Tumgik
#so maybe watching this show is helping me cope with my own trauma... fucked up
rin-and-jade · 9 months
Note
hey I'm from the same system as 🌺, and I wanna add some stuff because unlike her I'm not blind to the abuse.
we are homeschooled so when the verbal abuse happened there wasn't anywhere else to escape to, I remember I used to literally hide behind things when I was younger.
I didn't learn to read until I was 10, and I'm dyslexic and autistic and dyspraxic and dyscalculic. so I absolutely suffered in academics for basically my whole life, my mother used to sit down with me and watch me stare at the work in front of my face and then yell at me because I didn't do it. or I messed up, or any slew of things fuck.
I was undiagnosed for autism for literally most of my life, I only got diagnosed when I was 13-14. so for a long long part of my childhood I was berated, yelled at, given the silent treatment, not comforted when I needed it and other stuff.
this is definitely because of her upbringing, and generational trauma. she's better now, but the damage has been done. and if I ever tried to bring this shit up now she'd just call me a liar, she loves to call me a liar.
after I learned how to read, I basically had to learn how to spell and write myself. I preferred it that way, because every time she try's to teach me stuff it always ended with me crying and her yelling.
oh I didn't even mention all the "talks" she has given me, basically telling me to "shape up, you're not doing anything with your life." when I have no freedoms? the digiverse is my only freedom, has been since I was a kid. I try to talk to her about my interests and she waves me away, though its gotten better. I still am not sure about her claims.
I literally can't go out by myself, I'm 17. I'm literally going to be 18 in a couple months and I've to this day never been on a trip somewhere on my own, I know I'm a bit oblivious at times. but I've always wanted that in my life.
maybe I'll get it now when I go to Tafe in person, and meet people. god I fucking hope.
I went through a lot of medical trauma from being hospitalised as a 6 month old because hot tea spilled on me, to asthma hospitalisations and more.
all under the age of 10 mind you, I've always been the "problem" child. mostly because of all my medical issues, and developmental issues. my addiction to YouTube, and screens in general. is it an addiction when it's literally the only thing that stops me from bursting into tears?
I didn't have friends for most of my life, and the ones I did. I only saw them at most once a week, most of the time it was once or twice a month until they grew tired of me.
I've had nice things, but all I really wanted was someone to listen to me. I used to literally wish everyday for most of my life, its only stopped now because I have AN ACTUAL FRIEND. and I'd kill everyone and then myself for him literally. (I'm referencing a meme)
but I was lonely most of my life, I love my siblings but its just not the same. I couldn't share my thoughts and feelings because they'd just tell mother.
once I had a friend group on this game, Cat game (that's literally what they are called.) and I was happy. a bit stressed because of drama, but it was nice to have someone who listened and cared.
I'm tempted to go back, but I just can't risk it. my family thought they were groomers, those people were more likely to be groomed then be groomers. I'm not dumb, I still feel bad for my abrupt departure.
but at least they know I loved them dearly, if like I mentioned any of my moots. or the fact I talk so outwardly on the internet they'd ban me actually ban me forever. and I can't let go of my one healthy coping mechanism.
I don't think I could ever tell them shit about my mental state, especially after the shit show that was lena trying to get us actual help. I still want to go to therapy and a psychiatrist, but I'm worried I'm just going to be abused verbally and emotionally more.
and right now, it's way less.
if they knew I considered myself trans, or supported nonbinary people or just most of the different gender identities. they'd tell me I'm wrong and they would have seen it, or that nonbinary people are doing it for attention.
why the fuck would I do any of this shit for that? I want your unconditional love, and support for my struggles. not that fake bullshit!
I have problems and I just want to help them, and nothing I do is good enough. I'm this disappointment half the time.
there was this one time. (maybe more) when my little brother was having a meltdown, and screaming. my mother's blood was boiling honestly, and she was yelling at him to "SHUT UP" "STOP CRYING FOR FUCKS SAKE" and such. she threatened to pull over and leave him on the road, a common threat of her's. and when his screams and cries got louder, she pulled over into this parks parking. and told him either he was to "SHUT UP, OR GET OUT." he didn't and he got out of the car, or was taken. either way he was outside of the car, I was crying and telling my mother to "STOP" and let him back in, I was 7-8 when this happened. and he must have been 3-4, and my little brother was crying and crying. and my mother had enough of the insubordination, and started to drive away. I started screaming then to go back for my brother, *I'm not sure which one it was, but it was one of them. and she kept driving, and driving.
I think she circled the block twice before letting my brother back in, but that was traumatic.
this sorta thing was why when I had my first suidal thought it was to open the car door and fall out, because I couldn't TAKE the verbal abuse that happened in the car.
I had depression I think, I had depression for most of my childhood.
but now, I feel happier. not because of anything that's happened in the real life, but the comfort I got from here. the internet.
there's many many more times I could talk about but I'm tired, I'll tell you more later.
but she's not good, I don't know if she's ever realised. but I just cannot be mad.
from me
Pop
That sure was a long story, read it word by word, i definitely relate to the bad treatment and threats i also got from my own mother. Kind of glad you’re still here and had got better, i witnessed a kid being pulled outside the car and even punched.. not lovely.
Anyway, i care to listen in what you have to say next time, i consider myself a great listener if anyone needs to vent too and whatnot,, and come back next time bro.
- j
7 notes · View notes
mycptsdrecovery · 1 year
Note
To the person who sent this ask:
https://at.tumblr.com/mycptsdrecovery/hi-im-sorry-to-ask-this-really-because-it-feels/fepccd6vfm9e
So first off I want to apologize because this message is probably gonna fuck your shit up a little bit. But for me at least, clarity brought peace. I hope this helps you put the pieces together and can bring you some comfort to know that you are not alone, what happened to you was very real and incredibly traumatic, and that you are incredibly strong for living through that. You’re obviously very smart and you’re asking the right questions- keep it up.
I read your post and I know exactly what happened to you. You had a VCUG. I had it done too, multiple times when I was 3. It took me literally 20 fucking years to figure out what that was and what happened to me. When I read the Wikipedia page, it was like I got hit in the head with a brick so brace yourself before you look it up. The procedure has literally every characteristic of a sexual assault, and I have lifelong sexual trauma from it. It’s used as a tool in research for studying memory related to CSA, because ofc you can’t abuse children to get data- but the VCUG is “medically necessary.” I think it’s almost worse in a way because it’s more like a gang rape WHILE YOUR PARENT IS WATCHING, and you’re not even seen has an object of attraction- it’s dehumanizing, and the denial of autonomy over your own body has serious, long term effects. It set me up for a lifetime of other sexual trauma- by the time I was 6 I was already showing hypersexual behavior. I never learned how to set any boundaries. Period. If you learn as a child that you don’t even have privacy *in the bathroom by yourself*, layered with the confusion and embarrassment of the experience (I was being potty trained, and then all of a sudden I’m in a radiology room and my mom is telling me I have to pee on this table in front of all these people??) seriously fucked me up, at least.
I spent literally my entire life not knowing why I was so fucked up, not knowing why I was so deeply traumatized when nothing (that I knew of) happened to me. It’s agony, and I blamed myself and lost myself in addiction and anorexia. Funnily enough, Ive always gravitated towards people who had serious childhood trauma. I’d hear their stories, and understand the feelings, but I never had a “story” of my own. It made me feel like an imposter, because it wasn’t like I got raped by a family member or something more “textbook”. Nobody talks about VCUG trauma even though thousands of kids go through this every year. It’s a faceless trauma, there’s nobody to blame (which makes it even more difficult to cope with imo)
There’s like one (1) support group on Reddit with 70 members, which is the largest to my knowledge. I was thinking of maybe starting a blog because there’s a lot of older people on reddit (like 5-10 yrs older than me at least) and I think that growing up Online with that trauma and 24/7 access to violent adult content is a totally different experience. But all of the emotions they talk about are the same, I’ve always kinda felt like nobody could understand what it’s like to be in my head, but reading that subreddit made me realize that I’m not The Most Fucked Up Person Who Has Ever Lived. And I learned how the trauma has formed every facet of my personality. Like I’m an anxious control freak who feels no sense of ownership over my body- surely that has nothing to do with this foundational traumatic memory of being denied control over my most basic bodily functions, right? Much to think about lol
You’re not crazy, and what you went through is unfortunately very real. I’m assuming that you’re still a teenager or a very young adult so you may not have gotten a yeast infection since you were a kid, but I think that the white stuff/medicine you were describing was monistat for a yeast infection. It’s a suppository, so there’s a like plastic plunger you put this white egg on, and then you put it in your vagina and push it up to your cervix, and the medicine leaks out over the course of a couple days. So it doesn’t surprise me at all that you would remember that, someone put a foreign object inside of you that was itchy and gross.
And for the record, your parents are *Very* Bad At Boundaries!!! If they can’t be the adults and set healthy boundaries, you have to. Its perfectly okay to say “I don’t want to talk about that” or “you’re making me uncomfortable, please stop touching me”. You didn’t have a voice when you were a kid, but you have one now. Trust me, I know it’s fucking scary and feels impossible- but do it once, and you’ll be hooked on the feeling forever.
I figured everything out last year (I’m about to turn 24), and I’ve been in therapy which has been super helpful. For me at least, EMDR has really been great for reprocessing those memories, and so has hypnotherapy exercises for being able to get into my subconscious. If you’re gonna look for one, you need a trauma specialist. Don’t fuck around with like a school counselor who mainly does “I’m depressed sometimes” therapy. If you’re anything like me, you need Serious Help.
I love you internet stranger- everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone, and it is possible to heal ❤️ I hope this brings you some peace
.
14 notes · View notes
stancine · 2 years
Note
i just watched a compilation of stans childhood with his dad and like i just feel really bad for stan, mustve been rough growing up like that :c
oh my goodness i just watched it too. when little Stan is sad i just want to give him a hug. Stan went through so much in his childhood. its so interesting to watch his life unfold in the show. honestly they really do get pretty detailed when it comes to his childhood trauma and the way it affected him as an adult. the writers do an awesome job at conveying how Stan copes with his trauma
for example, in the scene where Steve turns Stan’s nostalgia filter down to 0%, Stan still revisits his horribly traumatic childhood with fondness. its not uncommon for adults who were abused/neglected as children to be unable to see their childhood for what it actually was, because in doing so it could be too much for them to handle. and in turn, Stan tends to idolize his father to the point of acting like him and treating his children —namely Steve— in a way that mirrors Jack. this is evident more so in the earlier seasons where Stan was consistently shitting on Steve’s unconventional interests and rejecting Hayley’s nonconformity. he cannot accept his children’s self expression during this time, because he was never allowed to do so when he was their age. he wasn’t treated like a human, but rather an extension of his parents
thank goodness for Francine. she definitely was encouraged to express herself in her youth and she never really shit on her kid’s interests like Stan did. i think that her free spirited nature makes up for Stan being so stuck up.
not to mention how fucking terrible Betty was too! she parentified Stan the moment Jack left them. Stan never got to have a proper childhood not only because his father was a neglectful, emotionally abusive alcoholic, but his mother also never allowed him a proper childhood after his father was out of the picture. she relied on Stan for emotional support, and Stan didn’t know any better. he had no baseline for what a healthy parent-child relationship should look like. and even as an established adult, Stan still is at the hands of his mother from time to time. it takes Francine to point it out for Stan to realize how unhealthy his relationship with his mother is. maybe its hard for him to let go of that because she is the only parent he has left.
it really makes me happy that Stan’s personality shifted as the show went on. in the future, i’d like to gather more information about when this shift actually happened for him, but i really see it as him healing from his trauma, or at least moving on from it. Stan has a wonderful support system in the rest of his family. they all love him and respect him as the father figure/“patriarch” of the Smiths. i know that there is a lot more for Stan to unpack, but it really is wonderful seeing him turn out to be the father that he needed to his own children. the husband that cares about his wife and cherishes their relationship. and the person that everyone in the Smith family can go to when they need help.
14 notes · View notes
shawnjacksonsbs · 1 year
Text
Veered a little off course, for a much better entry for me. . .than the one about 7 deadly “sins” 2-25-23
"Although at times the mind may not be clear, compassion is always the appropriate response. To have mercy on our mercilessness. To leave nothing unhealed." - Stephen Levine
Intentions only go so far, and are only good for so long. Intentions without action have expiration dates.
Now.
What do I believe in?
Well, I believe in myself, and I believe in the potential of every other human being.
Where any of them fall short isn't really my problem (until it is, but that’s a different entry), but I'm here to help how, and if I can.
Where I fall short though, the strength I forged in my honesty, my truth, helps me pull myself back, all I ask is for love, and sometimes patience through kindness, like I’d show you.
I was gonna write about those 7 deadly “sins” and their virtuous opposites, and what I believe brings it to balance, mostly in the hopes of finding better balance in some areas myself. . .
I've found myself at another spot thinking though, about priorities.
I'm still watching Little House on the Prairie. I'm several episodes into season 3 now, and just watched the one where Laura's father Charles went back to the Big Wood to get his father and bring him home, because his mother passed. He missed her passing, and was in an emotional tug-of-war with his pa.
Anyways . . .priorities.
I can't seem to stray too far, for too long, especially since I have these entries once a week to help me stay on task.
Limiting those deathbed regrets is still top of the list. And all with the added bonus of living in the now with what's truly important, or picking up the slack when I recognize my priority list has slipped a little out of plumb. It's usually easy enough to get back to level-headed if I can get out of my own way, and take what others feel and say, steady, but to heart.
It's not all about me.
I can see how that might be confusing, my always writing about . . . me, and . . . my life.
But it's how I empty me out to make room for those who also belong in here with me.
I really feel for those less fortunate, that have no way to balance as well.
And I'm so grateful I have found a way for me to do just that. Grateful barely touches the surface of how I actually feel. Barely.
I still struggle, a lot actually, mentally, emotionally, physically, and financially. I'm not above any other person I know in these areas. I'm just lucky enough to have ways of coping that are healthier than my old ways.
I was just thinking the other day about when I die, hopefully later rather than sooner.
If people will come together, and what will the memories look like, feel like?
I do know one thing, as I hope for mostly positive stories, and memories, I don't want the pain and trauma and all the bad shit dismissed. All of that made me who I am, makes me who I have become. It needs to find its way to light when those who might be remembering are . . .remembering.
I had a ton of pain. I caused so much myself. When anyone remembers the person I became, just acknowledge how and why.
It could still help someone, my fucked up story. But not nearly as likely to happen if it's not the whole story, or if it's told out of context.
Have you ever thought how people, especially loved ones will be, and how you might be remembered? I mean, like immediately after, and years later, like maybe when someone grabs an old photo of you.
Smiles?
Tears?
Both?
More than likely it's both.
Scales tipping out of balance until things are overcome. I'm not unique in this, not hardly, but it's not any less impressive to me that I made it. . .out . . .made . it. .here.
I stay grate full! How could I not?
It’s not all about me.
I said that already right? Probably because, I still need to be reminded myself from time to time. For even as hard as I try, for as long as I have, it’s still easy to forget sometimes.
The way our society and culture is designed makes it seem like “selfishness” or at least being more than self-centered is how it should be. It’s way too socially acceptable to not give a shit about others. Just sayin’.
And FYI, we can do for some, for any. It doesn’t have to be all. Promise.
I love writing, especially when my heart completely takes over. It’s a whole different entry than what I intended for it to be.
What I need to say, to feel heard about, isn’t always the same as what my brain thinks I should be writing to you guys, as you can tell.
I’m closing here.
I know I feel better.
How about you? Lol no lol
Keep sharing your love and laughter with the world around, and be kind as always as possible. Although civility will work, it is the minimum right? And remember that anything that makes you feel can’t be all bad. Feeling feelings reminds us that we are human!
Until next week;
"No longer can we parse our fellow humans into the categories of ‘lovable’ and ‘unlovable.’ If love is an act of the will — not motivated by need, not measuring worth, not requiring reciprocity — then there is no such category as ‘unlovable." - Jen Wilkin
3 notes · View notes
hopesandparachutes · 10 months
Text
For Mark (06-07-23)
I felt so scared watching you perform during your recital. I was starting to fall hard for you. While you were playing, I was imagining that you were my boyfriend. I went to the restroom during the intermission because I had a hard time breathing. Being alone didn't help because I also felt socially anxious.
If only I were okay.
I wouldn't have run away if I were confident enough. I would've waited for you after your recital and then you would've introduced me to your friends
I wouldn't have been so anxious and excited for you to confess and I would've let you say how you felt for me at your own pace.
When the lockdown came right after we confessed our feelings, I was devastated. I wondered why we always seem to have bad timing. I sort of blame the pandemic. I guess it heightened our anxieties even more.
But even so, I shouldn't have felt insecure with the love we had. It's 10 fucking years in the making. If only I were okay.
I don't know if I will ever feel secure with anyone's feelings towards me. Emotional impermanence, trust issues, whatever it is. It's probably a survival skill I've learned, growing up in an unpredictable household. There were days when my dad loved me so much, when he'd just make me laugh, and days when he'd be so angry that I couldn't understand. From then on, I learned that people's feelings towards me are always subject to change. I want to say I believe you will love me forever, but I can't. Even if you say so. I'm really sorry about that. If only I were okay.
Thank you for trying to love and understand me. I was so busy trying to understand the people around me, so I never really took the time to understand myself. Thank you for pointing me to that direction.
I'm a mess and just really heartbroken right now. Feeling lost is a sign naman daw that you're recovering. You just showed me so many things that I never saw before, that it seems like my whole identity for the past 26 years is a lie. How did I grow up to be like this?
It's so hard to take in because I've lived my whole life as a recluse who has rejected all forms of affection. I'm literally a feral cat. But I guess it's easier for animals to relearn. I don't know how I will ever be okay.
But hmmm what happens when a feral cat that has learned to trust gets hurt again? Maybe that's how I feel right now. But it's okay, no one's perfect and it's not like you deliberately tried to hurt me. I'm just really so suspicious of love and affection.
Who am I underneath all these traumas and bad coping mechanisms? Nailibing na kaya ng buhay at di na humihinga? Or were you able to see me, underneath all my cuts and bruises?
I almost transferred schools during our third year.  I wonder how it must've been like if we never became seatmates. Maybe I wouldn't have known that I am capable of loving.
Thank you for staying by my side all these years.
0 notes
deyadee · 1 year
Text
Aesthetic
I’ve always had this fascination with wanting to find my own aesthetic. I’ve adored goth fashion but I can never get into it because I picture myself in the accessories and want to puke. I’d look so fucking ugly and those tights would accentuate every inch of my fat. So much of aesthetic feels like it’s reserved for people that are attractive. Sorry honey, you’re too fat, go back to blending into the background and praying people don’t sneer when they look at you.
I actually bought some black tights to wear and after forever of getting them on I just glanced at the mirror and saw a fucking moron standing in front of me. My legs are short as hell compared to my torso so I look like a fucking fool. Just another reminder of why I shouldn’t ever fucking try.
Anyway, I’ve always wanted to find an aesthetic for myself. Goth just looks so beautiful and I’m captivated by anyone wearing it that I can’t help but stare. Those all-pastel-pink moodboards are so enchanting that I could sucked into a vortex of just admiring them all day. Watching complications of nostalgic 2000s things or liminal spaces just transports me to somewhere where I can just indulge in the memories and in the visuals.
So I decided to go through the A-Z aesthetic list on the aesthetic fandom wiki. I got about to F before giving up. I found one that kind of suits me, but even then not really. Each one I read through, each image, each description just showed me that I don’t fit in with anyone. Not in the cliché “cute girl-next-door YA protag that doesn’t fit in but is the chosen one and actually really cool” kind of way. Like I’m just fucking boring. No personality. Which is true. That’s something your mom will never tell you, because it’s easy to go your entire life knowing someone and it’s easy for you to spend your life never realizing you’ve got fucking nothing going on because no one truly fucking pays attention to your personality as long as it’s not completely shitty.
All of the aesthetics I felt kind of fit me or that I liked didn’t truly fit me. Being goth isn’t about being depressed and liking the color black or an all Halloween-esque ideal, being goth is about rebellion. It’s about fighting against “the man.” Patriarchy, society, upper-class, whatever the fuck you wanna say it is. What am I rebelling against? Nothing. I’m a fucking spineless loser whose had her entire life handed to her by her parents who actually worked hard to give her a life they didn’t have- only for her to stab them in the back and be a useless fucking waste of space. I profit from everything goth rebels against. So therefore, I’m a Mall-Goth. Only liking the outer appearance of things and not knowing the true depth.
I thought maybe something relating to Japanese or anime aesthetics might work, but again- I’m just a fucking weeaboo. I don’t know shit about the culture, I just mock it by being fat and ugly and using it as an escape from real life.
Nostalgia-related perhaps? Nope. Based mostly on regressing to escape from trauma or coping with the present. What the fuck do I need to goddamn cope with? I don’t have trauma. I wasn’t abused. I had shit friends and made shit decisions. A normal fucking childhood.
So what was the aesthetic that I found somewhat captured me?
Femcel Weeaboo, and Mall-Goths. So I guess I lied. But originally I only really looked into Femcel. Which hit the nail on the head, but the mood felt wrong. As bitchy and sad as I am on this blog, I’d say it’s only the most negative aspects and moments of me. The majority of my life I’m a bot on autopilot. Not happy, not sad. Existing. Not thinking about the consequences of my actions or trying to improve myself, or even being proud of myself. Just fucking there. So that’s where the Mall-Goths come in. Where I don’t give enough of a shit about anything to pick a side and just end up being a fucking poser.
I’m too much of a normie to fit into these groups I’ve always aspired to be in and modeled my entire view of fashion and beauty after, but I’m too fucking weird and niche (and fat/ugly) to be accepted by normies. Too fucking self-aware to be something, but too oblivious to not be.
Aesthetic is just fucking concepts to shove beauty into certain boxes while still shoving out anyone they don’t agree with or looks how they want.
0 notes
kenshiv · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
darkcircles4lyfe · 3 years
Text
Death to All Might, Rebirth to Yagi Toshinori
Tumblr media
So about All Might. I’ve been extremely wary of talking about what could happen to him because straight up saying “I don’t think he’s gonna die” is asking the universe to spite me. Plus it also feels like a room full of people turning to stare at me as if I said the Sun isn’t a star. Man has death flags everywhere, I know. 
But, okay, *Bill Nye voice* consider the following:
Mr. Yagi here, if he overheard everything, just received the final nail in the coffin on his career. His time as the symbol of peace is not only over, it was in fact partially responsible for the current state of things, since he once did so much on his own that his absence now makes heroes and civilians alike ill-prepared to cope. I think it was very apt for that one guy to be wearing an All Might shirt--he was acting as a mouthpiece for the latent societal problems embedded in All Might’s legacy. 
We know already that he’s been feeling useless. I love this scene and although I’m not gonna talk about it right this second, remember what Aizawa says about just “being here” being enough:
Tumblr media Tumblr media
And we know from conversations with Inko that Toshinori is also reframed his purpose around looking after Izuku. But in the end, Izuku rejected his help, and it was his classmates instead who were able to save him. Now the very progress of humanity is rejecting him too. You may me wondering how on Earth I don’t see the logical conclusion of all this being his death. Hold on. It actually has a lot to do with the fact that we’re all expecting it. Nighteye himself saw it, and despite any contrary convictions anyone might have, the plot doesn’t seem to be veering away from that end. All Might Is Gonna Die, says absolutely everything. 
It’s occurring to me that I have previous experience with this kind of plotline that probably little to no one else in this fandom shares, being that I’ve read a certain book series in which the main character is told in no uncertain terms that he will die (no, I’m not talking about hp). The series in question is T*e Und*rland Chronicl*s (censoring so it doesn’t get put in their side of tumblr) and I’m sorry but I’m about to go on a shameless tangent about it and spoil the ending for you.
So in this series there is a prophecy in every book, each one having something to do with war and conflict, and so far all of them have been right. In the last book [mc] finds out that it’s prophesied that he will be killed. Lots of the things in the prophecies are convoluted and metaphorical, but no, this one literally says “when the [mc’s title] has been killed.” He spends the whole book coming to terms with this, and he gives into it, only to find himself waking up in the hospital instead. “Wow, plot twist. /s” you may be thinking, and yeah sure, the mc in a kids book survived, big shocker. But it doesn't end there. After the war, there are peace talks, but they escalate until the two sides are on the verge of declaring war again. And [mc], bless him, has just been caught in the middle of all of this the entire time. He’s sick as shit of fighting, of watching the suffering and death of people he cares about. He draws his sword against both of them angrily, gives a speech saying he won’t take a side, and then promptly breaks his sword across his knee: “There. [mc’s title in the prophecies] is dead. I killed him.” He’s giving a huge middle finger to everyone there, to the man who wrote the prophecies, to the entire fucked up culture of it all. And so something that was taken literally turns out to be metaphorical. That is, if you still believe in the prophecies at all.
Hopefully you’re catching my drift here. What I’m saying is, even though this other series has nothing to do with bnha, it goes to show sometimes it’s the most absolute certainties that are red herrings, and a “death” can consequently be a symbolic one. In All Might’s case, it could be the death of hero society and a rejection of his own past. In other words, character development for Toshinori himself that reflects on the way the world is changing, too. Also there’s the fact that the mc from that other series I’m trying not to name has an honorary title, and I’m imagining that role he occupied “dying” could correspond to something that amounts to, “All Might is dead. I (Yagi Toshinori) killed him.” 
And here’s another thing: we also have to ask ourselves what good a dead Toshinori is to Izuku, narratively speaking. Yes, Izuku has spent his whole life idolizing even the more toxic parts of All Might, and his idealized vision of his hero does need to “die.” But how about Toshinori as a father figure?  Izuku regretting that his last interaction with Toshinori was to reject his help may drive home the fact that he shouldn’t go off on his own, but at this point it’s kinda redundant. If anything it would negate some of the progress that was just made because it’d make him extra paranoid about losing other people too. To be honest, the whole “Uncle Ben” trope, the mentor/father figure who dies and gives the mc a reason to do better, is so tired. Experiencing the death of a loved one really doesn’t deserve to be romanticized like that. I might as well admit that I’m speaking from experience, and let me tell you, losing someone you love suddenly, when you weren’t around, and with unfinished business--it makes you paranoid as hell that it will happen again. It literally gives me nightmares. Y’all, I cannot stress enough that trauma does not equal character development. Granted, just because I know this doesn’t mean Horikoshi does, but in general he does seem to lead his characters toward healing.
Okay, back to the present. Toshinori is turning away from UA. He likely feels useless and rejected. We can infer that what happens next will involve Stain, and we have a couple of extra clues to go with it: Stain considers All Might a true hero, and has stated that he would let All Might kill him. And since Horikoshi loves his parallels, we also have this fight between Endeavor and this random villain who admires him so much that he wants to die by Endeavor’s hand:
Tumblr media Tumblr media
This suggests a confrontation in which Stain challenges All Might to live up to himself as he once was, so that as a hero he can vanquish Stain and symbolically overcome society's perversion of that role. But based on what All Might has learned about the system he upheld, Stain is wrong. All Might is not a “true hero” in the sense that the societal issues Stain witnessed exist not in spite of All Might, but (in part) because of him, because he took too much of the responsibility for himself.
Stain probably had no idea about the personal cost of All Might’s lonely burden until after the fact. Maybe he’s seeing it now. So then perhaps the confrontation would be more about Stain claiming he’s just as fake as the rest. Either way, Toshinori has the opportunity to denounce himself and be rid of “All Might,”  to stop living in his own shadow. Nighteye’s vision has been defied before, and I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the combination of society shifting + Toshinori’s own conviction is enough to do it again and work fate in his favor.
He is not All Might. He is Yagi Toshinori: quirkless, worn down, and directionless except for his dedication to Izuku. If he survives his interaction with Stain, he can resolve his imperfect mentorship by confessing about his shortcomings and simply supporting Izuku as a part of his family, not as his teacher (as Aizawa said, just “being there”). And that’s how you really get character development, for both of them. I mean, shit, imagine Toshinori straight up telling Izuku to stop calling him All Might.
573 notes · View notes
electric--blanket · 3 years
Text
a place where the heart rests
so, because @thekaiserroll drew fanart of my fanfiction i decided to return the favour by writing a long Wintersberg one-shot based off of her short comic! i hope you enjoy touch-starved Heisenberg.
warnings for death (not for main characters) and some angst.
read on ao3
--
Mama… I want mama. It hurts.
Where’s mama?
Karl Heisenberg always suffered from nightmares. Even before he was taken in by Mother Miranda — as a child, Heisenberg often experienced night terrors that had him screaming in his bed. There were distant memories in the back of his mind, where he’d wake from a terrible dream that had him screaming for his mother — and she’d always come to his side. In that terribly large, cold estate that Heisenberg once called home, it always felt so lonely. But, his mother always eased his fears; with her silk nightgown and the distinct smell of expensive soap. Her soft fingers would comb through Heisenberg’s locks of ashen brown hair, hushing him in a soft tone of voice — a voice he could no longer remember.
During the experiments, it was the only thing Heisenberg begged for when he felt the cadou infesting his body. It felt like a worm wriggling around in the wet soil during a storm, curling and writhing through his organs. He screamed for his mother, wishing she would save him from the pain and take him home again. A seventeen-year-old boy screaming for his mother to come and save him looked utterly pathetic from Mother Miranda’s perspective, and the feeling of fear only intensified when she stroked Heisenberg’s hair whilst he screamed. A soft whisper that uttered, “I’m your mother now, child.” It made Heisenberg nearly vomit.
That was the last time someone had ever touched him so tenderly. He’d not felt a loving touch since then and ducked away from Miranda’s so-called ‘motherly’ touches.
At first, Heisenberg coped with the intense trauma of his bodily changes by taking it in stride and calling his newfound power of magnetism a ‘gift’. He knew deep down it was the opposite: it stopped him from ageing, rendered him infertile and stripped away his dignity by becoming a slave to Miranda. It took a long time for Heisenberg to fully process what had happened to him. His father had left him in the clutches of a madwoman, and his life only got worse from there.
In a fit of rage — perhaps at the age of twenty-nine — he revisited his parent's estate to confront the man he could no longer call ‘father’. He had aged since Heisenberg last saw him, but those steel eyes he’d inherited were still as hard as ever. His mother lingered in a doorway just down the hall, but she didn’t dare come to greet her son as he snapped with a short, interrupted breath. Heisenberg had grabbed his father by the neck and pinned him to the nearest wall, knocking down a beautiful oil painting his mother adored. His fingers didn’t seem to stop, squeezing on the skin and bone until he felt a sickening crack vibrate beneath his fingers.
Heisenberg hadn’t meant it, not really. It was as if a demon had taken control of his body and sought revenge that barely mattered anymore. He didn’t realise what he’d done until he heard the sound of his mother screaming; distraught and fearful of her own son that she’d once coddled so long ago.
That was the last time Heisenberg saw his mother and father. The estate was quickly abandoned not long after, and from what he knew, his mother took her belongings and moved to Austria with some distant relatives. That large house teased Heisenberg every fucking day, with how it towered near the factory grounds and reminded him of what he’d done. Arson wasn’t exactly on his bucket list, but Heisenberg couldn’t resist taking a match to the place and watching it burn. Whatever childhood remained in that house was left in a pile of ashes, and he never looked upon it ever again. All of the silly dreams and hopes he’d had for his life were gone.
That was until Ethan Winters showed up. Nearly a hundred years later, Heisenberg felt something he’d sought after for so long — hope.
**
“Karl? Karl—!”
Mama. I want mama. Everything hurts.
Heisenberg forced his eyes open. It felt like his life was replaying in front of him whilst he was passed out; like watching an old film reel repeating itself and becoming more distorted each time. Up until that very night, Heisenberg’s life had been a series of traumatic events and unforgivable actions.
That night, he’d turned it all around just by laying his eyes on Ethan Winters. A man so incredible, resilient and insane… He’d do anything to get his little girl back. It was the man Heisenberg had oh-so wanted his father to be, and he admired that about Ethan. He’d never been so good at expressing his emotions honestly, or even laying out his ideas in a proper fashion to others… Oh, but Ethan was special. He’d shown Heisenberg patience that he’d not been offered before and decided to join him at his side to kill Miranda. Together.
“Karl… Fuck— Don’t die on me, asshole.”
Ethan… Ethan…
Above the metal remnants of what his mutated body had used as a shell, he could hear Ethan pushing the scrap aside to try and find Heisenberg buried beneath it. He could also hear the distinct cries of a distressed baby, something that brought him back to Earth. Heisenberg reached up through the metal until his bare, calloused fingers brushed up against Ethan’s soft knuckles. There was a moment of silence when their skin touched, but Ethan didn’t waste any time in grabbing Heisenberg’s hand and pulling him out.
The moment the pressure around his body ceased, Heisenberg felt the telltale feeling of sickening warmth seeping from many wounds across his body. The cadou inside him didn’t react too well to it, trying to cope with the trauma done by squirming and pulsating inside of him. Heisenberg drank in the expression of Ethan’s relieved face for just a moment, only until it warped into one of worry and horror. Heisenberg was weak, and his knees buckled beneath the weight of his torso before he fell back onto the ground.
The baby cupped carefully in one of Ethan’s arms began to cry again as Ethan jostled her accidentally in an attempt to help Heisenberg. A baby crying wasn’t really helping Heisenberg’s already distressed state, but it made him realise just how fucked he was. There was no way they would get away in time together, and Heisenberg was too injured to walk. The cadou might have helped to some degree, but it didn’t ease the burning pain in his body, and the loss of blood that was making him dizzy.
Ethan’s horrified expression was pinned on an appendage from the Megamycete, which rose up from the cave systems like a flower bud in spring, ready to bloom. The small, red flashing light alerted him to the fact that Chris Redfield had succeeded in planting the bomb. They had to leave.
“Go.”
A silence hung in the air for just a moment, and Heisenberg didn’t realise what he’d just said. For the first time in his miserable existence, he was being selfless and urging Ethan to leave him behind. It was the last thing Heisenberg wanted.
Don’t leave me here. I’m fucking scared. I don’t want to die yet.
“Fuck you,” Ethan’s voice trembled with venom, “I’m not leaving you here now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”
Heisenberg let out a bitter chuckle, tasting the blood seeping from his gums as he grinned, “I don’t think we have any time to be arguing about this, buttercup.”
“No. I— Mia’s dead, Karl. I need you.”
That’s right. Heisenberg briefly recalled Miranda’s kidnapping of the not-so-innocent woman and the experimentation that followed. Unfortunately, her body gave in due to her state after giving birth and she died on Miranda’s operating table. Ethan’s wife was dead, and Rose was now left without a mother’s loving touch.
“I said go. Rose needs her papa intact, not blown to pieces.” Heisenberg insisted, slumping back against the pile of scrap metal.
“Damn it—” Ethan looked hesitant to leave Heisenberg. It was a truly sweet sentiment: to see someone care about him after all this time. After all of the terrible things he’d done, and the love he’d been deprived of… Someone cared about him. Maybe that was enough. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to die like this.
“Fuck.” Ethan stammered again, licking his dry lips and swallowing, “Karl… I… Thank you.”
“... Yeah. I know, Ethan.”
That was all he needed. A trembling, watery smile shot his way before Ethan held Rose close with both arms and turned to run.
He’s going to be a great father.
Heisenberg looked up at the plant-like form the Megamycete had taken, looming down upon the ceremony courtyard with writhing mold creeping closer to Heisenberg. It was then that he decided that giving in like this wasn’t who he was: he was a fighter to his last breath.
In a last attempt to preserve his life, Heisenberg parted the pile of scrap metal and shuffled beneath it all. He rolled his wrist, the cocoon of metal surrounding him and tightening. The metal creaked, drowning out the sounds of the mold writhing around the metal to try and get inside. Heisenberg closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. I won’t die. Not yet.
The explosion that followed shortly after was deafening, causing the entire ground to shake beneath him and the metal to shudder against his body. It felt painful, rippling off his injured skin like that… But, fortunately for Heisenberg, the explosion wasn’t nuclear — the blast was enough to do the job and wipe out the mold and the Megamycete.
A silence followed the explosion, brick and ash collapsing against Heisenberg’s metal cocoon. Each noise made him flinch, and his fingers twitched instinctively as some final line of defence. He didn’t know how long it was before he felt brave enough to let his guard down and release his telekinetic grip on the metal. The scraps suddenly slumped, collapsing around him as Heisenberg pushed the metal off of his body and emerged like a phoenix rising from the ashes of its former self.
The smoke and dust still remained, causing Heisenberg to cough heavily as he took a sharp inhale of the air. He squinted through the dust and remains of what was left of his home town and realised how much he’d lost. It hit him all at once; his childhood, his parents and his fucked up little family. Even though he hated Miranda and his makeshift siblings deeply, they were all he truly had left to call ‘family’. It was over in the blink of an eye, and Heisenberg suddenly felt like a child all over again. Like a child waking from a nightmare, scared and alone.
Heisenberg’s fingers twitched into tight fists, clamping his mouth shut as tears threatened to spill down his face. Even after all this, he tried to will himself not to cry, to never let down the walls he had so carefully built. But, at that moment there was nothing left to keep the foundations upright. Heisenberg’s fists loosened, and he brought his hands up to cover his face instinctively. A knot seemingly untied itself in his chest and throat, and a guttural sob left him. Maybe — just maybe — it was okay.
**
Navigating the woods was even worse during a snowstorm at night. It was bad enough that Heisenberg’s body was weak from his healing injuries, but it felt haggard from his intense emotional breakdown. In a strange sense, he felt relief from it but at the same time, it felt awfully inconvenient. Heisenberg was sure he looked like a terrible mess; his clothes were torn and his hair was damp with clumps of ash hanging from his silver locks. Not to mention the blood staining his clothes, and his valuable dog tags that hung low on his chest.
In his many idle chats with Ethan before they fought Miranda, he could recall the other man mentioning he didn’t live too far from the village. It was a fair distance away, but not too far that it would be impossible to reach if your car broke down on the road between them. Still, it wasn’t a pleasant or short walk.
By the time Heisenberg even managed to reach a place that looked like a livable home, he was close to collapsing in the snow… But, he held out. The lights were turned off inside, but a motion sensor light on the property turned on once Heisenberg got close enough. The bulb blinded him briefly, and he held a hand up to shield his eyes as he walked up the porch to the door. Heisenberg sluggishly lifted his hand, knocking on the door as hard as he could and leaning against the frame. It took a few moments before he could see a light turn on inside from the windows, and the sound of someone walking down a wooden staircase slowly.
The person on the other side of the door stopped before they reached for the doorknob, and they spoke out.
“Who is it?”
Ethan Winters. That voice Heisenberg had missed so dearly; in all of its glory and full of caution. It almost made him laugh.
“Let me in, Ethan. I’m freezing.”
“Karl?”
“As smart as ever, Ethan. Can you hurry up?”
Ethan was quick to unlock the door and remove the security chain, twisting the doorknob and pulling it open. There, Ethan was standing in a pristine white shirt and some boxers that hung low on his hips… Along with a pair of comical slippers that seemed to resemble a cartoon dog. Heisenberg’s lips twitched into a tired grin.
“Oh my, too much skin, Ethan. Back in my day—”
“Shut up and get in here!”
Ethan grabbed Heisenberg’s arm, tugging him inside to shield him from the snowstorm outside. He slammed the door shut and quickly locked it back up, and the two men finally stood face-to-face. There was a silence that hung in the air, with so many unanswered questions on the tip of Ethan’s tongue, but none came. Without any further hesitation, Ethan threw his arms around Heisenberg’s neck and tugged him close for an embrace.
It was the first time Ethan had touched him in such a way. So full of affection and genuinity, it made Heisenberg’s fingers tremble with uncertainty. He didn’t know what to do with his hands: so overcome with the touches that smothered him. His brows creased into an expression of relief, and Heisenberg’s steel eyes fluttered shut as he succumbed to the hug. He wrapped his arms around Ethan’s waist, squeezing him carefully and burying his face into Ethan’s shoulder. The smell of talcum powder and formula milk permeated his shirt, giving Heisenberg the comfort he craved. He never wanted Ethan to stop touching him, and he was content to stay like this for as long as he could — to make up for all the time he’d lost aching after affection.
“I thought…” Ethan mumbled slowly, “I thought you were dead.”
“Mm.” Heisenberg hummed lowly in response, curling his fingers into Ethan’s shirt. “So did I. Turns out I’m hard to kill.”
Ethan snorted softly.
**
As it turned out, Heisenberg wasn’t too bad with kids.
It was a tough adjustment for the two men at first; Ethan had to keep Heisenberg a well-guarded secret as he was moved to a new location with Rose (courtesy of the BSAA). Heisenberg followed their steps at a safe distance, but he was never too far from them. Understandably, Ethan was moved into a smaller home: a humble bungalow in a quiet German village. Once the BSAA had left Ethan in peace with Rose, it didn’t take long before Heisenberg settled into the bungalow with them.
Ethan had insisted that if Heisenberg was going to stay there with him and Rose, then he’d need to learn to help take care of the baby. At first, he was extremely hesitant to do something akin to a parental figure… But, Rose was a surprisingly sweet baby. She didn’t fuss too much and rarely threw a tantrum over the little things. Rose was the right amount of responsibility for Heisenberg, and that made him a patient parent.
He’d been taught how to properly hold her (after many lectures), how to prepare her formula and change her. Rose was understandably unhappy with Heisenberg’s presence at first, perhaps longing for her mother that was no longer around… But, after a few months, she took to Heisenberg very well.
Because of Karl’s lack of mortality and infertility, he never thought he’d take the figure of a father like this… But, it wasn’t exactly an unwelcome opportunity. He’d even upgraded from sleeping on the couch to Ethan’s bed.
The first night Ethan invited him to bed, Heisenberg could tell from the flustered look on Ethan’s face that it took a lot of courage to ask him to bed. A sexual joke lingered on the tip of Heisenberg’s tongue, but he bit it back in favour of keeping the proposal on the table. Instead, Heisenberg had nodded with a cheeky grin and followed Ethan to bed.
There had been some nights where the loss of Mia hit Ethan harder than he’d liked it to — even after Mia’s work with The Connections was revealed, he had still loved her to a degree. Those nights were the hardest. All Heisenberg could do was hold Ethan in his arms and comfort him with nothing more than his presence.
This invitation into Ethan’s bed was far more intimate than a comforting hug. At first, they stayed a polite distance apart on either side of the bed, with Ethan turned on his side whilst Heisenberg stared up at the dark ceiling. In the darkness, his eyes created shapes that danced across the ceiling and warped before him. Much like the mold that infested him, it was as if it continued to taunt him with its presence. After a moment, Heisenberg finally turned onto his side and glanced at the lump that was Ethan with his back to him. That urge to touch returned to the forefront of Heisenberg’s mind. It was that deep ache in his chest, like a lump of flour stuck in a smooth dough that needed to be coaxed inward.
He reached out but stopped himself before he could touch, trying to plan the best way to move forward with what he wanted. Heisenberg pursed his lips, shuffling his body closer to Ethan’s back until he finally slid his arm over Ethan’s waist. He could feel Ethan’s body freeze and tense up a little, which made Heisenberg’s heart feel like stopping altogether. Had he gone too far?
But after a moment, Ethan relaxed, pressing his chest back into Karl slowly. It was all the permission he needed to slot himself fully against Ethan and quietly seek out his hand. Once Heisenberg found it, he carefully laced their fingers together as he held Ethan like that, tugging him close with his elbow.
No words were spoken in the darkness, but a silent understanding of what they both wanted. Heisenberg finally felt complete like this, closing his eyes and exhaling tiredly. His body suddenly felt tired, releasing all the tension it had been holding trying to psyche himself up to do it.
A feeling of affection swelled in Heisenberg’s chest as he held Ethan, finally giving in to the darkness and drifting away with their bond now stronger than ever.
**
“Are you fucking insane, Ethan?!”
Chris Redfield. A thorn in Heisenberg’s side, but not as bad as Miranda. His voice filling their home put Heisenberg on edge, but it didn’t really matter too much to him. It was around ten in the morning, and the couple had just had breakfast. The television was on, playing some cartoons in the background as Rose was sitting on the soft carpet of the living area with her toys, and Heisenberg sat close to her.
When Chris made an unexpected visit, and he spotted Heisenberg in the living room, the yelling began. Ethan had kept Chris just outside of the room so that Rose didn’t see her father getting angry, and Heisenberg made sure to keep her attention on her toys. Heisenberg was wearing a pair of tartan boxers, along with a button-up pyjama shirt with a white tank top beneath it. It wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of bedtime fashion, but it made him comfortable enough at night.
When the yelling only got worse and Rose seemed irritated by the noise, Heisenberg carefully brought Rose into his lap and crossed his legs.
“Hmm,” He hummed in feigned thoughtfulness, “Does ol’ Karl need to perform for little Rose again?” Heisenberg sighed dramatically, “Oh, the things I do for you.”
He turned his body subtly to the kitchen area, holding his hand out and focusing on one of the drawers. It slid open, a few tablespoons floating out from a cutlery tray. Heisenberg pulled his hand back, the spoons floating across to the living area and bringing them to a stop in front of him and Rose. With a simple, slow roll of his wrist, the spoons began to twirl and move in a circular motion above Rose.
Her eyes widened with fascination, the corners of her mouth opening into a gleeful smile. Absently, she reached up with her soft, pink hands and tried to reach for the spoons half-heartedly as they continued their motions. A soft laugh bubbled from her, causing Karl to smile softly.
“He’s a dangerous bioweapon, Ethan. He could hurt Rose!”
Heisenberg managed to hone in on those words; a sharp pain digging into his chest when he realised the implications Chris was trying to make. That Heisenberg was a monster. A bioweapon without feeling. A creature that would kill a child.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ethan pointing wordlessly at the soft scene of Heisenberg with Rose in his lap, entertaining her with spoons. That was all he needed to say, really — without even saying it. Even Chris was at a loss for words, and he quietly relented. Ethan was surely in for an afternoon of lectures.
It made Heisenberg smile a little more, turning his head subtly towards Ethan and catching his gaze. It was his quiet way of saying thank you. It went beyond thanking Ethan for trusting him with Rose but thanking Ethan for listening to Heisenberg, taking him into his home and loving him. Even though they’d never spoken those three little words out loud, maybe they didn’t need to. Their actions, affections and closeness spoke those words loud enough.
Truly, after all this time, Heisenberg didn’t think he was capable of ever being loved or trusted. Now that he’d left that horrible life behind, he was now a father, a friend and possibly a lover. The trauma would always remain, yes, like the cadou and the mutations. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be happy like this, in this simple little life he’d started to build with Ethan.
Maybe it would be okay.
334 notes · View notes
oitommothetease · 3 years
Text
Invisible String (4/?)
Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)
Description: James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?
Word Count: 2.6k words
Warning: 18+ (discussion of assault, nervous breakdown, anxiety attack, just don’t read this whole series if you are a kid)
Tumblr media
You woke up to a night of dreamless sleep like you always did, but then the events of the previous night hit you. You wished it was a dream, but one look in the mirror and a bruise running along your cheek was enough to confirm. Not only that, but you remembered asking your boss to stay over, but you didn't expect him to. The blanket on your living room’s couch and the bowl of fruits and a glass of juice situated out for you on the kitchen counter proved that he did stay.
And then the reality sunk in, you have a decision to make. You can either go to the cops or let that guy get away. The latter sounded not so great, but you knew going to the cops isn't going to be great either. You've seen enough detective shows to know that. You've had enough, and you just wanted to forget it. 
What did Mr. Barnes mean when he said you were going to talk about this? Are you supposed to visit him before work? Is he going to come to your place?
You decided to work on your book but ended up not being able to concentrate, so you started watching a show and fell asleep while watching it. Maybe some Chinese take-out could make you feel better. It didn't. Nothing made you feel better. You wished you had some friends in this new town because you didn't want to burden your work friends. 
After a horrible day of trying to cope, when you finally made your way to the club, you noticed the security was increased. Usually, security guards weren't present inside the club, but today it was different. Everyone was so vigilant and you felt a little safer. If you didn't know any better, you'd think Mr. Barnes did it for you, but again he would have done the same thing for any other employee. 
"Boss wants to see you," Pietro told you. You were about to head for Clint's office when the blond twin spoke again and pointed his finger towards the stairs." The boss."
Okay, well maybe playing naïve couldn't avoid this meeting, so you slowly walked upstairs. How bad could this go, it's not like he saw you in your most vulnerable state? Oh, wait, he did. 
You knocked on his office door, wanting to rip the band-aid and get over with it. 
"Hey," you said, faking a smile. "Thanks for getting me home last night and for breakfast today. I didn't even know I had fruits and juice at home because let's be honest, I'm a toast and coffee kinda gal."
Mr. Barnes didn't say anything, he just looked at you as if you were a confusing puzzle that he couldn't solve. He raised a hand towards the seat in front of him and you took it, nervously fiddling with your fingers under the table.
“You do that a lot, you know?” he asked, it wasn't a question, it was merely an observation.
“What?”
“Deflecting a serious issue by using a joke.” Mr. Barnes observed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“What are you? My therapist?”
He arched an eyebrow, indicating that you were literally doing the thing he pointed out. 
"Yeah, well, it's called having a healthy coping mechanism. You should try getting one, brooding is only gonna help you this far."
 "It's not healthy if you're not dealing with it," Mr. Barnes pointed out. 
You scoffed in incredulity and you felt very, very attacked. 
What is it? Attacking y/n day?, you thought. 
"Anyway, I think I want to press charges," You changed the subject to a more serious conversation to avoid him calling you out on your bullshit. 
"Okay, I understand.” 
“You do?” You asked, bewilderment clearly written all over your face. “I mean, letting an employee go to the cops is not gonna be great for your club's reputation and yours too. And, you know, considering the shady business, you do-” 
"What exactly do you think we do?" He asked.
And that's when it hit you, you didn't know what he did or mob bosses do in general. All your knowledge about it came from movies and Wattpad, both of them are not a great place to gain knowledge.
“What exactly do you do?” you pondered.
 He obviously wasn't expecting you to directly ask him, nobody has directly asked him or even made it known that they are aware of his work. It was kind of like a silent pact that everybody signed for, everybody except you, apparently. 
“Um, you know, I've been working for almost 2 weeks here now, and I haven't seen any drugs around here, so it's obviously not drugs. You don't look like the sex trafficking types-”
 "Jesus, woman!" He exclaimed, offended by your assumptions. 
"Then just tell me what you do."
You expected him to tell you something, but he just kept looking at you with a face void of emotions.
 "Fine, don't tell me," you mumbled, raising your hands dramatically in defeat. 
“So you don't mind me ruining your reputation by going to the cops?” 
“I told you I don't care. Your safety is my utmost priority,” your face might have given away the surprise you felt because he quickly backpedaled. ”I mean, the safety of my employees.”
“The safety of my employees is my utmost priority,” he told you, providing an extra emphasis on the word employees. “Anyway, one of my people would take you to the police station near-"
You cut him off immediately. 
"No, you can't tell anyone else. I don't want everyone hopping on the pity train. I'm already ashamed that you know about it," you pleaded but your voice was firm, telling him that this was not up for a discussion.
At this, his eyes and features softened. Bucky didn't want you to feel guilty or ashamed for somebody else's actions, but clearly, you did. 
"Okay, then I can take you. You just had to explain to the officer last night’s events, and they'll ask you to recognize Rumlow and then we can-"
Mr. Barnes’s voice faded into the background when it finally hit you.
"You know what, I changed my mind. It's too much. I don't want to press charges anymore. I didn't think this through," you backtracked. You did think this through, but now all the factors were adding up in your brain. You'd have to explain the details to a cop who is probably going to be another man and a stranger, and then they'd ask you to identify the guy. You didn't think you had it in you to face him. At least not now. 
He interpreted your thought process and promptly changed the topic. "Okay, we can work with whatever you want, and at least let Peter escort you home after work."
"What? No!” You quickly declined.
“It's for your own safety,” Bucky tried to reason. He wasn't letting you get off this easily.
 “I'm a strong, independent woman and I'm not scared of anything.” 
That was a lie. You were scared of many things like heights, dark, spiders, confrontation and the list goes on and on. 
You remembered all the lectures your mom gave you telling you that women should be scared because men are monsters, and you'd lose your honor if you are reckless and some other patriarchal crap that you didn't pay attention to. But you weren't scared, you were just always careful. You'd always put the keys between your knuckles when you went home alone. In your previous job, you used to laugh it off whenever your coworkers made a sexist joke. You'd ignore the subtle shoulder touch that your previous boss did. You told yourself that this is what it takes to make it. If you were to run away every time someone eyed you in a wrong way, then you'd spend your whole life running. 
Women usually shrug this behavior off as it is what is, but the truth is it shouldn't be like this.
“Please, I insist.” 
“I'm very capable of taking care of myself. Just because one bad incident happened doesn't mean I'll fucking break!” You stated, your voice louder than your regular voice to get across your point.
That was also a lie. You were walking on a thin line and you were ignoring your emotions. You were one outburst away from a breakdown, and you just couldn't bring yourself to feel anything. 
Mr. Barnes tried to call your name, but you were already bolting out of his office. 
You needed a drink. No, fuck that. You needed multiple drinks. It wasn't exactly wise to get drunk during work, but it couldn't get any shittier than this, right?, you thought.
Right?
 Wrong. It could get way shittier than this. Now it was almost midnight, you were kind of tipsy, and you could see two Mr. Stark, your regular customer, in front of you. 
Did he have a twin? Is he and his twin brother one of those identical twins that dress up the same? Because that's what it looked like.
 “Earth to y/n," Mr. Stark said, or was it his twin? It was getting hard to keep track anymore.
 And that's when you noticed. 
“Holy, Shit. You're triplets, Mr. Stark," you announced. 
"Okay, kid, close my tab.”
“Hey, y/n. Are you okay?” Peter asked, noticing the concerned look Mr. Stark gave him before leaving.
“Yes, I'm fine. Absolutely fine.”
***
Turns out you were not fine. You've been pretty much hammered for the past week, and you could barely get a sentence out without giggling or slurring. Your colleagues took notice of your state and whenever someone pointed it out, you'd just shrug it off as a bad day or a bad week. There was no concept of time in your drunk state.
You couldn't concentrate on your book, you could barely look at someone without squinting, and you've been eating takeout and leftovers for the past few days. 
James would have fired if someone working under him was this irresponsible, but he knew your reasons. He knew you clearly weren't coping with the trauma well. Your work ethics were shoved down the trash that even Clint asked why you weren't fired yet.
Bucky didn't want to talk to you, he thought that maybe giving you some space would do you good, but clearly it wasn't working. Usually, the mob boss didn't interfere in the affairs of his employees, it was Clint's job, but when you smashed a bottle on the head of a customer, he had to interject.
“I TOLD THIS FUCKER NO!” you yelled, Peter’s hand around your middle from behind. Another empty beer bottle was in your hand, ready to be smashed across the face of the drunk dude in front of you.
Pietro and Wanda were enjoying the show. Peter, being the peace lover he is, held you back when you smashed a bottle across a drunk customer's face. Even though Peter was younger than you, he was stronger, and he was not only holding you back but also himself. He didn't want to cause a scene and that is why he was mulling comforting words in your ear like, he's not worth it, you're gonna kill this guy.
Damn right I am, you thought.
It was ironic because everyone in that club had killed someone except you.
When Bucky walked into the room, the drunk guy turned towards him and pointed at you. ”You are hiring crazy bitches now? Just called her baby girl and she went psycho!!!”
Bucky didn't understand what was happening. He told the security guards to take that man outside his club and he walked towards you. He firmly yet gently took a hold of your left arm, signaling Peter to let go of you. Without a word, he started walking in the direction of his office, dragging you along with him.
Once near his office, he lightly yanked your hand and shoved you inside, making you stand in front of him.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he inquired, having had enough of your incompetence.
You were seething with rage. "Wrong with me? I told him no, but he didn't listen."
Bucky stepped forward, his anger dissipating into sympathy. " I know, he mumbled, "and I'm so-"
 "No, you don't know!" you yelled, body trembling and tears welling up in your eyes. "I told him no multiple times, I even tried to push him off me, but he just kept coming back."
Bucky's eyes furrowed in confusion. He didn't understand your words, the drunk customer didn't touch you. And that's when he realized, you weren't talking about the drunk customer. He cognized that the drunk guy purely triggered something that you've been suppressing for days now. Bucky was aware that you needed to get it out of your system to cope healthily.
“I told him no, you know? But he just wouldn't listen,” you stated, trying to convince yourself that you didn't lead him on. ”And he was so…. so strong and… and then he hit me and everything just went blur, I couldn't see but... but I could still feel him with me.”
Not realizing that you were not in that place anymore, you wrapped your hand around yourself to seek some sort of protection and comfort, bottom lip quivering, the welled up traitorous tears were streaming down your face and all you could think about was that night. 
“I… I can't get his touch out,” you stammered. ” I shower, multiple times a day, but I still can't get his touch out.”
With that, you broke down completely and shattered on the floor, sobbing ferociously. Your knees ached because of the position you were situated in, but the emotional pain was enough to overshadow the physical one.
For once in his lifetime, Bucky did not know what to do. Cautiously, he made his way towards you and knelt down in front of you. He did not know what to say or do to make you feel better.
You launched your body towards him, snaking your arms around his shoulder to settle on his neck as if he was the only thing grounding you. You lurched onto him like he was your anchor, and maybe he was. It took a minute for Bucky to register your actions, and when he did, he wrapped his arms around your middle and closed the minuscule distance separating you.
He surprised himself with the way one of his hands automatically reached for your hair and whispered words of comfort in your ear. He caught you as you crumpled physically and emotionally. 
”You're going to be okay, doll,” he whispered and kissed your temple with sincerity. ”I will make sure of that.”
The second part was barely audible, it wasn't meant for you, it was a promise he made to himself.
Bucky held you tightly yet gently while you sobbed on his shoulder.
 He didn't know how long he held you, it felt like an eternity to him with the way he could feel the guilt and rage inside him. When you passed out in his arms, he gently placed you on one of the comfortable couches in his office and draped a blanket around you that he had for when he would work late at night.
An office chair might not be the most ideal place to spend the night in, but it didn't matter to Bucky. All that mattered was you.
TAGS: @bananapipedreams​ @akkinda10​  @rivers-rambles21​  @emmabarnes​@goodcleanfunsis​ @valsworldofcreativity​
276 notes · View notes
Text
Loki’s Line About Betraying Everyone
I need to talk about this line (spoiler: I’m not happy about it). I was going to just include this in the full episode response post I’m working on, but it got long enough that I decided to make it its own.
First of all, here’s the full quote: "I betrayed everyone who ever loved me. I betrayed my father, my brother, my home. I know what I did. And I know why I did it. And that's not who I am anymore."
Y'all, I'm less emotional about it now but this line fucked me up when I first heard it. It hit me like a ton of bricks while watching the episode for the first time because I was actually doing fine and wasn't significantly bothered by anything up until that point, and then came that line and I suddenly almost felt physically ill. I actually wrote up a post about it that night but never posted it because it was essentially just a lot of screaming, so I've now taken pieces of that and formed a hopefully more coherent post (though it still contains a good amount of screaming). So, I get that the idea that Loki’s betrayed Thor over and over is a Commonly Accepted Thing. It's really a lot more complicated than that, and there are a lot of gray areas involved, but fine, I'll give them that one. But - when did Loki betray his father? When did Loki betray his home?? I’m not just mad about it, this is...a legitimate question. I mean with the father thing, I guess the only thing could be the nursing home in Ragnarok/taking the throne from him? Which is irrelevant anyway because this Loki didn’t do that and doesn't even know it happened in the main timeline?? And besides, it PALES, like, hilariously, in comparison to any one of multiple things Odin did to him before that (not counting any fanon here - just the canon things that we know of!) I am just so confused, especially about the betraying Asgard thing. WHEN? LITERALLY WHEN? Guys, there is no film in which that took place.
If I trusted the narrative, I would say the most logical thing to conclude - at least about the betraying Asgard part - is that this is a setup for Loki to later realize he actually saved Asgard by causing Ragnarok (because that's the closest thing I can think of to "betraying his home"), which could even tie into something about, idk, helping him realize he’s capable of being a hero? (or something) and it would be a good follow-up to the moment he found out about Ragnarok in episode 2, but...fuck, the way these lines were framed it really doesn't feel like anything like that is going to happen. I could be wrong, but these just didn't strike me as lines that are at any point going to be contradicted or even revisited.
And moving onto another part of the quote - "I know why I did it." Uh, I guess good for Loki for apparently knowing that...but the audience sure doesn't?? This is something we're just now being told and have not been shown at all?? I have a feeling Loki thinks he knows why but it unfortunately doesn't have anything to do with some of the biggest actual reasons, which are the abuses done to him that helped make him who he is. Even more unfortunately, I also have a feeling the creators are on roughly the same page as Loki here. So yeah, that's a real shame.
The core problem here seems to be where the writers are coming from, and @iamanartichoke worded it really well here, so I’m just going to quote her: “either the writing is being lazy by oversimplifying Loki’s motives, or it’s being deliberately misleading in order to retcon the character, or the writers genuinely believe that’s what happened, which implies a misunderstanding of Loki’s character kinda from the get-go - at least on what drives his villainy and what fuels his anger, which are pretty significant things.” I do think there’s a slight chance they were using Loki as an unreliable narrator here and the audience was supposed to pick up on the subtext (more on that at the end of this post), but I doubt it, and I think it’s very likely one or more of the options listed in the quote. 
Honestly, I can explain Loki's line about betrayal (and his general lack of acknowledgement of his own trauma/legit grievances against his family) pretty easily in-universe. It makes sense that Loki himself would frame things as him betraying everyone who's ever loved him as if they never did anything to wrong him first, or that he would try to ignore what Thanos did to him in favor of putting all the blame on himself (coping with his trauma and loss of control by denying it). Or hell, maybe he would even straight up subconsciously invent a betrayal that never even happened, like the one about his home. I can totally understand Loki seeing the events of his life that way! That all lines up with his complete lack of self-worth, and to have him 1) recognize his mistakes and take responsibility for them (which has happened at this point in the show), but then progress on to 2) realize he isn't solely to blame for literally everything, and 3) recognize the role of his family and others in understanding why he is the way he is - that would be a very satisfying arc and is the natural direction that the story should take in episode 6. The problem is, I don't think the show is going that way. I think we're either supposed to take it at face value that Loki did in fact betray everybody who ever loved him (as if Loki is a reliable narrator when he's most certainly an unreliable one), or the audience is supposed to figure out that Loki's an unreliable narrator here - but the latter won't work, because the creators have to follow through on that subtext at some point and actually do something to indicate that what Loki said wasn't 100% true, and it doesn't feel like they're going to. You can't expect your audience to put any weight on subtext or even pick up on it in the first place if you never actually confirm anything, and your audience won't know your narrator is unreliable unless you tell them. If Loki being an unreliable narrator in that specific moment was their intention, only a small subset of fans are going to pick up on it. So the way they're framing it so far, the audience is simply going to see it the same way Loki does and not realize it's incorrect. 
Unfortunately, as stated earlier, I think the most likely explanation is that the writers either don’t understand Loki, are being lazy, or are deliberately retconning. So while I take a degree of comfort in the in-universe explanation, it’s pretty damn infuriating to consider where the writer’s minds were probably at in reality, and how this set of lines is presenting Loki to the casual audience. 
Tagging @iamanartichoke and @delyth88 if you guys have any thoughts?
71 notes · View notes
phoenixyfriend · 3 years
Note
I’ve been trying to figure out the best obi wan ship. They all have one slightly problematic thing this way or that. I’ve landed on the idea of obi wan and an equal is pretty top tier. But then I saw a picture of Coran from voltron. Coran and Obiwan might be a disaster but also both are dad shaped, both are bad ass, both are ginger, both have an accent. I think it could work. But another part of me is like Coran is just obi and jarjar mashed together. At the very least they hooked up.
Hey I just had restaurant ramen and Starbucks and actually feel like a human being so let's do something unnecessary but funny. I'm taking this as a challenge, anon.
Also IMO Coran has more in common with C3P0 than with JarJar
So obviously, both of these happen in Big Space, but the difference appears to be density. We see about the same complexity of culture and species interactions, but Voltron covers more galaxies. It's vaguely implied that Earth, at least, is the only planet with sapient life in the Milky Way.
I think the way I want to play this out, culturally, is that the Voltron area of the universe covers a much wider, but much more sparsely populated area, while the SW-verse is just the one very densely populated (in part because apparently humans just went Literally Everywhere) galaxy, where they didn't necessarily bother with developing the tech to go to other galaxies (except Rishi, which only sort of counts) because they haven't really even charted out their own yet. It was never contacted by the Voltron side of things because [checks notecards full of excuses] it's really far away from Altea and all that, and the Force shielded the galaxy from Galra interests because Reasons.
All this to say that the two franchises didn't interact until after the Voltron plotline was already over. We'll say it went mostly canon, except Allura survived because uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fuck that.
We'll say that this is mid-TCW, you know, before Obi-Wan is a bundle of repressed traumas and bad coping mechanisms that's lost almost everyone he's ever loved to the dark side through death or corruption. He's still (mostly) okay! Anakin's not dark (or at least, not as dark as he could be; Obi-Wan doesn't know about the Tuskens), and Ahsoka's still in good standing and most people are alive and--and okay the army is a massive ethical violation he hates with his very soul and he misses Qui-Gon and Anakin's keeping secrets and pulling away from him every day but He's Fine, Guys.
He's Fine.
In comes a ship from not Wild Space, but beyond that. Intergalactic visitors, from the direction of the deeply concerning Force bullshit they felt a few years ago. Translation tech is decent enough on both sides that they get to talking pretty quickly. The explorer is actually a member of the Blade of Marmora, who gets the absolute most basic info (approximately this many inhabited planets, approximately this many trillions of sapients in the recorded galaxy, basic structure of the government for the past however many years, most recent conflict, etc.)
BoM person is like "cool, okay so you guys are really well set-up so I'm just gonna head back and kick this up a few rungs of the coalition ladder because this is way above my paygrade, I'll make sure you get some diplomats who can maybe help out with the whole galactic civil war situation as neutral parties."
The Voltron Coalition does send a diplomat! They, uh, also send Coran, who isn't technically a diplomat, but he's high-level.
The thing is, okay, that Coran is mostly just... passably competent at things. He's a jack of all trades, master of none type. He knows a lot of things, actually, but his practical knowledge in high pressure situations tends to be up in the air. He knows how to fix the Castle Ship and various technologies, but all of that info is ten thousand years out of date. He was a competent fighter at one point but these days his back gives out. He's very knowledgeable regarding intergalactic politics but, again, that information is ten thousand years out of date. He's also a little prone to social gaffs in dicey situations (e.g. the inciting incident in the Voltron Show episode where he misses the single day with clear skies), but puts in so much goddamn effort to make things happen.
In this manner, he's like a warped mirror of what Obi-Wan is and could be.
THAT SAID
Coran is actually really good with teenagers, and specifically with training them.
And Obi-Wan... isn't.
Obi-Wan's snarky and snippy and sassy, and he's decent enough at teaching and he's great at being a jokey friend and all, but he's not necessarily very good at emotions. And unfortunately for Obi-Wan, the teenagers he spends the most time with are Really Full Of Emotions. He tries, bless him, but he's just... he doesn't respond well to emotional conversations at the best of times.
His son-figure saying "You're like a father to me" leads to a response of... radio silence. Guys. That's not the mark of a man who knows how to talk about his feelings with the people he cares about.
In swans Coran with the various other diplomatic envoys of the visiting extragalactic community. The entire situation is really leading to a lull in the war because nobody wants to risk pissing off this clearly well-funded, well-powered third party. As a result, many of the High Generals can interact with the envoys, even if they spend quite a bit of time eyeing the Separatist representatives on the other side of the room, because clearly Everyone Needs A Seat At This Table.
It's a very tense situation.
Obviously, Coran is exactly the weird uncle that goes around telling plausibly-exaggerated stories about Weblums and Yalmors and Balmeras. I'm going to say at least one former Paladin is there, maybe Hunk. Hunk's fun, and also very willing to help Coran make friends and seem Amicable instead of Distant by correcting some of the exaggerations. There's a nice, calm atmosphere in a bubble around Coran and his nonsense, and it's a weird situation but arguably just... you know. It's good. He's good at making people feel safe around him.
Cue the hissed argument between Skywalker and Kenobi. The actual cause of said argument isn't important, just the fact that, in a dark corner where they're less likely to cause a PR issue, Anakin and Obi-Wan are having it out. Anakin's maybe twenty, still a lanky ragebaby, all that fun stuff. Obi-Wan is a the endpoint of every too-young brotherdad. He's thirty-six but feels like he's sixty-three. He's tired, but trying so damn hard to still connect with Anakin and just--just--
Obi-Wan gives himself a few minutes to calm down before following Anakin. He doesn't even remember what they were arguing about, really, but he has to mend the bridge before it frays even more than it already has. If Anakin goes to Palpatine for advice again, he's going to... do something. Obi-Wan isn't sure what, but he just has to fix this.
What he finds is... well, Anakin did end up going to vent to a man of an earlier generation who acts like a slightly eccentric older relative, but it's not Palpatine for once.
The goofy, slightly abrasive but mostly charming, brightly-colored representative of the Voltron Coalition is standing in the little balcony that Anakin's made it to, listening as Obi-Wan's recently-knighted padawan vents. The man nods and makes noises at the appropriate times, and then asks questions that are... maybe a little too accurate.
"You said that you view him as a father, that he raised you after you left your mother."
"Well, yeah, but he doesn't think I'm ready, or--"
"No parent ever does."
"...my mom thought I was ready to become a Jedi."
"I can't speak for your mother," the representative says, "but the princess of my people, Allura... I half-raised that girl from the beginning, and after the destruction of Altea, we were all the other had left. I watched her lead battles and bring life to planets, trying to rebuild a universe out of the ashes of what we'd left behind... I saw the evidence with my own eyes, and I still, every time, I worried for her."
"Why?"
"I worried that she'd be hurt, that she wasn't ready, that she'd make a decision she regretted. Often, she did, and I had to help her back up, and while she's always come back, stronger than before... she is the closest thing I have ever had to a daughter, and I will always worry for her. Every parent does. Do you think, perhaps, that your own Jedi Master, that you consider a father, may worry because he looks at you like a son? That it's not that he doesn't trust you, but that he doesn't trust the world around you?"
Obi-Wan feels his heart in his throat.
The conversation continues in that vein. While Obi-Wan can't say he likes the fact that this stranger is putting words in his mouth, if only as hypotheticals, he can't deny that there's a part of him that relaxes as Anakin does, as every frustrated fresh-knight question gets a measured elderly-steward response that's angled to consider the interpretation that favors Anakin and Obi-Wan in equal measure. Every word encourages Anakin to talk things out and lay boundaries and express his frustrations to Obi-Wan in the plainest words possible.
There's a story in there, more than one. The representative tends to go off on tangents, ones that Anakin sometimes finds interesting and sometimes just resigns himself to. Mostly, though, it goes well, and Obi-Wan... well, he's always been 'a nosy little bastard,' according to quite a few people.
(In his defense, the terms they'd used about Quinlan's 'investigative personality' had been quite a bit stronger.)
He eavesdrops to the end, and Anakin doesn't notice at all. Obi-Wan's not sure if he should try to address Anakin's lack of awareness of the world around him. He's not technically Anakin's master anymore. The comment may be taken as a criticism of his worth and capability, rather than a sincere desire to see his padawan not die.
He approaches the representative instead. He intends to introduce himself. Instead, the first words that tumble out of his mouth are:
"How do you do it?"
The man--older than he looks from a distance, more wrinkles than the bright hair would suggest, but not quite elderly yet--turns and lifts a brow. "Hm?"
"I'm sorry, I'm--" Obi-Wan grimaces. "I'm Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. The young man you were just talking to is my former padawan, er, my former apprentice. I've been finding it harder and harder to speak with him over the past few years, and it seems that every interaction we have leads to an argument. How do you... manage that? I can't get him to listen to me at all."
"Ah, teenagers," the man sighs.
"He's twenty."
The representative pauses, and turns to him. "Are you the one he says raised him? The father?"
"Well... yes, I suppose that's one way to phrase it," Obi-Wan says, eyes darting to the side. He doesn't know how to explain the whole attachment situation to someone who barely knows what a Jedi is. He has even less of an idea of how to explain his own broken ability to speak of emotion, the parts of his mind that Bant clucks over and attributes to his own complicated relationship with Qui-Gon. "I had custody as his primary guardian from ages nine to nineteen and was the primary individual for handling his schooling, health, and general upbringing."
"That sounds to me like a very convoluted way of saying you were his father in all but name."
Obi-Wan grimaces. "I'm not exactly old enough to be his father, and I wasn't exactly the person he was supposed to learn from; I was the... back-up option."
"It seems he cares for you very much."
"He didn't have much of a choice," Obi-Wan says, with the kind of helpless smile and awkward shrug he's long gotten used to sharing with people when they ask. "And I assure you he'd have been happier with the man that was meant to teach him."
"I'd say that the 'would have' in this situation is much less important than what is," the representative says. Obi-Wan probably should have paid more attention to his name. "I wasn't in a position to define my relation to Allura or her father in the way that truly suited our situation, by... oh, tradition, social norms, public relations, take your pick. I was a very well-regarded official, of course, but I wasn't royalty, not even nobility, and I certainly wasn't wasn't legally or publicly part of the family. But for all the limitations there, I was still able to find ways to tell her and her family what they meant to me, and they in return. Your apprentice cares for you very much, and I'm sure you care back, but I'd hazard quite the guess that you've no idea how to tell him that."
"I... I shouldn't," Obi-Wan says. "I'm fond of him, of course, but I've no wish to smother him, and to simply say it would be undignified. I imagine he'd laugh in my face."
The representative raises one eyebrow and takes a sip of his drink.
"Master Kenobi," he says carefully. "Might I suggest you go find your young man, tell him you love him, and perhaps give him a hug?"
Obi-Wan's face flares red. It's been years since anyone short of Yoda has spoken to him like that.
"I'm not a child," he sniffs, trying to angle enough away that the blush isn't as noticeable. He's damnably prone to such things. "You're not that much older than me."
The man laughs, and Obi-Wan lifts his glass to his lips in a futile attempt to hid the embarrassment a little more. "Oh, not counting the stasis, I've well reached the age of six hundred and twenty-four, my boy!"
Obi-Wan chokes on his drink.
The man laughs a little more, but thumps him on the back until he's breathing normally again.
"Yes, most of the humans I've told have had quite the reaction!" the representative assures him. "But yes, even with the times adjusted to what any given local year is, I am significantly longer-lived than most species."
"No kidding," Obi-Wan manages. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and looks over at the representative. He takes in the wrinkles and bright eyes, and says, "Well, I must say you look very well for a near-human of such an age. I can only name one person in that category that has managed better, and I haven't seen her since I was a child."
"I shall take that as the compliment it's intended to be," the representative says, twisting the edge of his mustache and beaming.
The man is... well, goofy, really, and quite a bit older than Obi-Wan had thought, but he's quite the charmer. Obi-Wan faintly compares him to a few different people in the back of his mind, but nothing quite fits. For all that the man is quite the jokester and--going by some things he'd seen from the corner of his eye in the main party--a master of physical comedy, the representative is actually more competent than he looks, and for all his visible age, not bad to look at. He is also, seemingly, an expert in dealing with teenagers and young adults, something Obi-Wan himself is... decidedly not.
He really should go speak with Anakin.
And there's a war to fight.
He doesn't really have much time, even with the recent lull.
He's in no place to be looking at the clean-shaven jaw and wondering what it would feel like under his lips, or to let himself consider whether this man would be the kind to have an hours-long discussion as to the narrative forms common in other galaxies, and whether they have anything paralleled to those in Obi-Wan's own, or if this man would show the same enthusiasm over teas that he'd shown over the hors d'oeuvres inside.
He should... really go find Anakin.
"I suppose it's time to find my padawan," he says, more to fill the air than anything. "Er... thank you, both for speaking with him, and for speaking with me."
"Not a problem at all, Master Kenobi!" the representative says, and Obi-Wan realizes that there's one last thing he may have... forgotten.
"This is terribly embarrassing, but I don't believe I caught your name?" Obi-Wan says.
"Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, at your service!" the man says, with a sweeping bow. "As you can imagine, most simply call me Coran."
"Then I insist you call me Obi-Wan," he says, and before he can stop himself, "Might I bother you with an invitation to a shared tea time? You seem a knowledgeable fellow, and I'd appreciate the chance to... eh, pick your brain, shall we say."
It's not the smoothest come on he's ever put out there, or the most easily interpreted, but... well. Perhaps it's for the best. He's rather often found his tastes going in irresponsible directions, and it'll be much easier to brush this off without diplomatic incident if there's room for Coran to politely ignore the less platonic options.
Obi-Wan hopes he doesn't.
It's very selfish of him, but a dalliance with an older gentleman... well. He does, perhaps, make such irresponsible decisions, even now.
"I do believe I'd enjoy such a thing!" Coran enthuses, grabbing Obi-Wan's hand and shaking it in large, effusive movements.
Oh, this is a terrible idea, Obi-Wan thinks, even as he exchanges comm numbers and says goodbye.
Still.
He likes the idea of having at least a little fun, sedate or less so, while they have some time to themselves.
106 notes · View notes
veliseraptor · 3 years
Note
So this is in NO WAY PRESSURING, get to this whenever you're bored and have nothing better to do, but I (have still not watched The Untamed) would love to hear any disorganized rambles around your fic 'Punitive Measures', like your thoughts while writing it, how you view Xue Yang's fight/flight/freeze instinct, and/or where you would take the plot if you ever came back to it (again, not pressuring, I'm not asking for a sequel, I'm asking for director's commentary. Also I know the mysterious flute was implying Wei Wuxian, I know that much and not much more.) It's a really fun, quick fic that I enjoy reading through while I keep circling around your longer, more intimidating stories. I aspire to write like you.
oh boy, well, I don't know that I ever have nothing to do but here I am answering this ask anyway, because I like talking about my fic even if I get self-conscious about it.
this entire fic falls solidly into the genre of fic I write that is legitimately just “I’m gonna fuck up this character I love because it’ll be fun and I love to do that” and then just kinda...went for it. actually harder than I was initially planning! my vague sense of what I was going to do with this fic didn’t have Xue Yang down an eye at the end of it.
but when inspiration strikes, what’s a girl to do, etc.
I actually thought recently about writing a sequel to this fic (or, well, continuing into the AU it started, more like) because the concept of Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang being bloodthirsty vengeance brethren is a very good one for me, personally, and at the point their paths would be intersecting in this AU a more plausible one than it would be at pretty much any other time (I would argue, at least in CQLverse). And that’s where I think this would be going. Because Xue Yang would see Wei Wuxian, in his bloodiest frame of mind, powered up with a gorgeous flute of bad vibes and go “fuck yes” even if he wasn’t in a place where he really needed the help.
The question I had was whether Wei Wuxian would be interested in accepting company, and I feel like Xue Yang on that front could be convincing. And the way that the latter would both enable and egg on all the former’s darkest fantasies and impulses...I’m just saying, Wen Chao and everyone he has ever known is in for a very bad time, possibly even worse than they already were.
I invite you to picture in this AU the part where Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji find not just darker and edgier Wei Wuxian at the end of their scavenger hunt but darker and edgier Wei Wuxian with a friend. A familiar friend! Now down an eye and practically picking his teeth with Wen Chao’s finger bones. :D
Tumblr media
since you asked for disorganized rambling I went back to reread and I’ll give you some director’s commentary on a few things
And he’d kind of hoped Wen Ruohan would be too busy figuring out how to deal with his brewing war to dedicate much attention to looking for one absent retainer. And even if he did, Xue Yang had sort of figured that finding him would fall to Wen Chao, who’d probably struggle to find his own ass with two hands.
kicking off this director’s commentary with Xue Yang’s brutal assessment of the competency of Wen Chao.
tbh one of my favorite things about CQL’s involving Xue Yang in the whole Sunshot storyline, despite the merry hell it plays with timeline stuff later, is how obviously little regard Xue Yang has for the Wens, even when they’re at the height of their power. He shows Wen Ruohan himself very little respect, and I can’t imagine anyone else getting more (except maybe Wen Qing, because Wen Qing is competent and if nothing else Xue Yang can respect competency).
and he just like. ditches them. walks out! promises to deliver very powerful magical artifact, and then gets what he wants and is like “smell ya later, peace” and they never catch him.
that’s just a kind of gutsiness and casual disregard for very powerful people that I really both love and respect about Xue Yang. and also that he has in common with Xiao Xingchen, tbh. and Song Lan (though him I think to a slightly lesser degree, partly because he has a little more tact and sense of societal norms as something relevant to be thinking about)! they can all vibe on that.
They took Jiangzai. Well. One of the Wen disciples took Jiangzai in the stomach and Xue Yang didn’t get it back.
this isn’t an important line or anything. I just like it a lot.
Wen Chao gestured again and he went down in a hail of fists and feet. Xue Yang tucked his chin down to protect his throat, curled his hands into his chest, and drew up his knees to guard his stomach.
He knew how this worked. Sure, it’d been a while since someone had beat him like this, but the lessons stuck. It was almost boring, really. If Wen Chao was going to play torture games then he could at least do Xue Yang the favor of trying to be creative.
He checked out the part of his brain that registered pain as anything other than a thing that was happening and focused instead on opportunities. Weaknesses in his assailants. Escape routes. Getting away would be the first thing. Nice if he could take a piece of Wen Chao with him on the way out - arm, or maybe even a head - but the priority was freedom and survival.
okay, this I feel like cuts into some of what you were talking about regarding Xue Yang’s fight/flight instinct, and also a lot of what if, I was feeling pretentious, I feel like this fic is digging into on a level under “what if I just tortured Xue Yang a whole bunch,” which is something about the relationship Xue Yang has to (a) pain and (b) his own body. Specifically, the relative indifference he has toward both. Or...not indifference, exactly, because it’s not like he’s enjoying himself, it still hurts. It’s just...expected.
unremarkable.
which is a lot of what I was trying to convey with Xue Yang’s narration during the whole torture sequence, with the commentary on methodology and how things are mundane or boring, because the suffering itself is mundane! as far as Xue Yang is concerned that’s exactly what suffering is! other peoples’, for sure, which is part of why it doesn’t matter, but also his own.
the world hurts and that’s just how it is and you learn how to cope with that. pain as...a thing that [is] happening.
I also, since you mentioned the fight/flight instinct, think a lot about how Xue Yang is, while he’s very proud and very stubborn, absolutely not someone to pick fights (in general) that he knows he can’t win. Xue Yang will almost always be on the side of “run and come back another day” over “stand and fight when all is lost.” survival, first and foremost.
which feeds into the weird paradox that I kind of hint toward at the end of this fic about Xue Yang as someone who has a definite death drive, who is profoundly obsessed with his own death in a lot of ways, and simultaneously is attached to staying alive above pretty much all else.
“Snap and snarl all you want,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. And the only part of you I need intact is your tongue, so you can tell me where you hid the Yin Metal you promised. Everything else is optional.”
A prickle of fear rolled down Xue Yang’s spine and he flicked it away, baring his teeth.
I actually do think that, even before they get around to hand-specific trauma, permanent mutilation is one of those things that still scares Xue Yang. which is a short list! there isn’t much that actually either gets to or scares him, but I think the prospect of (further) mutilation does, because I think Xue Yang is very...acutely aware of the fact that his physical capability is a major factor in what has kept him alive and what, in all likelihood, is going to keep him alive moving forward. anything that threatens that capability, that limits him in terms of strength or mobility or otherwise has a disabling effect, is consequently going to be a short road to death, and Xue Yang would much rather die painfully fighting than die as a consequence of not being able to take care of himself.
for Xue Yang, the idea of a return to the kind of helplessness that is tied to his trauma is one of the worst possible prospects to contemplate. in my head this is exacerbated further by the fact that I figure Xue Yang didn’t get much if any medical care post hand incident, meaning that the recovery period was absolutely nightmarish and a whole stretch of time beyond the event itself where Xue Yang was struggling to survive because he’d been damaged.
in some ways I think that period of time probably did more to shape Xue Yang than the moment itself.
Wen Chao grabbed one of the branding irons from a disciple’s belt and pressed it to his stomach. That hurt. More. He clamped his back teeth together so he didn’t make any sound, absorbed the burn, owned it. His. You only hurt if you were alive. And anything you survived made you stronger.
Not that this was actually going to make him stronger. It was probably just going to make him dead. But then again, the worse this went the more resentment he’d have built up. He could use that. Would.
Dead didn’t have to mean finished.
obviously this is pulled almost direct from what Wei Wuxian himself says to Wen Chao. deliberate echoes based on character parallels! we love those.
and yeah, again here about Xue Yang and his relationship to pain, but in a less mundane way this time where it’s about pain as a tool, pain as something he can use. which is another thing about coping, I think - when pain and suffering are a regular part of your life, one way to deal with that can be to convert it into having some kind of purpose or benefit.
which in this case it definitely can. Xue Yang is definitely someone who, I think, has thought a lot about trying to arrange it so he becomes a ghost after he dies. or at least has thought a lot about what he’d do after dying to the person who killed him. 
and when you’re a necromancer by trade death really isn’t the end of the line anymore, just the start of a something new. Xue Yang’s relationship to life itself: about as jacked up as his relationships in general.
He felt the snap of bone in his teeth. Pain shooting up the side of his hand, all the way to his wrist, and Xue Yang couldn’t keep himself still enough not to try to wrench himself away. He swallowed his scream and turned it into a laugh. It was funny, wasn’t it? Funny, that he was back here, again. It wasn’t as bad, though. He knew how to take pain, how to breathe it in, make it part of himself, later turn it outwards magnified tenfold. They were old friends. Practically lovers. 
two things here:
1. the thread throughout this fic of Xue Yang making things funny so he can deal with them, here brought to you by reliving trauma! because it’s funny! right? laugh about it! just fucking hilarious.
I have a thing about characters basically deciding for themselves to make very unfunny situations funny because it makes them less awful.
2. and look, now he can deal with it better this time! he’s Learned. :) :) :)
Everything splintered. Splintered like bones under a wheel, and first thing he tried to struggle to get away but that just hurt worse and then old old old instincts kicked in and he went still, limp, dead.
“Did he faint?”
Someone nudged him with their foot. One part of him roared to grab that foot and rip it off along with the leg it was attached to. Immediately the same thing that’d made him play dead told him to wait.
at an end point where fighting is impossible and running is also impossible, the only thing left to do is play dead and wait it out. this is very much, in my head, a reversion to a tactic Xue Yang hasn’t used in a very long time and does not want to be using now, because it is absolutely the recourse of the extraordinarily helpless with no way out.
which he has been! and is now, but he really really really doesn’t want to be. Xue Yang has built his life around not being that, ever again.
but here it’s not a move he makes planning to turn it around the way he does, not at first. he gets there, but when he first does it I think it is literally just instinct that goes enough is enough and shuts down.
Wen Chao, Wen Chao, Xue Yang thought. My body’s going to give out before I do.
someone should remind me at some point maybe (or not) to write something coherent about my Xue Yang vs. his own body thoughts. specifically the way that, while Xue Yang is very physical and very grounded, I think he has a somewhat antagonistic relationship with his own body, actually. not completely! he definitely respects what it can do for him! but I think he also treats it a little as a slightly separate entity that’s capable of betraying him rather than as a fully integrated part of himself.
not always! but it’s a little bit there. this idea that sometimes his body, and its capacity to be hurt or damaged, is a weakness that he’d like to be able to forgo entirely, if only it wouldn’t mean losing all the good things about having a body. and that’s present here in this line, for me, where he thinks about himself and his body as slightly separate, and his body as something weaker than its Xue Yang core.
30 notes · View notes
dailydaydreamings · 3 years
Text
Best in the Worst Way, Part 11
I have way too much experience with this kind of trauma. One thing I know, the experience isn’t always linear. How you feel jumps from one moment to the next. Maybe this is my way of coping, but for some reason I need to get this all down. Lots of swearing —K
The Reader has been having a love affair with two Avengers and gets caught in a sticky situation. She’s suddenly faced with life decisions she’s not prepared for, including who to love, what she wants, and is this all worth it?
Tumblr media
There’s something totally surreal about trauma.
There’s nothing like the feeling of getting a late night call to get to the hospital and fast. It is pure stomach dropping terror.
Realists would know what it means, rushing to the hospital to see their loved ones, potentially for the last time.
Driving to the compound, gnawing on your thumb, you start to wonder how many traumas there are. How many people a year get a call to hurry to the hospital to see their loved ones. Maybe for the last time.
Out of the those cases, how many people are too late? How many show up and their loved ones still die?
Fuck, how bad was it. You ran your hand through your hair as you sat at a stop light, tears streaming down your face.
How much of a liar was Tony? Would he lie and tell you that they were alive if they weren’t, just so you wouldn’t kill yourself driving over?
You wouldn’t have to rush if this light would fucking turn green.
There was no one around, it was nearly midnight...why wait?
You tapped your fingers on the wheel, maybe you weren’t on the sensor and the light would never turn green and Bucky and Steve would die waiting for you...what’s the harm?
Your foot shifted to the gas, cautiously accelerating.
A horn blares and you slam on the gas, barely avoiding an oncoming car.
You think you might have screamed, either way, you wer suddenly pulling your off the road and scrambling out.
You reached for your keys, your hand missing twice.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you finally got hold of your keys and practically fell out of your car. From your knees, you reached for the door handle and pulled yourself up.
Your head swam as you leaned against the car and made your way to the passenger side. As soon as you were off the road, you tossed your keys into the field of grass in front of you.
And immediately regretted it.
“Oh, shit,” you leaned against the hood and stared out at the dark field.
You remembered a rule of dealing with trauma. Take a breath and get control of yourself.
Fact, you shouldn’t have been driving. You cradled your belly, where your children were kicking furiously. You weren’t thinking straight. You were thinking about your boys, not the babies inside of you.
And there was no way you were finding your keys tonight.
You pulled your phone out of your pocket and dialed Natasha, she answered on the first ring, “Where are you?! Is everything okay, you should be here by now!”
You closed your eyes, trying to take deep, calming breaths, “Can you please come get me? I’m fifteen minutes out from the compound, sitting on the side of the road. I just about crashed my car.”
Twenty minutes later, Natasha’s car pulled up behind yours and both Natasha and Clint hoped out. At this point, you were spiraling, your breath coming in short pants.
“Fucking Tony!” Natasha slammed her door. “I said, don’t let her drive. You can’t let her drive after telling her something like that!”
“Yelling at Tony isn’t going to solve anything!” Clint snapped at her. He came to stand in front of you, both hands grasping your shoulders. “Everything is going to be fine. Now, where are your keys?”
You pursed your lips, looking over his shoulder at the field. “I kinda...tossed them...”
Clint raised an eyebrow, his head jerking to look out at the long glass. “Oh. Okay. We’re all just gonna get in Natasha’s car. Then I’m gonna go get a metal detector and find your keys!”
You nodded, pushing off your car and stumbled, your head swimming.
“Alright, kiddo,” Clint wrapped an arm around your waste. “Let’s get you in the car.”
“What if they’re dead and Tony’s a liar?” You asked, stumbling as Clint guided you towards Natasha.
“Oh, no,” Natasha open the car door. “We talked to the field team. They’re stable, just a bit of a mess.”
You slid into the passenger seat, stroking your belly, trying to soothe yourself. Clint got into the backseat and Natasha got into the drivers seat.
“I keep thinking about all those silly medical shoes I watched in university, where there’s a trauma and they go from fine to dying in a minute and then the family doesn’t get there on time,” you murmur.
You weren’t sure either of them heard you until Natasha quietly answered, “I’ve seen that happen, in the field. It can happen, but right now, all signs point to them being stable and we will getting to the compound at the same time as they are.”
The light pollution started getting worse the closer you got the compound. For some reason, all you wanted to was run away.
“The babies kicked today for the first time,” you said numbly. “They’re gonna be here soon. I n-need to get a crib, and, um, a diaper bad. Other stuff too. I need to book, uh, birthing classes. Maternity clothes...”
Natasha exchanged a quick glance with Clint, “We can worry about all of that later. We’ll make a list!”
You frown and murmur, “I don’t know how to change a diaper.”
Clint squeezed your shoulder, “You’ll learn, it’s okay!”
You laugh dryly, “Buck was learning. Every spare minute. He was so excited to change diapers.”
“Okay, she’s gonna need something to calm her down,” You hear Clint mumbled to Natasha. You ignore him, choosing to curl up towards the window, watching a helicopter fly towards the compound. Your boys were up there.
———
Panic was surging through your veins, but you shook your head as you strode towards the medical wing.
“How bad is it,” you shout at Tony, trying your best to keep a level head.
He looked up at you from his phone, his hair a mess. “I don’t know,” he called back. “I just know they’re stable and we have two ORs prepped just in case.”
Your eyes focused on the door behind Tony, the boys would come through those door at any second. You came to stop beside him, fiddling with the dainty necklace you always wore.
“I fucking told you she shouldn’t drive,” Natasha hissed at Tony behind you.
You were vaguely aware of Tony throwing his hands in the air. “I just said—”
You turned at spat, “Not fucking helping.”
They exchanged a look, both turning to sit in the waiting chairs and you started to pace.
“I’m gonna kill them,” You say calmly, stroking your belly, your eyes constantly checking the elevator.
Natasha leaned over and whispered to Tony, “She’s gonna need a sedative.”
The elevator dinged and a gurney rolled out. You almost puked.
“What. The. Fuck!” You glared at Tony, who was already scrambling to his feet.
“No one said it was this bad!” He said.
You swallowed, hard, looking down at Steve. He was sedated, his face was bruised and battered, and he had a massive branch through his abdomen.
“It didn’t hit anything serious,” the nurse behind the gurney said. “We’re gonna go straight to the OR and get this taken care of right now.”
You couldn’t helps yourself as you looked down at his face, leaning forward and giving him a quick peck on his lips. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, Steve.”
“Ma’am,” she said.
“You’re gonna be okay,” you said to him.
“Ma’am,” she insisted. “We have to go now.”
You stepped back, making a point of raising your hands in the air defensively.
You watched them until they turned down the next hallway.
Natasha came up and put her hand on your shoulder, “Are you okay? Do you need to cry?”
You looked up at the ceiling, counting the lights as you let out a long breath, “Not yet.” Not until you saw Bucky. Pregnant or not, hormonal or not, he was not going to see you cry.
The elevator dinged again and chaos erupted.
It happened so fast, Natasha grabbed you and pulled you away from the door. Tony was yelling. So was Bucky.
He was thrashing wildly, despite the restraints.
“Head trauma,” the nurse wheeling the gurney already had a bruise forming on his cheek.
“Buck!” You shouted. He roared in anger and you flattened yourself against the wall.
And he was gone, down the hall.
Natasha looked down at you as you slowly started sliding down the wall.
They weren’t okay. No matter what Tony had said, that wasn’t okay. Steve had a fucking tree through his stomach and Bucky, poor Bucky was stuck in his own head. His most feared prison. This wasn’t going to be like taking the home tomorrow and putting a bandaid over a scratch, this was far, far worse.
“What do you need?” She asked, kneeling in front of you.
“A change of clothes,” you said numbly.
She rubbed your thigh, “Okay, I’ll call Clint to stop by your place, okay?”
You nodded, “Can you ask him to grab my black bag on the stool by the breakfast bar? It has, it has my meds.”
“Of course.”
“And t-there’s this god awful, ugly b-brown blanket on the bed. It’s Bucky’s.” Your voice started to waiver, tears welling in your eyes. “It totally ruins the aesthetic of the room.”
She grasped your hand and you wiped your tears. “I’m sure it does.”
“And, there’s one blue pillow on the bed. The pillow case is blue. Steve sleeps with it every night.”
And the flood gates opened and you started to cry.
———
“The surgery went better than expected,” the surgeon told you.
You wiped a stray tear from your face. “It-it did?” You hiccuped.
“Absolutely it did,” she gave you a warm smile. “And with his DNA, he’s gonna be just fine and walking around in no time.”
You nodded, “Thank you.” Your voice broke and she gave your shoulder a squeeze. “I’m not normally a m-mess. I’m just pregnant.”
She laughed, “It’s okay, I can tell. He’s gonna need some support, but remember to take care of yourself, okay?”
You nodded, “Can I see him?”
“Of course, this way,” she directed you to walk down the hallway.
Your heart almost stopped when you saw him. He looked massive in that bed. He didn’t really fit, it didn’t look right to see Captain America in a hospital bed. Monitors beeped steadily at his side, the only real proof to you he was alive.
You hugged his lumpy pillow to you left chest. It still smelled like him.
You stared at the monitor, counting the insistent beeping, making sure he was still breathing...
“Is that for him,” a nurse said, rubbing hand sanitizer on her hands as she came in. You were still standing in the door way, starring, twenty minutes later.
“Um, yeah,” you answered, shaking your head to get out of whatever spell the monitor had put you under. “Can you...”
She smiled at you warmly, “Of course, hon.” She gently took the pillow from you, breaking the spell.
You stumbled forward, sitting down in the chair beside his bed.
“You can hold his hand,” she said, readjusting his pillows.
“We haven’t been in a good place,” you admitted, “for months. He wanted me to get an abortion and then he didn’t and I just, I pushed him away. I don’t know if he’d want me here but I-I can’t not be here.”
The nurse paused, coming to sit down in the chair opposite to you. “He’s going to want you to be here when you wake up. No matter what happened, he’s going to want you by his side.”
You looked down at your hands, playing with your fingers. “I don’t know what to say to him. Because I’m still mad, honestly. I want to kick his ass.”
She laughed and so did you, wiping a tear from your face.
The nurse cleared her throat, “It isn’t my place, but you don’t have to forgive him. But you’re going to end up throwing everything away if you’re not here when he wakes up.”
You nodded your thanks, reaching over and taking Steve’s hand.
———
“Y/n?” Steve voice woke you from your sleep on the cot beside his bed, you scrambled for the light before reaching for his hand.
His deep blue eyes looked up at you with so much pain and confusion.
“What do you need?” You asked, cupping his face. “Are you in pain?”
He shook his head, trying hard to swallow. You reached for a cup of water, knowing his throat probably felt like sandpaper after intubation.
“Where’s Bucky?” He asked.
You looked up at his monitors to avoid his eye, “They won’t let me see him. The meds aren’t working, he’s in a fury. They said that they’re giving him medication to calm him down, sedating him, and they’re going to try to wake him up soon.”
Steve’s grip on your hand tightened. “You should be with him.”
You leaned down and kissed his forehead, “This fight between us is no where close to over but you are still a big part of my life and I love you. I need to be here for both my boys and he will need me soon.”
There were tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, for everything. Bucky and I had a fight about it and, I’m not ready for everyone to know about the three of us.”
You nodded, understanding his fear.
“But,” he continued, “I don’t want to be the uncle. I want to be the dad. So, I’m here and I want to be here, for both of you.”
A tear dripped down your face, you leaned forward and brought your lips to his.
“Mrs y/l/n,” a man cleared his throat at the door. You turned to see some poor intern wringing his hands at the sight of Captain America.
“Yes?” You asked.
He broke his stare with Steve and said, “I’ve been asked to inform you they’re waking up Mr Barnes and you said you wanted to be there.”
You exchanged a look with Steve. He squeezed your hand and you walked to your bag in the corner, pulling out Bucky’s blanket.
Steve asked quietly, “Will you see if Bucky can be transferred into the same room soon? That way she doesn’t need to go in between our rooms.”
You raised an eyebrow in surprise, but the intern nodded and scurried off.
You gave Steve’s hand one more squeeze, “I’ll be back soon.”
You walked down the hall until you found the room where they were administering some medication to wake Bucky up. Your mouth went dry, he was still restrained.
“Can we get some of these restraints off,” you asked coolly, striding into the room and sitting beside the bed, the blanket in your lap. “He’s not an animal.”
“Mr Barnes is prone to violence following sedation,” the doctor tells you. You grit your teeth at that but let it go. “This could take some time, someone will be just outside if he acts out.”
You didn’t bother to point out that they had him chained down and he couldn’t right now.
Instead, you played with a frayed edge of the blanket. Steve adoringly called it Bucky’s baby blanket. It obviously wasn’t, but it was the blanket he’d slept with since living in Bucharest, it was with him in Wakanda, and he slept with it every night since.
At this point, it was more patch ups than blanket though. When the boys had moved in, the only thing Bucky brought was this ugly blanket full of holes. Trying, in vain, to make it look better to preserve the feel of your room, you learned to patch it up. It was now an assortment of browns and fabrics, but it didn’t seem to change the spirit of the blanket.
“Hey,” Bucky said. You looked up to find him looking at you, a frown on his face. “Did I hurt anyone?” He asked.
“No,” you lie. “You were just a little, um, enraged. You had some head trauma.”
He nodded, “Can I get out of these things?” He moved the restraints for emphasis.
You nodded, calling out to the nurse outside the room. He came in, and after assessing Bucky, removed the restraints.
“How’s Steve?” Bucky asked.
“He’s okay,” you answer. “He had tree go through his stomach but he’ll be fine.”
Bucky nodded, not bothering to sit up. But he ran his hand through his hair. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes focusing on the blanket.
“Is that my blanket?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
You nodded, “I thought you might want something to give you some comfort. Do you want it?”
His eyes crinkled from a small smile. “Yes, thank you.”
You stood, unfolding the blanket and spreading it over him. You looked up at him to see if he was satisfied, but Bucky was staring at your belly.
“Buck?” You asked.
“You’ve gotten...bigger,” he murmured.
You sat down on the edge of the bed, stroking a hand down your belly. “Yeah, and they’ve been kicking up a storm, would you believe it?”
He frowned, “I didn’t realize you were sleeping with anyone.”
Your blood ran cold.
Tags
@booktease21 @sexyvixen7 @just-the-hiddles @fading-mentality-bouquet @a--1--1--3 @broco8 @yougottalovefandoms @hailqueenconquer @tazzi-baby @imaginebeinlovedbyme @amiets2 @prettyblueskylark
97 notes · View notes
barclaysangel · 2 years
Text
“Smells Like Teen Spirit”; Chapter 7: Our Little Group Has Always Been
New chapter is here!
I know, I know. “Luna, you said you’re gonna update every Sunday!” Yeah, I did…then I did the math and figured out if I was consistent to update once a week on Sunday, the fic wouldn’t be finished until JUNE! And that’s just too long for me and the people who read this. So I decided to TRY and update twice a week, Wednesday’s and Sunday’s.
This chapter feels kinda meh to me and is at 3.9K words, thankfully it didn’t go past 4K. But I hope you guys still like this so please comment to let me know what you think, either on here or AO3! :)
The next few days went by without a hitch.
When Jake and Devon were in school, Junior stayed behind at the house. It wasn’t too bad, because Devon let him borrow his laptop. So he binge watched different shows and movies, and helped himself to food around the house.
And while his cousin and best friend ate dinner with Miss Fairchild, Junior would use Jake’s phone to call Tiffany. He liked talking with her and still wanted to keep her updated on what was going on. The others had no idea that Junior was still in contact with her and he didn’t bother to tell them. He knew that they didn’t trust her, so what they didn’t know wouldn’t kill them.
All in all, it’s been…nice. Really nice. To just hang out with his cousin and friends, opening up himself a little more to them. It was so different than what he was used to, but he liked it. He liked being around them.
But Junior would be stupid to ignore how Jake and Devon sometimes flinch or jump when they see him. Even Lexy. He knew it wasn’t their fault, having had far too much trauma because of Chucky. But he was identical to him now. They always relaxed when they remembered it was just him, but it didn’t exactly make him feel better.
He tried not to dwell too much on it though, or else it would eat him up inside. So he tried to focus on the good things instead.
It was Friday night now and Junior, Jake, Devon, and Lexy were all having a sleepover in Jake’s room. Junior was grateful to spend more time with Lexy, even if it was just being by her side and watching TikToks with her. They were all sitting on the floor in the center of the room, different conversations going around.
“I totally failed that English test,” he heard Jake complain, “I know it. I can feel it in my gut.”
“That’s what you get for not studying.” Junior replied without even looking away from Lexy’s phone, quietly awing at the sight of puppy getting its fur brushed.
“Fuck you, asshole!” Jake snapped back but there wasn’t a lot of venom in his voice for Junior to care or worry about, so he merely just chuckled.
“I’ll help you study next time, how about that?” Junior offered and turned his head just slightly to look at his cousin.
Jake was quiet, pretending to think about it before nodding. “Yeah, okay, I guess that’ll work.”
“Just don’t ask him for help in math.” Devon retorted with a laugh.
Junior shuddered. “God, I’m so glad I died so I don’t have to keep doing math.”
His response earned a quick but light slap to the top of his head. He jumped before scowling at Lexy, the one who hit him. “What was that for?!”
“Too soon.” She said with a stare that seemed to dig deep into his soul.
“I mean…it’s been two and a half weeks…” Junior tried to argue.
“Too soon!” Three voices rang out in the room alongside three pairs of intense eyes on him, making the doll give up and hold his hands up in surrender.
“Okay, okay, too soon…Jesus.” He muttered, definitely not thinking his joke was too soon. But maybe he really was using humor as a coping mechanism, just like Nica said.
It was quiet for a moment before Devon held up a bowl of popcorn that was on the middle of the floor. “Anyone want anymore?”
Lexy and Junior both accepted the offer, taking a handful in their hands. Well, two handfuls for Junior, which was only about three or four pieces in each hand because they were so small.
“What exactly do you do all day while we’re at school?” Lexy asked curiously, popping a piece of popcorn in her mouth.
Junior finished chewing the popcorn that was inside his mouth, shrugging. “Not much. Just watch movies, eat, relax.” Call Tiffany and then delete the evidence before Jake gets his phone back. “I also like to snoop through Jake’s things.”
“Asshole,” Jake grumbled while rolling his eyes, “good thing I hid my diary from you.”
“It’s under your mattress.” Junior said without any hesitation. “Not the best hiding spot for it. Don’t worry, I haven’t gone through it…” he paused for dramatic effect and smirked, “…or have I?”
He truly hadn’t, even though he did find where it was. He just liked keeping his cousin on his toes and to always expect the unexpected.
Jake glared at him while the doll continued smirking. “I hate you.”
“Aw, I hate you too.” Junior said with a smirk that shifted into a sweet smile.
Lexy turned her head to look at Devon. “They still haven’t stopped bickering?”
“I’ve accepted the fact that they’re not going to stop.” Devon said in a deadpanned voice before taking a long sip from his water bottle.
“Hey, you wanted us to get along. This is how we get along.” Junior insisted as he shrugged his shoulders.
As if to prove how well they “get along” now compared to before, Jake grabbed a handful of popcorn and threw it at Junior. Some of it got stuck in his hair but he merely picked the pieces out.
“Jokes on you, fucker, you just gave me more popcorn from your portion!” Junior stuck his tongue out childishly before shoving the pieces of popcorn into his mouth.
Jake paused, coming to that realization. “Shit, you’re right…give ‘em back!”
Junior then proceeded to shove as much of the popcorn in his mouth, holding up both of his middle fingers. “Never!” He exclaimed with his mouth full.
“Good god, you two act like children.” Lexy said with an eye roll and she and Devon laughed. The cousins wanted argue but knew it would be futile, so they ended up laughing as well.
It was like this for a few more hours, talking about everything and nothing, until the conversations started to slow down and the yawns grew more and more consistent.
“Guys, it’s like…two in the morning.” Devon said, having his head resting on Jake’s shoulder and rubbed his eyes.
“Yeah, it is.” Junior yawned, lying down on the floor and made sure his head was on the pillow. “Lex, stay in between me and Jake, I’m tired of waking up to him cuddling me.”
“You asshole, I can’t control how I sleep.” Jake grumbled and even though he wasn’t looking at him, Junior knew that he was glaring at him.
“And you still snore, I can’t even catch a break.” Junior lied face first onto his pillow, hearing Lexy laugh at Jake as she lied down beside the doll.
“You better not keep me awake with your snoring, Jake, I need my beauty sleep.” Lexy told him, making Junior smile.
“Oh shut up, I don’t even snore that bad!” Jake insisted but Junior didn’t care to keep listening and just closed his eyes. He could hear their voices, playfully bickering and teasing, and it was a reassuring sound. Along with the feeling of Lexy pulling a blanket up and carefully draping it over him.
He was warm and felt safe. Like nothing could hurt him. So he let their voices lull him to sleep.
But he should’ve known that he’d never be safe from the nightmares.
They hadn’t been as bad since he started staying with Jake and Devon. Sure they were enough to hurt him, but he was more aware of them. He knew he was dreaming and would make sure he didn’t start screaming, just leave himself to cry in his dream instead.
But this time, it wasn’t like that.
This time he was fully reliving his mother’s death. Every moment of it. To her parking the car outside her therapist’s office, them talking about how he was her favorite topic of conversation, hugging, saying she loved him.
It was lovely until he remembered what happened after that.
I’ve been havin’ dreams, jumpin’ on a trampoline.
Junior’s blood turned ice cold when he heard that song, wanting so desperately to rip his earbuds out.
No, please, please no, please I don’t want to see this again, please! He begged but not one listened. His own body wouldn’t move despite his heavy breathing, stayed in the same spot as if he was oblivious to what would happen next.
When I dream of dying, I never feel so loved.
His mother’s body dropped on the car and there was nothing left for him to do but to stare forward, looking at her bloody face and lifeless eyes.
Junior couldn’t get out of the car like he did before. He was frozen inside his own body, trying to scream as loud as he could but his voice wouldn’t work.
The dream shifted out of nowhere and Junior hit the ground. He wasn’t himself though, he was the doll. He was the copycat of Chucky. The only thing that stayed the same was that he couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, nothing.
But he could see the others, Jake, Devon and Lexy. There were there staring down at him, eyes filled with fear. They looked at him in horror, like he was a monster from their worst nightmares.
Then Junior remembered that he was. He was a monster. He was identical to one. They had every reason to be scared of him. He wanted to say something, to tell them that he would never hurt them, but he couldn’t. Nothing would come out of his mouth, not even the high-pitched doll voice that gave him chills.
He was just forced to stare up at their terrified eyes and accept that they will never truly trust him.
Suddenly there were hands on him that he couldn’t see, saying his name, shaking him slightly and telling him to wake up. Wake up? What did they mean…?
“Please, Junior, you need to wake up!”
Junior gasped loudly and his eyes snapped open, shooting upright. He couldn’t focus on anything else except to try and breathe, but he could feel something wet running down his face. Through the tears in his eyes, he could barely see three different faces staring at him. Lexy was the closest, her hands on his shoulders and concern written all over her face.
“Juni, shhh, it’s okay, just breathe. It was just a nightmare, it’s okay.” Lexy tried to soothe him in a soft voice, reached up to try and wipe away his tears but the doll jerked himself away from her.
“No…no, it-it wasn’t a nightmare, it was…it was real…” Junior managed to say, lowering his head and was unable to look at any of them.
He was still breathing heavily and pulled his knees to his chest, not allowing himself to be touched by anyone. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Devon leave the room. Probably to make sure Miss Fairchild didn’t come in and wonder why there was a creepy looking doll having a panic attack in the middle of the bedroom, so he felt at least a little thankful for that.
Lexy didn’t make an effort to touch him again, probably afraid that he would hurt her if she tried, but she stayed in front of him. Her eyes looked sad and he couldn’t bare to look at her while she stared at him with so much pity.
He could see Jake move closer to him and the doll instinctively pulled himself away. “Junior, you gotta let us help you, okay?” He was speaking quietly, like he was trying to reassure him.
Junior tried to control himself, tried to hold it down, but he couldn’t. “Why do you care?” He whispered, keeping his head down.
“What?” Jake questioned.
“How could you care after everything I’ve done?” He asked almost in disbelief.
“We talked about this, Juni, we already forgave each other.” Lexy said to him, her voice barely above a whisper.
Devon came back into the room, going on his knees like the other to approach Junior, but he just moved away from all of them.
“You’re afraid of me…” Junior could just hardly hear his own voice, “I-I see how you guys act…you flinch and move away from me before remembering…you’re afraid of me…”
“No, no we aren’t,” Devon quickly said, “it’s just—”
“I’m him!” The doll interrupted, his voice raising and finally looked up at the others. “Every time you see me, you see him. You see Chucky and you don’t see me!”
They all stared at him sympathetically, Jake lightly touching his shoulder but Junior pulled away again, so he retracted his hand. “Junior, that doesn’t mean anything. We know it’s you. You’re our Junior, no matter what body you’re in.”
Junior shook his head quickly, the tears starting to spill again as he reached up and began pulling at his ginger hair that he would never get used to. He pulled them as tightly as he could in his fists, not caring if he ripped any out, he just wanted to try and stabilize himself.
“No, no, no, no, no…” he mumbled repeatedly, his breathing picking back up, “I hate looking like this, I don’t want to be like this, I just wish I let myself die instead of being exactly like my killer!”
The last part…he truly didn’t mean to say. It spilled out before he could even stop himself. He should’ve bitten his tongue and never said anything. He heard the others gasp and he couldn’t look at them anymore. Couldn’t face anymore pity, he didn’t want it. He squeezed his eyes shut instead and just started sobbing.
No one moved for a while, maybe for about ten seconds before he felt Lexy wrap her arms around him and pull him close to her body. She was hugging him so gently like he was a baby, humming a song that sounded familiar under her breath and rubbing his back with one hand.
Junior’s hands moved from his hair to Lexy’s hoodie-well, actually his hoodie, he recognized it as one of the ones she stole when they were still dating but decided not to say anything about it-and continued crying into her shoulder. Soon enough, he felt Devon and Jake move closer until they were somewhat hugging him from behind as well, their hands on his arms.
Had he never realized how badly he wanted to be held until now? Maybe he didn’t. But with all of them surrounding him, no words spoke but an air of gentle calmness around the room, he needed it.
He needed to be held. He hadn’t been held like that since his mother. He never thought it would happen again. And the doll didn’t have it in him to care that he was being comforted like a fussy infant because he just wanted to be held.
His cries started to slow down, his breathing evening out and he could faintly hear Lexy singing so quietly in his ear. “Don’t fear the reaper…baby, take my hand, don’t fear the reaper…”
Junior remembered hearing Lexy sing for the first time, that very song to Caroline. He remembered it like it was yesterday even though it had been just a few weeks ago. It was something he stored away in his memory of one of the rare times where Lexy let her guard down and allowed herself to be soft for her younger sister. It was sweet, genuinely. Even though she threatened to kill him if he told anyone. He didn’t care because he knew she wouldn’t and she had such a pretty voice.
He wished he could get to hear it more often.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, all holding him with only gentle singing and quiet reassurances being whispered until he finally fell asleep again.
The next time Junior woke up, the sun was shining on his face. It made him turn his face closer to something warm to block out the light and calm his pounding head. He was used to waking up with headaches that would go away after a few hours, always occurring when he had nightmares but it was easy for him to ignore. This time, however, he felt warm. Perhaps too warm.
The doll forced himself to open his eyes, noticing almost immediately that he was placed on top of Lexy’s chest. He had had his face in her shoulder and her arms were around him, like a child holding a teddy bear in their sleep.
Junior turned his head more in the direction of the snoring, seeing Jake lying down beside Lexy with his hand on the doll’s back. He felt another hand on his ankle and sat upright enough to see Devon sleeping just below his feet.
They had all slept touching him in some way, to keep comforting him even as he slept.
That was…sweet, he supposed. Extremely mortifying to the point where he wanted to die again, but also kind of sweet.
Despite the kind sentiment, it triggered Junior fight or flight response. And right now, he was going for the latter.
He started to move, trying to carefully shift his way out of all of their limbs, but especially Lexy’s arms, without waking anyone up. But his efforts proved to be futile when the blonde stretched slightly and her eyes opened.
“Juni…” Lexy smiled softly at him and he fought hard to ignore how his heart raced because how could someone look so pretty after just waking up? “How are you?”
“I’m great.” Junior lied right through his teeth because he was good at it. He spoke quietly, to try to make sure that the boys wouldn’t wake up. It was another failed mission because their voices caused the others to stir and slip into consciousness.
Jesus, this wasn’t what he wanted. He was about to face some kind of intervention and he didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with it, he seriously didn’t.
Devon sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking exhausted. It was Junior’s fault, of course, for keeping them all awake just because of his stupid nightmare and stupid mental breakdown. “Hey Junior.” He said with a smile.
“Hi.” Junior merely replied with an almost awkward smile. Kill me now please.
Jake pulled his hand away as he sat up as well, his curls a bigger mess than what it usually was. If he had any energy, Junior would absolutely tease him over it and compare his head to a rat’s nest. “Jun, we need to talk.”
“No we don’t,” Junior was quick to respond this time, pushing himself out of Lexy’s arms and standing up on the floor, “last night was…a moment of weakness and vulnerability. Which will never again, so let’s just put this whole thing behind us and pretend it never happened.”
“Absolutely not, we are not going to ignore this.” Lexy said while sitting upright too quickly for someone who just woke up.
Junior started walking away, being careful not to step on Devon. “Yes, we are, we’re ignoring this, so drop it.” His voice grew a bit more hostile, thinking that maybe if they thought he was getting angry, they would leave him alone.
“Junior, do you really think you’re the only one who gets nightmares?” Devon questioned softly to him, raising an eyebrow.
The doll started fidgeting, desperately wanting to get out of this situation. “No, I just…I don’t want to talk about this, okay? Please just let this go.”
“It’s okay, Junior, really,” Jake said before pausing for a moment and then speaking again, “you know how you keep saying that I ‘cuddle’ you when I sleep?” His cousin used air quotes with his fingers. “It’s because you sometimes cry in your sleep. The only way you calm down is if I hold you. You don’t have to hide how you’re feeling from us.”
If he wasn’t embarrassed before, he sure as well as now. He knew that he was still having nightmares while staying with Jake and Devon, but he thought he had it under control and wasn’t showing it externally.
How did he never realize that he was this touch starved?
It took a minute before Junior looked at his cousin. “Jake…remember when you threatened to throw me out the window? I am begging you to do it now.”
Lexy got up before kneeling down in front of Junior, gently stroking his hair. He stiffened slightly before relaxing under her touch and soft gaze. “Jun-Jun, I need you to listen to me and listen good,” the next part she spoke slowly as if he would understand better, “we. Are. Not. Afraid. Of. You.”
“But—”
“No buts!” Devon interrupted, smiling lightly. “This whole thing is…weird. It’s different. Sometimes, we do get startled when we see you. But that doesn’t mean that we’re scared of you.“
“Look, I get how hard it is for you to open up to us,” Jake started, “but you don’t have to hide the fact that you have nightmares or try to ignore it. We get them too. We just want to help you, Junior.”
He really didn’t want this kind of intervention. He was feeling too vulnerable again, rocking on the balls of his feet. The doll supposed that this was something he needed to hear…he didn’t want to, but he probably needed to hear it anyway.
Lexy took his much smaller hand in hers and it took everything in him to push away the negative thoughts about how strange it was to be so little next to her. “Juni, I had nightmares every night of you dying. I had to relive you passing out in my arms and…and not being able to change that.”
She looked sorrowful at the memory before giving him a hopeful smile. “But then I found out that you’re alive, and it stopped. I was happy. I’ve been so happy since you came back. I don’t care that you look like Chucky, you’re still our Junior.”
Junior bit his bottom lip for a moment, trying to reassure them that everything was fine and to forget about it. Eventually, he gave up. “I…I don’t feel like Junior. I feel like Chucky. I look like him. I hate seeing my own reflection because I just see him. All I see is Chucky. And honestly…I don’t even really know who Junior is. I don’t even know what I like or-of who I want to be…I just hate looking like serial killer.” He chuckled quietly, trying to make this conversation lighthearted.
He was met with more sympathetic looks and he didn’t blame them. There wasn’t anything for them to do, they couldn’t do anything to change how Junior looked identical to a monster who caused them all so much trauma. He would just need to figure out how to get over it.
But suddenly, Lexy gasped and her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. The doll remembered seeing that look in her eyes before and it usually didn’t end good for whoever her victim of the day was.
“Oh god…what are you plotting?” He asked her wearily with a painted eyebrow raised.
Lexy grinned almost mischievously, looking at Jake and Devon before her hazel eyes landed on Junior again.
“I have a great idea!”
5 notes · View notes
bubsdolan · 3 years
Note
Hiii so this is a suuuper sensitive topic and it’s ok if you don’t feel comfortable writing about it, but my one year anniversary of my r*pe is next week and I was wondering if you could write something w gray? Maybe just friends but they both know there’s feelings there but reader is scared cause, in my case, my first ever date w a guy was w the man who a**aulted me & it’s also been my one s*xual experience and I’m scared of men lmaooo it’s ok if you can’t tho I’ll luv u always and no matter what <3
{baby, having spoken to you privately and having you open up to me the way you did, i hope you know how strong you are. how brave and so incredibly special i know you are. thank you for trusting me and putting all your faith in me to deliver something that you can use to help you cope in a way. i love you and im here whenever you need🍒 sorry it’s so late}
{trigger warning- sexual assault}
you had been keeping yourself to yourself all day, avoiding calls and texts from everyone closest to you as you harboured your deeper most inner feelings that often send your mind spiralling out of control. your demons working a mile a minute as you relive the events that unfortunately occurred a year ago today. a secret you had yet to tell anyone, in fear of not being believed or for how people could potentially perceive you.
it was the year anniversary of the day you got sexually assaulted after your first ever date with a guy you forced yourself to forget the name off. all memories of him were erased besides the feeling of his dirty, unconsensual hands on your body. the face of a devil hovering over you maliciously as you begged and pleaded with him to let you go. you never truly recover from that sort of trauma and over the last few days, the feeling of dread and fear had slowly been creeping its way back into your life where it didn’t belong.
you were meant to be spending the evening with your best friend, grayson. you both made a pact at your naive age of 14, that once a week you would both go out and do something spontaneous. a pact you both refuse to break serval years later, wanting to make the most of what life has to offer. but in your state of mind, there was nothing worse than putting on a brave face, especially for someone who could read you like a book, and lying to yourself and others around you about how you were really feeling.
although grayson dolan was your childhood bestfriend, and at times your only companion, your relationship was more than that. it was deeper and held a different spark than when you were kids. you were the happiest when with grayson, something about being around him made you feel at ease, at peace with yourself and most importantly safe. you har a flirty relationship, always cuddling when watching movies, being quite handsy with each other any chance you could, but you both were to scared to push the boundariesof anything more- you more than grayson.
you were getting ready to wallow away in the comfort of your bed, surrounded by snacks and your favourite netlfix shows as you needed an escape. you needed to escape the prison of your own mind, as well as the world around you. however, you were pulled back into reality at a startling knock at your door. a knock you knew all too well.
coming face to face with gryson, the one face you needed to see but also feared in this moment, you sigh in defect and reluctantly let him inside your apartment. you could instantly see his face relax at the sight of you. after not answering any of his calls and texts for serval hours, he was starting to panic, his mind running away with thoughts of something bad happening to you. he couldn't live without you and the very notion of it made his heart bleed.
“bubba-” you melt at the nickname reserved for grayson and grayson alone. he was so blindly unaware of the affect he had on you, that even something as simple as a term of endearment coming from his lips, was enough to set you into a pool of your own tears. 
grayson is by your side in seconds, slamming the door with his foot as he holds you in his embrace- an embrace you needed now more than ever. he’s shushing your whimpers, running his fingers tips through the ends of your hair as he rocks you back and fourth with his body. he lets you cry, his heart breaking at the sound, wanting nothing more to take away your hurt and pain, although not knowing the real cause behind it. 
you collect yourself, whipping your bloodshot eyes to try and hide any signs you were weak, but grayson knew you better than you knew yourself. he knew something was deeply wrong, but in his mind, he came up with the conclusion that it had something to do with him. his suspicious only growing when you push him away, creating a painful distance between the two of you as you wrap your arms around your body in protection. from what- you didn't know, grayson was and always will be your protection.
a sigh leave yours lips the minute you see grayons face drop, his lips setting into a devastating frown. his eyes welling up with his own tears at the thought of you not wanting him anymore. you were pushing him away without realising it and it broke him. “why are you here, grayson?
“im here for you, bubba. you weren't answering any of my calls or texts, i was worried about you.” grayson steps closer in hope you would drop your facade, in hopes you would run into his arms and live the happily ever after you both crave and deserve.
“im fine. you can go now. please.” your voice cracks slightly and yet again you take a few steps back, holding your hands in front of your body as an attempt to stop graysons movements coming any closer to you.
“what are we y/n? one minute you want me and the next you can’t stand to be near me. now your completely shutting me out. if i did something wrong please- please tell me. i cant handle the silence, the tears, the absence. im right here, you have me- all of me. but you gotta let me in.” 
at his confession, a confession you have longed to hear, you’re breaking. sobs raking over your body for the second time tonight that tells grayson this is bigger than him. 
“im scared, gray, im so fucking scared. im terrified of letting you in because the last guy i did, he- he.” you break down in his arms. not having to go into detail about the trauma you’ve faced because grayson is doing what he does best and protecting you. leading you to sofa, lifting you onto his lap so your legs are straddling his hips. you cry into the crock of the his neck, his arms securely fastening around your waist as he lets you burn out all of all the tears you needed to cry.
“did he hurt you?”
no answer. your eyes shifting uncomfortably from his face to his lap. your fingers fiddling with his shirt as you try your best to avoid his question. one that would open up a can of worms you weren’t sure he was ready for.
“did he lay a finger on you, baby, please i need to know what happened so i can help you. i lo- i care about you and i hate seeing you in pain.” you can hear the hurt and desperation in grayson’s voice, something you wished to never hear or be the cause of again. 
and so you tell him, everything. from the talking stage with your abuser, to the events before and after your assult. you can feel his body tense beneath your own as the words leave your lips. he wanted to kill the arsehole for laying a finger on his girl, for betraying your trust and breaking such a beautiful creature, ripping the life and soul from you. but more importantly- he was angry at himself for not seeing the signs sooner. for not noticing the way you flinch whenever he or another male trys to touch you, or how you cower into a shell of a human whoever someone raises their voice at you. he was beating himself up mentally at how he wasnt there to protect you, to love you and stop any harm coming your way like he promised 14.
grayson sits in silence, staring ahead at the wall, taking in every piece of information you share. his arms tighten around you body, his jaw locked and body tense as his eyes shoot with rage. he’s keeping himself calm for your sake. the feeling of you wrapped safely in his arms is the only thing stopping him for not hunting down that bastarrd and ending his life. you ground him.
grayson heard enough, your words eating him alive, not able to listen to the tragic events an angel was put through. and before you know it, his lips are on yours. a sweet sensual kiss that takes you by surpirse but has you kissing back almost instantly. this was everything you needed, everything you hoped and dreamed of, but once again your mind and self deprecation took over. you pull away, breathlessly. leaning your forehead agasint graysons as he brings one hand to rub soothly across your cheek bone, eyes burning into each other’s as you silently confess what should have been said a long long time ago. 
“consider this my spontaneous adventure of the week but i love you, y/n, more than i could ever love anyone. and i swear to you, hand on heart, i will never let anyone hurt you again. s’got you, baby. it’s me and you forever, till the end of time- fuck i- i need to kiss you again.” grayson interrupts his ramble, leaning forward to peck your lips once, twice, three times as he becomes addicted to the taste of you. so high off the love everyone knew you shared so each other but took the pair of you longer to admit.
“please don't hurt me.” you whisper, the words rolling off your tongue before you fam stop tjem. just needing the reassurance that grayson will live up to all your expeditions, even exceed them. but also that  history won’t be repeating itself.
“baby, cross my heart hope to die, id never lay a finger on you in that way. you’re safe with me, y/n, always have been, always will be.”
131 notes · View notes