parents to let me stay, hoping my next coach would be better, and they agreed. I never had any counseling, and the only thing I learned was that I should keep quiet about the abuse unless I wanted to lose the sport I loved so much.

My next coach was a good coach. She was firm, but fair, and I really liked her. She had been warned that I was a troublemaker, and it took me months of hard work to live down my reputation, but eventually I did. One of the biggest problems was our spotter. He was a living personification of toxic masculinity - muscular, tall, stupid, misogynistic, emotionally constipated, terrified that someone would make fun of him for being a cheerleader because that wasn’t a “man’s sport,” and with a tendency to wear nauseating amounts of cologne. I suspect the cologne was to hide the smell of the alcohol, but every now and then it bled through anyway. We privately called him the Hulk. He found my mental blocks and fear of back tumbling incredibly amusing, and constantly made fun of me for it. He called me condescending nicknames, “scaredy-cat,” “meow-meow,” “chicken,” and “sweetheart.” He always complained when I needed a spot, although that was literally all he was there for and otherwise he’d just be sitting on a mat watching. He had a reputation for being just a little too slow to catch the girls he was supposed to be spotting, and several of them ended up with badly sprained ankles. He once promised to spot me and then backed away, expecting to be able to say, “See? You did it all by yourself and you didn’t even need me.” I panicked in the air and landed hard on my head, shoulders and feet, hyper-extending my knees and both my ankles. They still hurt to this day, and the only hope for any relief is to have both of them completely reconstructed. I reported him to the gym owner, who made some flimsy excuses and promised it wouldn’t happen again. He never apologized and I had to continue to be spotted by him even though he had lied to me and completely lost my trust. From then on I never did a skill with him that I wasn’t fully confident I could do without him. That resulted in a lot more painful falls and repeatedly spraining my ankles. I got to the point where I would hurt my ankles, put on a brace, take some over-the-counter pain medication, and keep going. Going to the doctors was useless when they always said the same thing, and medical care in America is pretty expensive. I started having panic attacks in the gym, some so severe that I nearly blacked out and my teammates and coaches said my lips were completely blue and my face as white as a sheet. On On the days I wasn’t having panic attacks I would excuse myself to go to the bathroom, cry, vomit, wash my face, then go back out and keep going. This was nearly every time I went to the gym, and I was there 3 hours a day, 4-5 days per week.

We got a new conditioning coach around then, and he was arguably the most abusive and tyrannical coach we had ever had. Even the other coaches were afraid of him. I watched them talk to each other about how helpless they were to protect us from him with tears in their eyes. He was one of the slyest, most manipulative people I had ever met. Whenever the gym owner or a parent was watching he would be sweet and encouraging, but as soon as they looked away he would turn nasty. He made us do far too many repetitions of harmful exercises, and laugh if we cried or complained. He gave no mercy to anyone, whether they had been sick, or were injured, or tired. Once when I was having bad menstrual cramps he called me off the floor and told me to rest because I looked sick. That’s the only time I ever heard of him giving a break to anyone, and I was terrified of what he expected in return for that favor. Thankfully he never came to collect. He worked us till we were exhausted, and it was a common thing to hear about the girls going to the bathroom to vomit after the hour-long conditioning was over. My group of older girls helplessly watched him time and time again yell at the little girls until they shook and cried. All we could do is was comfort them afterwards. The final straw came when he yelled at an 8 year old asthmatic for slacking on cardio until she had a panic attack. We all knew she could have died, so we discussed it on a group message, forgetting that the gym owner’s granddaughter was among our teammates. The very next day we were taken into a closed room by the gym owner and lectured for nearly 20 minutes of our practice time. We were told that the gymnast in question had shouted at the coach and he had calmly reprimanded her. She was brought up in front of all of us and forced to tell us the “truth” of what happened - a version in which the coach was completely innocent. We were told how much he cared about us, what a good coach he was, and how the entire thing was the gymnast’s fault. She even made the bizarre suggestion that we had misinterpreted the entire incident because we had eaten unhealthy foods like French fries before coming to practice. (For the record, I had a protein-packed salad. Can’t get much healthier than that.) Then to our shock, she turned to the older group of girls and informed us that she had read every single one of our text messages. She called us rude and disrespectful troublemakers, said that we needed to hear “his side of the story,” and even said, “I assume your mothers’ haven’t raised you to be respectful, but my children know better than to talk about adults that way.” We left that room with the knowledge that no matter what was done to us, we would never be listened to because of our age, and the woman whom we all loved and trusted like a grandmother had read our private messages - rantings between friends which we never thought would see the light of day. We never trusted her or her granddaughter, whom we had considered a friend, ever again. We never texted on a group chat, never talked about anything more personal than the weather unless we were sure no one was watching. I worked up an meticulous code system so we could talk about things under the guise of talking about a television show. The coach received a long apology for the “abuse” we had put him through, and was given free reign to do whatever he wanted. And he did. He set up a conditioning exercise which involved over 50 back walkovers in a row, after which the entire team had back pains for months. That and the other medically insane exercises he had us do destroyed my physical health just as thoroughly as my mental health.

In the 6 years I competed I had a broken tailbone, a concussion, a dislocated elbow, 3 permanently frozen vertebrae in my spine, countless sprained ankles, knees and wrists, and I had already attempted suicide once. I finally had to quit gymnastics because of the pain. Every tendon in my feet and ankles are over-stretched. I have constant pain in my neck, back, shoulders, ankles, and feet. If I sit in an odd position my knees hyperextend and cause me pain.

But I’m not the exception. All my teammates are just as bad off. Of the original group of 14, only one is still in the sport, and she’s in crutches right now. The worst of all this is that we weren’t Olympic level athletes. This wasn’t a matter of sacrificing everything so that we could compete on the international stage. We were low level gymnasts with no chance of ever making it past low level optionals (level 6. There are 10 levels, then elite, which is what you see on television.) The most impressive thing any of us would ever win is a plastic trophy at a meet with maybe 100 kids and their parents. This was supposed to be fun, and there was no reason to push us that hard.

Gymnastics is a sport that requires a lot of love and dedication, and I’m not exaggerating when I say many of us would rather die than quit. In my darkest days I considered ending my life many times, but I never seriously considered retiring. We lied to our parents, lied to doctors, lied to ourselves, made excuses for our coaches, and forgave the unforgivable, all because we loved gymnastics. Bad coaches take advantage of that love and they use it to manipulate us. They know we’ll put up with just about anything, so they do whatever they want to us. And worst of all, many of them make us believe they care about us. At the gym where I was it was a tradition to hug your coaches goodbye before you left for the day. The lady who emotionally abused me told me she was just trying to make me a better gymnast. The man who made fun of my for my fears said he was just trying to push me to overcome them. The man who screamed at us and pushed our bodies to the breaking point told us that we were all “awesome” and he loved coaching us. He blatant flirted with the older girls, telling them how pretty their makeup was, how nice their hair looked. The woman who snooped through our private messages and told us we couldn’t believe our own eyes is the same woman who payed my competition fees and let me come to practice for free when my dad lost his job. She said she loved us, she gave us Christmas gifts every year, she always greeted us with big smiles and warm hugs. We all ended up with something akin to Stockholm’s syndrome - we loved and trusted our abusers. Even now I am almost as afraid of hurting them as I am afraid of the consequences of speaking up. But I know I have to.

After hearing about Larry Nassar I wondered what would have happened if one of our coaches crossed over the line into sexual abuse. We had emotional and mental abuse just not sexual abuse. But what would have happened if that coach had called in that favor and expected sex from me? Would I have tolerated that too, in my haze of depression and fear? Would I have stayed quiet to stay in the sport I love? If I had chosen to tell someone, would they have believed me? Or would I be taken into that room in front of all my teammates and forced to tell a lie in which I’m the villain? Our sport has gotten far to comfortable with 0 accountability. A gym can hire anyone they like, regardless of their qualifications. The Hulk knew so little about gymnastics that he couldn’t even name all four pieces of competitive equipment, yet he was allowed to work with the highest level gymnasts in that gym. The only place uncertified coaches are barred from is the competition floor, and nearly every meet I’ve been to had uncertified people on the floor anyway. There’s rarely ever any inspections - the whole time I was in gymnastics the only organization who ever inspected our gyms was the fire department.  USAG, our governing body, puts out articles and courses on preventing abuse, yet they enabled the most prolific pedophile in American history. Part of me wants this nightmare to all be over but it can’t be. We have to stand up and fight this. We cannot let the brave young women who stood up to Larry Nassar be forgotten. There’s no “quick fix” that will work. We have to tear down this corrupt system that allows adults to prey on children with no consequences. We have to demand accountability, expose hypocrisy, punish abusers no matter how good of a coach or doctor they are. No amount of benefit is worth allowing children to be molested. And if saving even one child means the entire sport crumbles tomorrow it’ll be worth it.

Barry can honestly say he’s kind of relieved that Iris shot and killed his time remnant ‘Savitar’. Because he knew ultimately in the end what it would result in– The scarlet speedster taking his place in the speedforce after the lightning storm had begun, threatening to cause death and destruction wherever it lead. He had made amends with everyone before he’d left– Iris especially.

He had honest to god lost feelings for her the first time she had given the ring back to him– So after she was safe from Savitar, he let her know– Apparently she had known. They were now split up, bound to take different paths– That always seemed to be their fate.

“Do you mind sticking around?” “Anything for you.”

And with a simple look to his friends and family, he had walked hand in hand with the personifaction of his deceased mother into the speedforce. Unlike the hell Savitar had likely to endure– It was calm, peaceful– Anything he could’ve asked for. The speedforce seemed reluctant to make this a stay he’d long remember– If they ever even got him out. And honestly-? He wouldnt care if he ever left. For the first time in the three– nearly four years now since he had awoken from that coma and became the flash, he felt like tbe weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders– And he could finally breathe easy. They had Wally now– What use was he anymore?

Barry continued to walk, exhaling a heavy breath, shoulders slumping lowly and comfortably. But then something he had not expected to happen did. He saw that familiar mop of strawberry blond hair, back turned to the scarlet speedster, stopping cautiously, his words soft, as to not startle the other speedster. “Thawne?”

Eobard had been in the speedforce for quite some time now- Ever since that nightmare of a speedster- The one they called Black Flash- Phased his hand through the blond speedsters chest, stopping his heart. Sometimes, yet rarely- He would wake up, remembering that exact moment- It seemed to be a recurring nightmares of his- When he did dream- Let alone sleep.

Most of his dreams were filled with that of a certain emerald green-eyed, brunett speedster- One by the name of Barry Allen. Over the year he had worked with him, as well as his team at Star Labs, when he still wore the face of the scientist the scarlet speedster was obsessed with, Harrison Wells- (ironic really- seeing as the time he came from he was obsessed with the flash- But in this timeline Barry Allen was obsessed with him and his work) That year, working alongside him? Not only had he grown to love working with the scarlet speedster- He had developed romantic feelings- Feelings he didn’t know he was still capable of developing, after so many decades, possibly centuries.

As long as he had been stuck in the speedforce, he’d been forced to come to terms with all the chaos and destruction he’s caused over the years, and oh- It had been an absolute nightmare- It was a miracle he still had his sanity intact, which he felt dwindling more as the days went by- But the true nightmare he had experienced was watching Barry Allen from the speedforce over the past year, watching him seemingly fall deeper in love with a one Iris West- Horrifyingly watching his beloved speedster escape the dark brush of death one too many times for his liking- And the horror future Barry had put his Barry through. He really prayed to whatever deities actually existed Barry would never become that- That monster .

The last thing Eobard recalled seeing of Barry before his vision of the scarlet speedster was just.. gone, Was him saying goodbye to his team for some reason (?) and, to his deep and utter surprise- Breaking off his engagement to Iris West, seemingly permanently. God only knew how that was going to affect the timeline. But oh, the most surprising thing of all? Hearing that familiar, soft voice- No, it wasn’t the speedforce creating yet another painful illusion- It was his Barry.

The blond speedster couldn’t help the way the breath caught in his throat as he whipped around, staring into those beautiful, emerald green eyes he had fallen in love with so many years ago- Nor could he help how breathless he sounded, for the first time in nearly three years feeling that hot spark of electricity that seemed to spark whenever they were in the other’s presence, feeling lightning send a pleasurable shock across his pale skin. “Flash..Barry Allen- Is that really you?” His voice sounded starstruck, in awe, almost- As if he was a young fan meeting the flash for the first time all over again.

Barry- God, the past few years since the others disappearance, it had been, to put it simple, complete hell. Especially since, over the small time he had been close to him that year- He’d fallen hard. It was why it had been sort of difficult at first working with Harry- Because all he had seen upon seeing the Earth-2 doppelganger of the person whose body on their earth Eobard had taken over- Was the man who had betrayed him- All of them, frankly- And ths man he had undoubtedly fallen in love with- And had been since the young age of fifteen years old, when he had sneakily started attending his lectures at colleges and universities city-wide between the gem cities of Central City and Keystone. Being here, in the speedforce, finally able to catch a break from all his heroism, from carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders- It was like a dream come true. Then he’d seen that face, and he was starstruck all over again, by those all too-familiar icy blue eyes he’d fallen in love with. “Is that- Is that really you?” His breath caught in his throat, hearing his voice- That he was real and not another personification of the speedforce- And it was as if time stood still- As if his heart suddenly stopped beating.

Thawne let a small smirk so read across his lips, “The one and only.” Which was kinda true, now that Eddie was dead. Eobard had to admit, because he had grown so close to Barry while he was Harrison, he was so genuinely upset that he had to spend so long without him in the speedforce. But now he was here, actually in front of him. This wasn’t just a projection the speedforce had created, this was the real Barry Allen. It was almost hard to believe and part of him just wanted to reach out and touch him, just to see if it really was him. Of course, he didn’t do that. He didn’t want to make it too weird. After his own experience with an angry Barry Allen in Flashpoint, he was exactly.. Sure where Barry’s feelings towards him currently lied, and if they were of anger, of hatred? Well, he wasn’t exactly too keen on finding that out, either. Though Flashpoint, as he was calling it- It hadn’t been entirely awful. Oh- Far from it, really. That version of the scarlet speedster had a lot of..pent up frustration to let out- And oh he’d let it aaaallll out on him, in the most pleasurable of ways- Most of which involved them both naked, more often than not ending with the speedster moaning his name loudly and them then both by the end of it covered in a rather..sticky substance. He had never complained. He had finally found out his true feelings towards him, and that he wasn’t delusional about Barry being as straight as a slinky.

Barry had that all too-familiar look in his eyes, which, as Cisco had once described as ‘heart eyes’ as he stared at the other. He couldn’t believe this- Most would call him crazy, but he had never been happier in his life than right now. He had a break from his heroism, and the one person he wanted most was here with him. “And before you ask, no, im not dead.” Oh, he wished. He hoped his voice didn’t sound as starstruck and happy as he felt- Much to how he felt when first awakening and meeting him as the famous harrison wells he’d idolized his whole life. Hell, he still kind of did- But some for different reasons entirely, than when he had admired him when he had taken on the form and face of Harrison Wells from their earth.

Seeing Barry go from the sad person he was before to this happy looking boy in front if him, made Thawne’s heart swell. He couldn’t help but look at Barry with such a great amount of happiness. When he was sent into the speedforce, he realized how much he had taken his short time with Barry for granted and he couldn’t put into words how glad he was that the other speedster was here with him. Thawed didn’t even take into account that Barry might have died, but hearing his words still sent relief washing over him. That did bring up another question though, “So then, why are you here? If you’re not dead, what happened?”

Barry huffed a laugh at the others question, the noise sounding bitter, a momentarily dark expression crossing the speedsters face, before quickly dissapating, running his fingers through his brunett hair, shaking his head a little. “It has been- A very long and complicated year.” He said, trying to hide the anger and remorse in his words. “But- As odd as this may sound to you, considering…the past- I am not unhappy to be here. Quite the opposite. I don’t have to worry about anything in here, and most importantly- I’m with you.” Barry couldn’t take it anymore- This..large space between them, the tension thick enough to cut through the air with a knife- The scarlet speedster suddenly lunged forward, embracing the other in his arms, practically clinging to the other as if he was afraid if he let him go he would disappear into thin air. Barry’s face was buried in the other’s shoulders, and he had felt calmer than he had ever since the other’s ‘death’. He felt..home.

Eobard staggered a little in surprise as Barry was suddenly latching onto him like a damn koala- And like one, Barry Allen did not seem too keen on letting him go anytime soon. He gently ran a gloved hand through the scarlet speedsters soft, brunett hair, as it always seemed to calm the other in the past. “I am not going anywhere, Barry- Nor will I ever be, as long as your presence is here- In the speedforce. Oh, and another thing- Hold on tight, Mr. Allen.” He said, unable to contain the small smirk that upturned his lips, calling him by that familiar little name he had so called him since day one.

He suddenly scooped up the smaller me into his arms, speeding them to the residential house he’d taken to occupying his time in the speedforce. He slowly came to a stop, murmuring soft apologies to his speedster, uncurling the other from his sode momentarily, to speed change them both into something more..comfortable- Specifically a hoodie and sweatpants. He then picked up the seemingly clingy Barry Allen in his arms once more, carrying him upstairs to the master bedroom, lying him down on the bed, soon following. He couldn’t help the soft chuckle the escaped his lips, glancing down to see the brunett clinging to his side once more, his face buried in his shoulder, their legs entwined. “Please don’t leave me..” And oh, it tugged at his heart dearly to hear those words the scarlet speedster suddenly uttered, feeling the other trembling slightly in his embrace. And was he..crying? He wrapped his arms tightly around the other’s smaller frame, holding him close, rubbing his back with a faintly vibrating hand. He shushed him, brushing his lips softly against the other’s forehead. “That will never happen, as long as I am here, Barry Allen- You want to know why? Because you are mine- And I am forever yours, Flash.”

Little Wolf: Part VIII

@jonsa-countdown – for day 8: free day. again, so sorry it’s late!

@jonsa-creatives – for day 2: celebration

PART I | PART II | PART III | PART IV | PART V | PART VI | PART VII - AO3 LINK

PART VIII: CELEBRATION

“You look cute.”

Sansa turned around and scowled. “This is all your fault.” His barking laughter made her irritation grow ten folds. “It’s not funny! I look ridiculous.”

Jon walked further into her bedroom. He stood behind her just a few inches shy from where she was standing in front of the full-length mirror and pulled playfully on one of her plaits. “I don’t know. I think it’s quite fitting.”

She rolled her eyes. She was about to tell him how wrong he was when she finally took in what Jon was wearing. Dressed in a dark tunic with burgundy linings and pointy shoes, he looked even more absurd than her. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Jon’s ears began to turn pink. She forgot how easy it was to make him blush. Broad-shouldered and broody he may be, but Jon, at his heart, was a big softie. It was one of the reasons why she had fallen for him in the first place. There was just something so utterly endearing about an awkward man who didn’t know how kind-hearted and handsome he was.

Shaking her head, Sansa smirked. “Nothing. You just look way worse than I do.”

“Hey, I thought I looked quite… dashing,” he protested, while smiling toothily at her. “But I guess we can’t all look like a princess now, can we?” He tugged her plait again and Sansa slapped his hand away.

“Stop that! You’re going to ruin my hair.”

His grin was smug as he inched closer. Jon bowed his head. “Aye, aye, m’lady. Whatever you say.” And with that, he turned on his heels and walked out of her room, no doubt grinning like a buffoon. Sansa ought to smack him, but she couldn’t help the grin on her own face from widening.

Of all the parties she thought she’d be hosting at her house, Sansa never thought she’d be hosting a one-year-old’s birthday party – at least not at twenty-five. She had spent most of the morning running around town buying last minute decorations and picking up the Olaf-themed birthday cake, while Jon, Arya and Gendry decorated the house. Blue and white streamers were tied to her bannister, a birthday banner to one of her walls, and more Frozen characters taped to her furniture than she ever expected to see.

She knew Chloe wouldn’t remember this, but Sansa would, and if she was honest, they all needed this. It had been six months since Robb and Margaery’s accident and there’d been very little to celebrate in that time. No one wanted to celebrate, not when so much of their days were drowned in grief, but for Chloe, everyone was willing to push aside what pain they may be feeling to be there for the little girl. Even Rickon had shown up – although he still wasn’t talking to Sansa or Jon.

Descending down the stairs, Sansa’s grin grew wider at the sight of Arya and Gendry arguing over where a cardboard cutout of Olaf should go. It had taken her much less time to like Gendry than Margaery, but the big bullish man was sweet, genuine and utterly devoted to her sister. If there ever was a human personification of that heart eyes emoji, it would be Gendry when he was looking at Arya.

“Sweetheart, this looks wonderful.” Her mother greeted her at the bottom of the stairs. The bags under her eyes were visibly smaller and the smile was more genuine than Sansa had seen it in a long while.

“Thank you,” Sansa said, as she came to stand before her. “But it’s not all me. It’s them too.” She pointed to Jon and her siblings, who were now laughing as Arya hit Gendry over the head with the cardboard cutout. “Especially Jon.”

Her mother nodded. She knew Sansa hadn’t meant just today, and the quiet acquiescence was a victory in and of itself. God knew Catelyn Stark and Jon Snow had never quite seen eye to eye. Sansa suspected her mother always held a grudge because it was at Jon’s house that Robb first got drunk. It only grew when Jon was left as the guardian of Chloe.

“So where is the little birthday girl?”

“She’s down for her nap,” Sansa said. “I didn’t want her to get cranky just when the guests were starting to arrive.” The smile her mother sent her was bizarre and she couldn’t get a read on it. “What?”

“You, Sansa.” Her mother placed a hand to her cheek. “The way you’ve handled all this responsibility. I’ve never been more proud of you.”

“I told you, it wasn’t just -”

“And Jon too,” her mother cut in with an exasperated sigh. “I hate to admit it, but he’s good for you. For both of you. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“He loves Chloe and that’s all that I care about right now,” Sansa said testily. “So whatever else, mum, can you please just let it go?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t doubt that one bit,” her mother said with a shocked expression. “I may have been… resistant -” Sansa snorted, but remained quiet at the look her mother sent her, “- at first, but he is a good man and a good father. Chloe is lucky to have him.”

“Then what is it? Why are you so difficult about us?”

“Because Sansa, what’ll happen when he meets someone else?” she asked quietly. “When he has a family of his own? I just don’t want to see you get your heart broken again.”

“Again?” Sansa’s voice must have reached a higher decibel than she’d intended because Jon immediately looked over, his brow raised in question, but they had perfected nonverbal communication months ago, and with one look, he smiled and turned back to face Bran.

Her mother shook her head, as if she was disappointed. “I remember when he left for Spain. More importantly, I know when a woman’s just had her heart broken.”

Sansa’s cheeks flushed. She inched away from her mother. “It wasn’t like that. I just - you know what? This is Chloe’s day. I don’t want to be talking about this.”

Without another word, Sansa retreated towards the kitchen. She braced her hands on the countertop and inhaled deeply. This was the second member of her family to call her out on it. Had she been so obvious even back then?

February 11, 2016 - 2:36pm

The car stuttered to a stop in front of a cluster of buildings. Sansa pulled down the sun visor and checked her reflection one more time. Lipstick? Check. Eyeliner? Check. Hair down or up? Sansa worried her bottom lip, as she considered the merits. She always did prefer to have her hair pulled back from her face. It was less of a hassle when at school. But if she left it down, maybe Jon would run his fingers through her hair, as he kissed her deeply.

Pulling the clip free, Sansa smiled at her reflection. Hair down? Check.

Today had been a long time coming. Jon was her best friend, the only person who’d ever made her feel safe, and if he didn’t reciprocate her feelings, they’d still be okay. He loved her; it was just a matter of how he loved her. Was it the same way she loved him? Because god, she loved him so much it ached in her bones.

The walk towards Jon’s flat was the longest in her life. It didn’t matter how many times she’d been here before. This time, she felt as if she was walking to the slaughter. A completely irrational thought, but one that created panicked and anxious butterflies in her stomach. She forced herself to continue, however, and headed towards the centre courtyard. Sansa was just rounding the bend when a familiar voice stopped her. She crept towards the edge of the wall and peeked out. Jon was standing on the steps of his building block. A blonde woman stood before him. She was beautiful.

“Val, what are you doing here?”

A feminine chuckle sounded in the air. “I heard you were heading off to Spain this weekend. I thought I’d come say goodbye.”

Jon laughed. “It’s not like I’m not coming back, you know?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to miss my opportunity.”

The blonde woman grabbed hold of Jon’s collar and pulled him to her. Sansa wasn’t sure how long she stood there watching them kiss. It could have been seconds or hours - time didn’t seem to exist. But the moment she saw Jon’s hands go to Val’s shoulders, Sansa bolted out of there. She got into her car and drove. Home wasn’t an option. She couldn’t bear to be alone right now and being near her family wasn’t an option either, not when Sansa was close to falling apart. Her only destination was anywhere but here; anywhere where he wasn’t, where they weren’t.

For the first time in her life, Sansa understood. She thought she knew when Joffrey cheated on her, but how she’d felt about him was nothing in comparison to how she felt about Jon. Losing Joffrey was a relief, a breath of fresh air after months of stormy sailing, but this was different. Sansa now knew what it felt like to have her heart break in two - to feel the cracks rip her slowly apart. She thought she could handle it if he didn’t love her back. She thought that she’d be okay and they’d just go back to being friends.

But maybe she wasn’t strong enough for that. Maybe this was it for them.

February 11, 2016 - 11:36pm

The key wouldn’t go into the lock. Why wouldn’t it go into the lock? Sansa frowned at the metal object in her hand and jabbed it once again at the slot. Finally, it fit perfectly and she was able to stumble back into her house. For a long second, Sansa blinked at the not-so-dark room. She didn’t remember leaving the lights on. Maybe she had been burgled; or maybe -

“Where the hell have you been?”

Sansa jumped back, hand clutched around her bag, ready to swing at the intruder. When she saw it was just Jon, she scowled. “What am I doing? What are you doing in my house!”

“God, Sans, are you drunk?” Jon walked over to stand in front of her. His grey eyes looked obsidian in the dim lighting, but she could still see the concern there. She hated it. Who gave him the right to make her feel loved when he didn’t even really love her?

“I had a drink. What are you, the…” Sansa faltered, as she was unable to come up with an appropriate term to call him. But then genius struck and she added, “the alcohol police?”

Jon furrowed his brows. “Sansa, what are you doing drinking on a school night? Don’t you have class tomorrow?”

“I had a date!” she blurted out without thinking. It hadn’t really been a date. Sansa had bumped into Harry Hardyng at the pub and they drank and got dinner. But for some reason, it felt imperative right then for Jon to believe it was a date. “Am I not allowed to date? You date! Arya dates! Robb had plenty of dates before Margaery!”

“What? I never said you couldn’t -” He growled in frustration and turned away from her. “So you didn’t think to even ring me?”

“Ring you?” Sansa repeated, feeling increasingly confused and angry. “I didn’t realise I had to check in with you every time I did something.”

“You know that’s not what I meant!” he shouted now, apparently just as angry. “We had plans, Sansa. I -” He gestured behind him to her table. “I got you your favourite takeaway.”

“I’m sorry. When did we have plans?” she bit out. She should feel guilty, but there was something about this situation niggling at the back of her mind that told her to stand her ground.

Jon looked perplexed now. “We always have plans. Every Thursday.”

“Oh,” Sansa said, bristling. “You just expect me to always be there, don’t you? While you’re off doing whatever, whoever you want, I’m supposed to just always be available for you.” That was it, wasn’t it? She was always there whenever Jon called. “I had a date, Jon! I’m sorry I didn’t ring, but I have a life outside of you!”

“And what am I to you? Just a placeholder until another guy comes into your life?” he spat back. “God, I thought you’d grow out of being such a prissy princess, but I guess not.”

Tears stung at the back of her eyes. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Not like this. Sansa stepped forward, steeling herself, as she stared him down. “Get out,” she said as calmly and as coolly as she could. “Get the hell out, Jon.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, grabbing his coat and heading towards the door. “With pleasure.”

July 17, 2017

Someone touched her shoulder and Sansa nearly jumped straight out of her skin. She whirled around, her glare already firmly in place. It grew when she saw who it was that had startled her. “Bloody hell, Jeyne, you scared me!”

Her best friend snorted. “I did call your name like five times. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Sansa said. She pulled the birthday cake from its box and placed it on the stand – what she was meant to be doing instead of thinking back to one of her most painful memories. “I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“Okay. I’m not even going to ask what you were thinking about because I already know,” Jeyne said with a smug smile. “But it’s time to grab the birthday girl. The guests have mostly arrived now.”

Sansa nodded. She left Jeyne to prepare the snacks and went upstairs to wake Chloe from her nap. To her surprise, Jon was already there putting her into her Princess Elsa outfit, and it struck her then how different their relationship had been over a year ago. She might’ve dwelled on it more had the birthday girl not caught sight of her.

Chloe reached out her hands, immediately shouting, “mama, mama!” Sansa swallowed back the guilt and aching grief, and walked over to her little girl and pulled her into her arms. “Hi birthday girl, do you know how old you are today?”

“Don’t bother,” Jon said, straightening up. “I tried that earlier. She just continued to babble baby gibberish at me.”

“Awe,” she chuckled, patting Jon on the arm, before returning her focus back to Chloe. “Is your daddy sad because you love me best?”

It was becoming easier for her to refer to Jon as Chloe’s father. Maybe because she truly believed it. The way Jon was with her – there was simply no doubt in her mind that Chloe was his and he was hers. For some reason, however, Sansa couldn’t come to terms with it yet for herself. She loved Chloe with all her heart, more than she ever thought possible, but to call herself her mother seemed like a betrayal, even if she knew rationally it was what Margaery would’ve wanted.

“Hey, not true,” Jon said indignantly. “The lil’ wolf loves me just as much. Don’t you, sweet girl?” He bent forward to kiss her on her forehead. Chloe giggled and tried to grab his nose. “See, told you.”

“Whatever you say.”

With Jon bringing down Chloe’s comfort blanket and stuffed snowman in case she became uneasy around the large crowd of people, Sansa cuddled Chloe close to her chest and murmured to her, hoping the soothing tone of her voice would prepare the little girl for a party.

Twenty minutes in, it turned out they didn’t have to worry at all. Chloe loved being the centre of attention. Being passed around and kissed only made her peal with laughter, her babbling growing more and more excited. It didn’t mean Sansa was ready to classify the day as a success yet. Having raised a baby for the past six months, she knew how fast her mood could turn. It was like living with a tiny, very cute and non-threatening Hulk.

Sansa was just heading towards the kitchen to grab the cake when her phone buzzed – several text messages coming in quick succession. She pulled it out quickly just to turn it off so she could spend the day fully focused on Chloe, but what she read made her heart stop dead in her chest.

He’s back, Sansa.

They rehired him.

Deborah said he’s going to be the assistant principal.

I’m so sorry.

Call me, okay? x

Wildest Dreams

Joker!Baek

AU List

word count: 1729

Say you'll see me again even if it's just in your wildest dreams 

It was a slow trek home. Mostly because of the impending lecture you were sure to get but you were also more than halfway across the city from the manor. There was a secret path to the batcave somewhere nearby, but again, who knows what wrath Batman was going to unleash upon you.

After almost an hour later, you finally drag your tired self into the batcave, tossing your utility belt one way and your cape the other. When you look up, you startle at the sight of Batman sitting in his chair, carefully watching you.

“Do I have to add the importance of being organized to the list of lectures tonight?” he simple said. Without a word, you go over and pick up your things and place them where they belong. Once you fully change back into your civilian clothes, you plop down in your seat across from him.

“I’m-”

“Disappointed. I know.” you cut him off.

“Yes.” he sat with his hands folded under his chin, no doubt scrutinizing you underneath his mask. So you stare right back at him. “Are you going to plead your case?”

“There’s nothing to say. He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“He attacked you.”

“I kinda provoked him.” you say, trying to recall the events that transpired. Now that you think about it, the two of you were really just talking until you whipped out your staff. And then you let your guard down at the wrong moment.

Batman continued to stare at you, which was more intimidating than the full blown lecture you were hoping to receive. You hated this about him.

“He isn’t who you think he is. We know what happened to the real one.”

“No. We only know half the story.” he quickly turned his chair to face his computer so he can pull up information. You watched as pictures and articles of the devil who hung over you two like a shadow appeared on the big screen that spanned most of the back wall.

“We can’t let our guard down just because this kid is not him.”

“Maybe we can help him.” you blurt out.

Batman turns around in that slow and agonizing way that makes you regret your words instantly.

“Anyone who’s been in contact with the Joker is beyond hope.”

“You don’t know that. It’s not like he contracted a disease.”

“Mental illness isn’t cured so easily. There must be a reason the Joker took him in.”

You did think about this on your way home. The Joker is known for his psychotic nature and you noticed the similarities with the boy you met tonight, but you weren’t about to label him as a lost cause.

“Don’t go looking for him.” Batman suddenly said.

“What?”

“And if you ever see him while you’re alone, alert me immediately.”

“But-”

“That’s an order, Robin.” his word was final.

Obediently, you nod your head and excuse yourself, calling in for the night.

The batcave connected to the Manor where Batman had generously allowed you residence. He always did for his fellow companions, and it was nice to think about when he was being particularly strict because it served as a reminder that he just wanted to protect those that mattered to him most. In the Manor you weren’t allowed to wear your Robin gear and he didn’t wear his Batman uniform as a precaution. If anyone found out your true identities, your world would fall into chaos.

Entering your room with a sigh of relief, you collapsed onto your bed, slightly cringing when you felt the pain in your stomach from where you were kicked. It would go away by morning, you told yourself. Taking a peek at the clock next to your bed, you saw it was 1 am. Climbing under the covers, you let sleep take over. The last thing you remember thinking about was the Joker’s smile.

The next day you had no responsibilities. Not until another night watch at least. When you came downstairs to get breakfast there was a note from the Batman on the counter, telling you to rest well and to be ready for another patrol after sunset.

So you took your time getting ready for the day. You scouted the Manor and noticed that some food shopping was in need. Even though you two were accompanied by the butler, Batman’s other most loyal companion other than you and the previous robins, doing this one favor would lighten his load and keep you busy for a few hours.

And kept you busy it did. The weather was lovely for a wintery day, where it wasn’t obscenely cold and the wind didn’t bite at your nose like usual. A lot of people just like you were out and about, taking advantage of such a beautiful day. Despite the bleary winter colors, it was bright with a light coating of snow still covering the ground and everyone was dressed in their colorful winter wear that painted a the city in beautiful hues.

The park was particularly filled, you noticed when you were on the way home from finishing errands. The busyness attracted you like a magnet, pulling you in to go out and join the others in a wintery fun day. Kids were playing in the snow, pets were running around having just as much fun. All three ice rinks in the park were filled with people, but you still came back with your skates hung over your shoulder, hoping you could skate a few rounds.

After you were suited up, you carefully make your way onto the rink. People politely created an opening for you to squeeze through and then you were off, gliding on the ice that was very well worn from all the skating done during the day.

“You do everything with such grace.” a voice said close to your ear, which tripped you up contrary to the compliment. But as quickly as your balance was lost, an arm came out and grabbed hold of you to steady you. When you looked up, the smile that graced your dreams the night before was smiling right at you. “Hello, little bird.” he greeted.

You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips, but before you could cause a commotion, you realized you two were in public now.

“I don’t think it’d be wise to raise panic, don’t you agree?” he said as if he read your mind, his arm still wound tight around your pulling you around the rink like you two were just another pair enjoying their Saturday afternoon.

“How did you know who I am?” was the first thing you managed to say.

“Our meeting may have been brief, but I pay attention very well.”

“You can’t be here.” you tell him next. Though, just by looking at him, you’d never know who he was. He had a beanie on to cover his toxic green hair, a scarf long and fluffy enough to hide half his face, and a jacket and gloves just like every other person here.

The Joker looked at you, his expression completely offended and rightfully so. “You forget that I’m human too.” he answered, breaking his gaze from yours to weave you both through a crowd of people. You didn’t forget he was human, but he was an accomplice to the most fiendish human that ever walked the earth; the very one who was a psychopath, the personification of a natural disaster, and a murderer. It was hard to believe that human was still applicable to such a being.

You remain quiet, not exactly to concede to his statement, but because you really didn’t know what to say. Here you were, ice skating with your archenemy’s prodigy. The very one Batman commanded that you alert him if you spot him while alone. What a situation to be in.

“I wonder how The Batman will react once he knows you’re on a date with me.”

“Date?!” You exclaimed. The tone of your voice put a sparkling smile on the boy’s face, which in return made your legs feel like jelly. It’s quite possible he wasn’t all evil. Just a dumb boy trying to flirt with a silly girl.

“Hmm, I don’t think I left a good impression on him for our first meeting.”

“That’s what worries you?”

“No one wants to look bad in front of Batman.”

“You’re not wrong.” you replied. It was something even you struggled with. Batman’s had others don the robin mantle before you, so you tried to follow in their footsteps and keep up the respectable image of Batman’s one and only partner in crime. Well, the one who helps him fight crime.

And so this was how you spent the next few hours. Skating around the rink, arms linked together; stopping occasionally to break and get some hot chocolate. You two sat on the bench, watching your breaths materialize in front of you as the day turned into evening. Sunset also meant the end of your time together.

“So when must the little bird return to the nest?”

“It’s not as much as return as it is to make a pit stop to change and go out on patrol.” you tell him as you take your skates off. You briefly stop to think about why you were telling him this. The time you spent together today doesn’t change the long standing history that inevitably puts the two of you at opposite ends.

“I’ll be lurking in the shadows, awaiting our next meeting.” he says as he stands. You didn’t notice it before, but he had his cane hidden under the bench. He picks it up and then steps back to give you a bow before leaving. When you were sure he was out of sight, you check under the bench for any dangerous items he might have left behind, but came up empty. Just in case, you stick around the rink for an extra 15 minutes, even though Batman’s wrath was still upon you and he’d let you have it for being late. You wanted to make sure no funny business would occur on your watch here. The coast turned out to be clear, so you throw your skates over your shoulder and make your way home to prepare for your evening watch. And possibly, another meeting with the Joker.

Me Myself and i....Oh and the rest. 13/06/20

There are multiple of me. 

So the title might confuse some no one still really knows about this condition but I have DID or Dissociative identity disorder I have four alternative personalities which all represent a part of my life its hard having DID especially when one of your alters is a two-year-old.

There are some trigger warnings towards self-harm suicidal mentions eating disorder mentions, with a side of abuse mentions ooh and also sprinkle of sexual assault. WOOHOO, that sounds like a fun one a walk in the park.. .ohh there might be ducks...ill get some bread...

Having DID is weird when you can zone out, and one of your alters can take control over everything you do and say you can zone out in the kitchen and zone back in and you could have destroyed a whole city and blew the world up and be butt naked in front of thousands of people (that was a good afternoon).

I am joking for disclaimer usage.

But there you go I said it I have DID. I haven't wanted to admit it, but I have currently four alternative personalities so five people in me head 

I will talk about the alters and what they represent I will talk about them and use images that my friend drew of them he is the only one that knows.

I have Stripe, Blue, Cody and Eliza they all live in my head and like… (SENTENCE BEGAN DRUNK, MAYBE FINISH LATER?)

Stripe

He represents my depression and suicidal thoughts. He will very often take over and cut me. It's horrible I can be doing a normal thing and then boom he takes over he is a lot like me, but he looks like a demon his red glowing eyes are staring at me right now I wish he'd fuck off. He and Eliza are both bad alters that try to hurt and kill me multiple times. Stripe has taken over and gone on walkies and self-harmed he talks to me most the day lingering over my shoulder telling me I'm better off dead and he is the reason for all of my impulses. It's hard having DID I've said that thousands of times now but it is, okay? I hate it. I wish I never had it. He makes a good impression of me. He's a demon who can fly.

One time he took overtook one of my knives and cut my arm, my friend walked in and stopped it, he tried to walk away from it like nothing had happened. Still, he didn't get away with it as my friend took it away and hugged me until I retook control he's been a part of me for years now I don't remember exactly when I developed my DID, but I think it must have been since I was about 16 so there you go. Four years.

A lot of the time his high pitched squeal penetrates my ears with his whispers of 'you're not good enough' and 'your friends hate you' his claws dig deeper onto my shoulder and grips me harder every time I don't listen to him, and all I'm left with is the shadow of the sheer guilt taking over my whole life.

He looks like a demon he has a stripe all down the middle of his body, and his eyes sometimes glow in the night he says a lot of stuff things he knows will hurt me. He has horns on his head and is constantly trying to get me to cut myself and convince me that I need to feel the relief and pain while the blade kisses my skin and slices my wrists up. He stops me doing things I enjoy like, for example, musical theatre there was this person there who was a snake. He always said she's going to do it again you're going to be sexually assaulted again if you go outside.

I asked what the person that knows about this and what they said it is like when Stripe takes over:

"When Stripe takes over, it's very creepy. I can look in the eyes of my best friend, someone I love, and it's not them in that head. It's someone… something else. Stripe usually tries to pretend to be Dino, but he never expresses any emotion except hate, which is how I know its not my Dino in there. He never says stuff like "love you" or even "I'm alright". He's a dickhead basically."

Eliza

She's a lot like Stripe, but she represents my eating disorders she also doesn't like it when I'm happy she's around a lot when my eating disorders are present she's a skinny demon her ribs are present like she wants me to be she dislikes people who like me and she doesn't think I deserve my friends or my food she's not a good alter and she works with Stripe they work closely together and try to take me down, so I drown in a massive wave of depression and suicide unable to breathe under the weight of living and the weight of my shitty past. So again, all I want to feel is the sweet relief of the pain that they make me think I deserve.

Eliza only recently came back as taking over, so the person does not know anything about her really has never experienced her first hand.

I realized at this point of the blog that I can't add pictures to blogger or tumbler so funnn I'll add my YouTube channel where I will post pictures of them there.

Another update as I'm editing I will upload it when I have a chance.

Cody

He is the protector of my alters he comes out to protect me he's kind caring he took over when terrible events happened in my life he represents my creative side he is also my anxiety the part of me that feels anxious. He doesn't do what Stripe does and make me anxious, but he is forced to feel anxious. He takes over a lot when I'm doing coding or feel very anxious that it's overwhelming. He's friendly and looks after my other alter a lot Blue who is two.

He has only recently come back he was a part of my life in college but when Stripe came in Stripe killed a lot of my alters, and he was the only one left hence why I fell into a deep depression at that point, and Cody went.

Cody enjoys coding drawing music I gave up drawing as I believed I was shit I still do but oh well when Cody takes over that doesn't matter so drawing it is then. He takes over when he feels I'm in pain mentally, or in danger from myself, he cares a lot about me and others.

Cody is again a demon but a nice one, of course, he always is listening to music or drawing or wrestling a two year old oops. Still, he has made friends with a lot of my friends without them knowing his voice is slightly different to mine. He is anxious but very chill at the same time he has never hurt me or anyone he took over when the most traumatizing events have happened to me to save the wrath of the trauma train crashing as there was an overwhelming amount of trauma. Hence, he took some of the wrath for me to save destruction. So in a way, me and Cody share the same trauma, and we can relate even though he's in my head.

It's quite funny sometimes I forget people cannot see them so ill say to my friend 'hey look over there at one of my alters, and they have to remind me that he's not really well to them but are in my head they feel so real.

Here is what my friend said about Cody…….

"Cody is a really cool friend. When we are texting, he usually lets me know if it's him, and in-person he has a slightly different, more chilled-out voice than Dino, even when he is anxious. He also has a cool necklace on a leather cord that Dino never wears, but Cody likes to put on when he takes over. He always calls me "bro" and he's just a really nice wholesome guy, a lot like Dino to be fair, but they're very clearly different people."

                              Blue

Okay so here we go blue is a two year a lot alter shes hyperactive and energetic she is called blue because when she first started to emerge, I used to just laugh and be unable to talk or anything so being a computer nerd, I named her blue after the Blue screen of death every ICT students nightmare…*shivers*

So yeah that's how she got her name, and oh yea did I mention she can set things on fire… well yeah, she can she sets Stripe on fire a lot shes scared of him, but sometimes she gets the courage and will not hesitate to set him on fire…and her attention span oh looks a tree where was  I forgot? Oh yeah, attention span she doesn't have one. I think she's incapable of having one she is very close to my friend and also Cody my other alter I talked about him above unless you lazy bugger have skipped down to this bit then you don't know but find out read above.

But yeah that's blue.

Here is what my friend said about Blue….

"Blue is ADHD as in she is the personification of ADHD. She's a really cute little two-year-old, but she doesn't have any concept of consequences for her actions, and no impulse control so she can be tricky to manage, especially when she's excited. We recently got her a pacifier to suck on and she always tries to get it as soon as she's in control. She's also obsessed with balls, so we got her a big, yellow bouncy ball too. Me and Dino spent hours building a fort once, which Blue managed to completely demolish in about five seconds. Her response was to say "oops" laugh her ass off, and then giggle "bye-bye" with a massive, very proud grin, and collapse, leaving Dino to wake up and be very, very confused about what the fuck was going on. As difficult as she can be to manage (she's a two-year-old with the strength of a twenty-year-old, it's a fight to keep her from tearing the building apart) she is a really, wholesome, and adorable little kid. I love Blue very, very much, and she actually calls me "Dada" which is pretty cute."

So there you go my alters. Welcome to my brain there are five people in my head including me it gets crowded sometimes and annoying when you're trying to rest, and all you can hear is a two year a lot screaming ball every 5 seconds, but they are apart of me, and I would not change them for the world well maybe stipe and Eliza but at the same time they make me who I am today they are me in my head they are my personality.

DID is a strange mental illness to have its strange to have five people in my head anytime another could emerge I used to have more but Stripe killed them I had Rosie and mae. Rosie was like blue and mae was like Cody, but they aren't there anymore who knows they might be hiding like Cody did I kind of hope so I miss mae she was based off of a character out of a night in the woods I do miss her but oh well.

So there you go another blog of reasons I should be institutionalized  because I am a danger to myself and could kill myself at any given moment.

Disclaimer that's a kinda joke…… mostly ……90%......... Nah……….99%... #Mentally unstable...fun.

Stay strong you bootiful bean.

Love you 

Dino the Dyslexic Blogger xxx

 Some helpline as usual for DID

Nhs https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/dissociative-disorders/

This morning (I know I know but it looks helpful… don’t judge me) https://www.itv.com/thismorning/dissociative-disorders-helplines

Mind- https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/dissociation-and-dissociative-disorders/dissociative-disorders/

Survivors network https://survivorsnetwork.org.uk/resource/dissociative-identity-disorder-d-i-d/

Death: a promise

Death: a Promise By Kate Bennett It was a crisp fall evening and Sullivan James knew tonight was the night to die. Born into a broken home with a missing father figure and a history of school bullying it was no wonder the boy wished his own demise. Standing on the weather worn railing of the bridge the boy looked out to the west. Taking the stars for what he was sure to be the last time’ Sullivan pondered how he got here. After seventeen years of coping miserably finally hitting a bottom so hard death seemed kind. Was it the father who left long before he was born?. The boys who mercilessly picked at his insecurities? Or perhaps the beatings from a resentful mother? All he knew was it was a gorgeous night to go out with a "bang". Or more accurately, he thought staring now at the rushing river below, a splash. It was the perfect opportunity, being the weeks before the colder weather hit, bringing seasonal depression along with the ice which would overtake the river's glassy surface. His mother was God's knows where doing God knows who, and his mood was somewhere between dismal and hopeless. So here he stood in all his glory on the edge of a choice one rarely came back from. To die, or not to die, that is the question. Of course he must have already somewhat made up his mind, one hardly even finds themselves in such situations otherwise. He closed his eyes wondering who, if any, would miss him. His mother certainly wouldn't. She may not even notice his absence. His classmates would get over it, many of whom had joked he should just end it in the first place. But there’ in the back of his mind’ was the boy with the kind eyes and warm hands. Perry, his Perry, who liked pop punk and knew every horror movie ever made. Who held him when he woke up shaking and shoved bullies off him at school. That's who would miss him. Sullivan thought almost happily, that if one thing had been good it had been that piece. Those memories, he decided , would be the ones he'd like to relive once one before the eternal sleep pulled him under. Around him the wind picked up, the smell of dead leaves on the air. Sullivan shifted, battered rubber shoe soles squeaking on metal, taking one last look at the sky, the moon, the stars. The boy took a deep breath and closing his eyes raised a foot off the railing. The voice was warm, and nonchalant as it said, "One hell of a night wouldn't you say." Sullivan's eyes started open, foot still raised, "I tell ya, it don't get much better than fall." Sullivan turned to his right slowly, taking in the occupied space that had been empty moments before. The man was old, and that was putting it kindly. He wore a long black coat, wrinkled hands resting on a polished cane, bright eyes staring off in the distance. The man turned his head slightly taking in the short boy standing in only a t-shirt and jeans. His mouth quirked up at one side. He wore an expression that said something along the lines of I've got your attention now don't I? that he did. The boy stood shock still wondering how in the world he could have missed the man's approach. The staring contest went on for some time before the man's expression changed suddenly to one of hesitancy, "You do know how to speak now boy, right?". Sullivan nodded numbly, "well then, speak. One wishes to stare death in the face, but given the chance has no words, come now." Stumbling over words the boy trailed off in a mutter of disbelieving, "How?" The man chuckled looking once again amused, "Well, those are some fairly loaded questions, but first tell me this, are you completely sure this is what you want?" As if realizing how he must look caught in the act of self destruction the boy straightened, foot once again returning to the rail. The man smiled faintly. "That's a boy, now tell me why of all nights does it have to be this one?" Sullivan had questions, many of which were along the lines of Who are you? How'd you get here? and How do you know anything about me? But finally he settled on a hoarse, "Why do you care?." The man met his eyes and in a soft serious tone said, "In my line of work it's hard not to." Sullivan was even more so confused. It was as if every answer left more questions. As if reading his mind the older gentleman said, "how about we play a game, you answer my questions and I'll answer yours."As if in afterthought the man retracted "to the best of my ability that is, one has to keep some sense of mystery." Nodding his consent, Sullivan made some decisions. Chalk this up to a bad dream and jump or listen to the strange man and play some impromptu version of twenty questions. Reprimanding himself for being a coward Sullivan lowered himself to the bridge concrete. "There, that's much better, always hate being unable to see a person's eyes when speaking to them," the man said flatly. "Who are you?” Sullivan ventured. The stranger sighed dramatically, "I have gone by many names and many personas." Sullivan rolled his eyes apprehension turning to mild anger, "you didn't really answer the question." "Or, " the man said, " you never asked the right one", Sullivan gave an exasperated groan “is everything a riddle to you?” The man gave a smirk that held a joke in its depth. “life's a riddle people have been trying to solve for centuries, I am something much simpler.” Sullivan threw his hands in the air in surrender. “Fine then, What are you?” Sullivan spat out, the stranger smiled a triumphant grin. “I am the only promise that will always be fulfilled. I am the end and too some I'm only the beginning,” the man rambled “You wanted Death, so I made an appearance. Might I say many don't get the pleasure of my extended company," the Stranger added. Sullivan stilled, thinking what on Earth was this man saying? Death? Make an appearance?. Was this man off his rocker? An escaped resident of some institution? "That's crazy," he settled on taking a step back for good measure. "As crazy as a young boy about to take the plunge rather than reach out for help?" The man, death finished. Well the boy thought, he certainly made his case. "how?, how can you be death?" The man sighed "how are you, you? You just simply are." The boy's mind was whirling " If you're who you say you are, why are you here?" "Because tonight I was summoned by a boy who wanted nothing more than relief from the pain he is feeling,” Death gave a knowing glance, “and though I rarely get involved in the affairs of living humans, I've found myself falling into old habits." Sullivan barely able to grasp the turn in conversation mumbled " Habits?” As if brought back the the present the man said "well yes, be around as long as I have and you're bound to get tangled with mortals once or twice, granted fewer times than hope," he looked to the side ponderously "she's a mess that one, always being found in the strangest places.” "Hope?" said the boy, "you mean there's more like you? Personifications of concepts? " Death looked impressed giving an appreciative nod "yes along those lines, love, hate, hope, joy, life, we all exist. The trick comes in finding us or in your case I found you," A vibration interrupted the silence that had began to stretch between all that had been said and all that hadn't been. Sullivan pulled a beaten-up phone from his pocket and briefly took in the text message that read Have a great night. I miss you!. Smiling faintly, he put it back. He looked up only to see Death studying his expression. "I know it's not my place but if you go through with this tonight you'll be giving up any future you have with him." Sullivan mulled over those words, in truth his companion was right the future he'd worked so hard to even possibly scrape by, all the things he loved doing, movie marathons, late night stargazing and talks at midnight with the boy he cared so much for. Was he willing to so hastily throw everything away? All the good things that had brightened the dark times and made life worth living. Finally Death said, "I won't say Life's easy, nor can I say she's in any sense fair. I've never found her a pleasant person myself, but don't let one bad night destroy all chances for future good ones." He continued his speech all the while turning back to the waves below, "I've have seen and done many horrible things in my line of work, but the worst has to be seeing someone so full of life and potential give in and throw that away and being unable to do anything about it." Sullivan felt conflicted by the man’s words. Not minutes before he'd been ready for his last breath and now?. Now he wasn't so sure. What if the man was right? If this was one bad night he need only get through to enjoy the good ones. "But, what if living is so much harder than the alternative?” He spoke in a whisper, "what if it gets to be too much?." Death nodded in understanding, "I'm not going to tell you it gets easier, and that one day the hurt fades away, but I can tell you that even if life is hard, that's what makes the good things so worth fighting for." Sullivan thought to himself, he imagined everything that had come and what would come in the future. He saw camping trips with friends, road trips and impromptu ice cream runs. He saw the sun rising through the window, light filtering through Perry's hair, bags under his eyes from late nights spent in deep conversations. Sullivan closed his eyes, took a deep breath tried just for a moment to accept everything. The good, the bad and everything else that could or would happen if he kept living. " Do me a favour," Death said in an almost inaudible voice, "live tonight and in the morning if you wake up with the sun on your face and the pain still in your heart, then we can do this, then I will come for you." Sullivan winced as if the thought hurt to consider. He swallowed. One night? He thought, can I survive one more night with this pain? "You've already made it this far, Take it from me one more night won't kill you only I can do that" Death smiled. Sullivan laughed and opening his eyes said "You promise?" Death held up his gloved pinky "Promise." The boy took his extended finger, "you know one thing has been bothering me." Sullivan smiled faintly. "And what would that be?" Death said a confused expression overtaking his face. " What happened to your scythe and black cloak?". Death laughed a deep and ancient sounding thing. "Times change, my dear boy, times change," Turning towards the bridges entrance Death said " I'd love to stay and chat but as you know, places to be. One hardly gets a break in this line of work. But do try to remember my promise, life is full of extraordinary moments. Try to be around to see them” Sullivan nodded his understanding and began to turn, his thanks almost halfway into the night when he noticed he was already too late. The space the old man had been standing in was once again empty, no trace to indicate his presence moments before. Sullivan began to stare to the west where the sun would inevitably rise, and he began to ponder all that had been said and all that had been promised. The old man sat on the corner of Coelom and Infernum street. His breath a white cloud in the cold winter air. Gloved hands resting on a polished black cane, the man surveyed the streets before him. It was the week before the mortal holiday of Christmas and everything was lit brightly with lights. Straightening on the wooden bench the man watched over the passing crowds so teaming with life and holiday cheer. The old man was supposed to be finishing a task he'd waited years to complete, but he found himself captivated by the humans around him. In his line of work he so rarely got the pleasure of company and today would be no different. He knew it was almost time, he could feel it in his weathered bones. But he would put the task off as long as he could, trying to figure out just the right words. How after all these years, he'd greet his charge. The old man rose slowly to his feet,taking a limping step forward. The years had not been to kind to the man either. Times had changed. The man had been quite busy this past decade. He'd overseen the aftermath of wars, environmental disasters and pointless deaths and it had left him worse for wear. Turning down Coelom street the man started down the broken sidewalk, humming a tune he couldn't recognize. The man continued down the street until coming to a two story apartment. The door stood open as if in invitation and the man walked through. The floorboards creaked, the sound filling the silent house. As he walked down the hall he passed picture after picture. They showed a young man graduating college, A wedding depicting two handsome men in tuxes saying their vows and finally two weathered old men smiling at the camera, a seventieth birthday cake in the background. Each filling in the blanks in the man's mind of what had happened after that fateful night. Finally, he found himself on the threshold of a room. Inside lay a chair , cot, and the boy. But the old man reminded himself this was no longer a boy. His hair faded to grey, his face wrinkled with an age older than the man himself was. "I've been waiting for you, old friend." The figure lying in the bed spoke softly. Sullivan James smiled in the way only one completely content in the world could. "well you certainly took your time, running from me didn't you?" Death replied. The man chuckled, the end turning into a hacking cough. "Well someone once gave me some advice and, after much consideration, I took it," Sullivan said. Death walked to the side of Sullivan's bed and sank into the cushions of the seat. Taking Sullivan's delicate hand in his death said, "you've been waiting for me than?" Sullivan nodded, " yes, I think the time has come. I think it's time for me to say goodbye." Death made hum of approval. "Yes well, I think this time I agree with you, you've had quite a time to do everything needed." Sullivan's smile stretched, showing aging molars. "I've had all the time I could ever ask for, no thanks to you." They sat in pleasant silence for some time, each enjoying each other’s company and pushing back the task at hand. Finally, Sullivan turned to the light filtering through the window beside him. In a knowing voice he said, "One hell of a day wouldn't you say?" And Death replied in an appreciative voice, "yes, can't get much better than winter." “Will it hurt?” Sullivan asked voice hoarse. “No,”death replied softly, “it'll be as easy as falling asleep” Sullivan remembered a time long gone by and held up one withered pinky “Promise?” Death smiled remembering another promise and another farewell, he gently took the other man's finger with his own. “I promise,” And with everything needed being finally said and done Sullivan James slipped away to meet with fate. It was a chilly winter morning and one thing was certain, Sullivan James knew in his heart, today was the day to die.

Kai Fiction

 Boop!!

It was well around midnight when the prince, now emperor, Kai had finally been able to take a well deserved rest for the night. He had spent the day doing all the tedious and annoying high-level official duties thanks to the coronation from three nights before. Shaking hands, kissing babies, performing monologues for the other high-leveled officials--who he personally thought were more judgmental of his age and leadership skills than they needed to be. It was all very tiring for the young emperor. After he excused himself to his royal bedroom, he tripped himself face-first onto the cushion of pillows and comforters. 

     Kai soothed himself with the dozens of freshly cleaned pillows, exuding an aroma of honeysuckle and lavender, his favorite. He smothered himself in all the luxuries, mentally taking note to thank the cleaning servants of their work in the morning. Kai felt completely at bliss in his own space until a revision of his day arose in his mind. Kai frowned mid-ecstasy because he remembered who was accompanied with him throughout most of his exhaustion, and who would be accompanied with him until further notices. 

    Queen Levana--and her royal entourage. Queen Levana was a vile, antagonizing woman. Creature more like. She was anything but human, both literally and in character. She is able to manipulate and destroy anyone in her path, for reason or no reason, for her benefit or for not one at all. She was simply the personification of evil draped in roses and white sheen veils, and it darkened Kai's heart to the core. He never thought someone so wicked could achieve so much power, but then again, her rule does consider the use of mind control. 

     Kai started to recollect the events of the day around Queen Levana along with her useless lackeys. During the bright hours of the morning Kai gave a finalizing speech to the leaders of the world regarding the peace agreement between him and "Her Majesty". Queen Levana standing elegant and proud beside him. Despite how uneasy she made everyone else feel in her presence, she wore her veil high, indicating that she was undeterred. It made him think of how intriguing it was to see such a person be so calm and confident in such matters. At the time it also made him believe that the marriage should transpire sooner than later, because he felt as if Queen Levana would be a great wife for him. He shooed the thought off quickly, knowing that it was Levana's mind manipulation ruling his judgment and not his own.

     It pained Kai’s head to think of that woman, especially so late at night. It almost made him want to retch up whatever he’d eaten that day. He couldn’t pinpoint why he was thinking of her so much. Maybe it was because she was a Lunar and she was using her mind manipulation magic on him to have his focus be on her. 

     Or maybe, Kai thought, she was just that much of a pain in the ass that it’s almost impossible to stop imagining her. Kai finished his theory with a soft chuckle.

     Rising from his bed, he glanced at a framed painting of his father, the late Emperor Rikan. Kai started to remember all the useless things that his father used to tell him as he grew up. One of which being to never go to sleep with the thought of someone in your mind, or else your dreams would revolve around that person--good or bad. Kai always saw that as a bunch of malarkey the times following his father’s comment. He’d never witnessed something as outlandish as that, even when he did imagine about someone--more specifically a girl he had honest interest in--so late at night. Rubbish.

     Kai then reached into his closet to pull out his nightwear, thanking the stars that the maids had stopped dressing him in the mornings and nights by the age of thirteen. That all was very intrusive from the start. Almost within a blink of an eye Kai hopped into his cozy bed once again and turned off his bedroom lights and closed his eyes to head off to bed. 

     There was a feeling as if as soon as Kai closed his eyes he was forced to open them again. He was bombarded with two alike figures standing in front of him, fortunately blocking some of the blinding light shining behind them. 

     It was morning.

     Kai could barely recognize who the figures were until a unison greeting reminded him. 

     “Dearest morning to you, Emperor!” 

     They were the palace’s head maids, Chen-Jie and Chenguang.

     They were twin maids, alike in body and face. Except one wore her hair bangs straight across and the other pulled above her head to show her forehead. Only the universe would know what their surnames were, not like that mattered anything. The two were among the only humans who were employed as servants in the palace, having the rest being androids. Why that was was above Kai’s knowledge.

     “Ah, good morning to you two as well.” said Kai pulling himself up from his bed. He felt a slight headache to then think that he sat up too fast. He looked over to see Chen-Jie close the curtains to the morning sun and Chenguang lay Kai’s emperor apparel along edge of his bed. He watched them float effortlessly across his room, almost dancing. Straightening the misplaced objects on the shelves, picking up the lying articles of clothing left from the hamper Kai threw from the night before. They certainly were the head maids.

     Working on recuperating himself after his minor headache, Kai smoothed his hand over the fresh and pristine comforter laying over him. The touch triggered the memory of him thanking his maids of their work.

     “Oh, girls, I almost forgot to say-” The girls craned their heads attentively towards him, none stopping their cleaning.

    “I’d have to thank you two for the work done in my quarters last night. More specifically, the work done on the royal mattress.”

     Both maids’ stiff expressions shifted to a blush. Chen-Jie’s face redder than the other. At least Kai could get a bit of a clear reading on who fixed the bed.

    “Y-you are most welcome. Your Excellency deserves nothing less than the finest luxuries.” Chenguang managed to mutter over Chen-Jie, who was stammering over her words unprofessionally.

     With a subtle bow, the two red-faced maids finished doing the light cleaning and floated from his room leaving His Majesty to dress in peace.

     After dressing and fixing himself--a bit longer than usual, Kai left the bedroom. He was greeted by his royal adviser, Konn Torin, outside his door. A proper man, he stood upright with his arms folded behind his back. He gave a simple good morning to Kai followed by a cordial bow and quickly escorted him down the hallway towards the elevator.

     Walking through the corridors of the palace, Kai broke the silence.

     “Torin.” Kai said politely.

     “Yes, Your Highness.”

     “Please, reiterate to me my plans for this morning.”

     “Breakfast with Her Majesty, Queen Levana. She is eager to make your acquaintance.”

     Great, just who I was looking forward to seeing.... 

     After Torin’s answer, Kai left the conversation still.

    Once they had finally reached the elevator, Torin pressed the button that led to the bottom floor. Kai felt a slight uneasiness about it.

     Why? He thought. As far as he knew there was no reason to have nervousness in seeing the Queen. If anything were to happen, Torin would handle it. Right?

     Finally reaching the dining room, Kai was greeted by the disgustingly sweet smile of Queen Levana. Her lips curved into sinister elf grin. 

     “Emperor Kai. So glad you’ve finally decided to grace me and my attendants with your presence.”

     “Haha. Yes, yes I do apologize for running late Your Majesty.”

     Witch. I wish I would have been able to keep you waiting longer.

     Her Majesty’s sarcasm stung Kai more than he thought it would. After a brief gesture by Queen Levana to sit down for breakfast, servants from both parties traveled in front of them, quick to pull out their master’s chair. 

     The table was a rather lengthy one--more lengthy than he had remembered, stretching from the middle of the dining area to almost the other end of the room. Kai thought it to be rather odd that he hadn’t noticed it to be that way before. Torin stood a protective stance behind Kai as Sybil did the same behind Queen Levana. Both making occasional eye contact. Kai then noticed that Levana had been making a noticeable stare at Torin, making suggestive glances with her eyes while swirling her white wine around in her glass.

     Before Kai could properly study the situation, two servants made an extravagant entrance with sparkling silver trays placed atop of their palms. The two walked together until reaching the tables when they spread apart. Kai noticing the girl servant slightly unnerved when realized that she had to serve Queen Levana, as she served her last time. Kai couldn’t have imagined the fear inside of her. 

     Eyeing the servants with their food reminded Kai of his androids, who were usually the ones who served him this way. But due to Queen Levana’s arrival in the palace, there would be no android serving her in any way. Androids are able to see through a Lunar’s glamour--able to see their ugliness.

     “Your breakfast for today conserves your favorite, Your Highness.” the servant serving Kai voiced. He smoothed the platter out lightly and elegantly, as if trying to impress him or himself.

     “And Her Majesty deserves nothing but the best as well.” the servant sang with a plastered smile as she laid the platter before Levana graciously, glancing up at her with fear in her pupils.

     This better not be another mirror incident.....

     Fortunately Kai’s nervous thought was debunked after the servants simultaneously whipped the silver cover from it’s plate to reveal nothing more than steaming food, making Kai unconsciously sigh in relief. The servants stepped away from the two with ease and with a bow, they left the room quiet again.

     The table that Kai and the Queen sat at seemed longer the more time Kai stared at it length. Him and Levana sat at opposing ends of the strip of wood, a lonely decorative vase full of an assorted flowers stuck inside placed in the middle. Torin and Sybil never moved from their posts, as well Queen Levana’s bodyguards manning the wall across from them. The only way Kai could tell that they weren’t all cardboard cutouts was the steady pace of their chests moving up and down. It was all very eerie to him.

     “That young friend of yours really did conjure up a stir at the ball the other night. Did she not?”

     No. No. Not this again. Kai pleaded in his mind. Not only does he have to deal with an excruciatingly horrid morning with horror herself, but now she wants him to discuss her? 

     “Unfortunately, Your Majesty, I am not in the happiest of moods to discuss of her at the moment.”

     “Oh, well, I suppose I can acknowledge that.” Queen Levana said nonchalantly.

     Kai immediately felt a sense of dread drain through him. It was never that easy to stop a conversation with Queen Levana and for her to just take it. If she were to be so easy to bargain with, Luna would not be under her control, Queen Channary would still be alive, Princess Selene would still be alive....and most of all: Kai would not have to hold his peace on Queen Levana’s actions due to a consequence of war and mass murder. She had a plan, and Kai knew that he was falling right for it.

     Some time passed before Queen Levana spoke again, with her same elfish grin. When Kai saw that she was eyeing him from across the extended table, he knew he was not going to enjoy what he was going to hear next.

     “I am aware that you felt betrayed the moment she revealed herself to you. You seemed to really enjoy her company, from what I saw that is.”

     Despite his frustration, Kai remained to bite his tongue.

     “So what may I ask was the more devastating revelation, my dear Emperor? The truth of her being a Lunar, or her being a cyborg as what you Earthens call it? You were quite taken aback by both that it was difficult to see which broke you more.”

     Kai started to feel trapped. His emotions were beginning to fall all over the place inside his mind. Before he could find in himself to make a good answer, Torin stepped in to his rescue.

     “His Majesty has already discussed with you that he is not in the mood for conversations about the person of subject. Now please, Your Majesty, honor his word and enjoy your breakfast.”

That sure was something risky to say, Torin, I’ll give you credit for that. Hopefully she isn’t set off by it.

     Queen Levana made a subtle eye-roll and made a hollow apology.