#but she definitely only smokes to help with her PTSD and Anxiety | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whirlybirbs · 4 years ago

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( this chapter’s gif by @august-walker from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy!

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MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh.

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

��Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #marvel imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes/reader #bucky/reader

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5577v · 3 years ago

Text

masterpost for my versions of various hetalia characters i like bc i want their identities to be respected and their stories to be understood here (will be continued)

mathias (denmark); nonbinary; any pronouns

- gay

- hyperactive adhd and dyslexia (& ptsd?)

- he just like me fr... happy idiot who wouldn't hurt a fly (unless it's swedish) but also has a lot of internalized issues that he only started addressing at around the 70s/80s. she's also not exactly stupid or anything, just awful at reading tones or organizing herself. picked up smoking from his relationship with netherlands. an alcoholic but pretends they're not

- had things going on with tim/netherlands, ludwig and occassionally ber but every time she was just trying to run away from the fact that he's in love with his bestie the norwegian

lukas (norway); ???; he/she

- bi

- generalized anxiety

- it has taken him until like the 2010s that maybe raising herself as a woman for hundreds of years and enjoying it has made her might not exactly cis. also has extreme paranoia but refuses to address it. has a lot of internalized issues going on that he needs to deal with but would rather just look sexy than talk about his feelings

emil (iceland); trans guy, he/him

- ??? likes men

- ptsd and depression

- came to terms with his identity in about the 80s

- has started talking to leon in the 90s online

tino (finland); cis guy, he/him

- pan

- neurotypical

- hard of hearing/deaf

- also TONE deaf xd he always sticks his nose into other people's business and tries to "help" but isn't always exactly helping... also alcoholic no. 2

berwald (sweden); cis guy, he/him

- gay

- asd

- it's hetalia sweden what do you want

eduard (estonia); agender; they/he

- fluctuates/unlabelled

- idk tbh but probably not nt

- just living their best life out of all of them tbh. the only person without constant existential dread haunting them

raivis (latvia); cis guy, he/him

- ???

- generalized anxiety

- definitely more of an actual teen in my interpretation than the uwu-fied version of the manga. smart fella who doesn't know how to deal with having so many things expected from him. of course he fell in love with the one person who isn't expecting anything from him and instead cares about his feelings

leon (hong kong); ???; doesn't mind any pronouns, mostly he/him

- a queer mystery.......

- asd

- tbh his canon version is kinda bland i will not lie... but i still like this goofy guy. i write him as someone like mathias but more tame and less hyperactive. they're still an incredibly strange person though - i HAVE a specific personality in mind but i don't know how to describe it... like every interaction with him is just a fever dream in a way because he's really just saying things and you can't read his expression

my ships that i enjoy:

long term (in my stories) - dennor, estlat, sufin, hongice (i know it's basic i'm sorry)

short term - densu, nedden, gerden, norfin, estice

outside of those charas: gerita, gerfra, ruspru, lietpol etc etc...

i also want to clarify. i'm trans (enby) myself and either me or my hetalia friends have several of the illnesses listed, we didn't assign the characters those to make them "quirky", but because we're projecting and want to see some better representation :]

also - i barely associate them with being countries rly. i mostly see them as people living their own lives who happen to be immortal and represent their citizens, they're not bound to stereotypes or politics or anything.

#quickly written upon the request of a certain placebo person #what 7 gay years of being into hetalia do to a mf #hetalia

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aquaquadrant · 4 years ago

Text

the little things

Kenji’s mouth is dry. “Ben…?” he croaks out.

Ben swallows. “Oh,” he says, in a very small voice. “It’s you.”

~*~

Ben’s been reunited with the other campers, and seems to have come out the other end of his experience stronger than ever before. But as he slowly finds his place back within the group, a bigger picture starts to emerge, piece by piece.

Rated T for: mental illness, mild language, panic attacks, PTSD, anxiety, insomnia, eating disorder (not in a traditional sense, but definitely not a healthy relationship with food)

A/N: Hey Camp Cretaceous fandom, y’all mind if I uhhhh write six-thousand words about Ben’s trauma?? Basically, Netflix kept recommending the show to me so I watched the first ep out of curiosity and then ended up binging the whole thing in like two days, and now here I am.

(Dear sweet, patient, regular readers of mine: I’m so sorry my main fic’s been delayed but I promise it’s getting updated next week, I just had to get some feelings out about Sad Dino Boy)

Hope you enjoy, please reblog and leave a comment if you do! - Aqua

Click here to read on A03 (with more complete tags)

~*~

the little things

~*~

Ben Pincus has returned from the dead, and he’s never been better.

The other campers are amazed. What he’s been through must have been horrible. He thought he was the only one left, that there was no one to help him and no hope of rescue because he was presumed dead. It would’ve been enough to drive anyone into despair, or off of the deep end.

But Ben shows no signs of this.

They didn’t find him holed up somewhere, near starvation and waiting to die, like one might’ve expected. They didn’t find him at all, really. He found them, and by coming to their rescue, no less. And when he did, he wasn’t a trembling mess, he wasn’t a half-mad ball of paranoia, and he wasn’t a hollow-eyed skeleton fueled solely by desperation.

He’s an all new and improved Ben, the best version of himself.

He hasn’t just survived, he’s flourished. He’s brave, he’s confident, he’s capable. He gives his opinions freely and without second-guessing himself, suggesting things the old Ben would’ve recoiled at. He fits seamlessly into the team like he never left. He faces problems head-on with determination and grit and not a trace of fear.

The turnaround is unbelievable. But even more important is that while he’s a new and improved Ben, he’s retained all the best parts of his old self.

Ben is easy smiles and meticulous organization of a leather waist bag and doting affection for a four-ton armored lizard. He’s sensitive and soft-spoken and accepts hugs from his friends gratefully. He still can’t quite pull off coolness, with a voice that sounds as gangly as his limbs look and an awkwardness he hasn’t grown out of.

And it’s perhaps because of this that no one thinks to look closer. This image is an easy thing to accept because it’s what they all want to believe, that Ben is okay- in fact, better than okay. But the truth is not always big and obvious upon first glance.

It’s the little things, as they soon find out.

~*~

That first evening after Ben’s return, after Mitch and Tiff and everything else, they don’t eat dinner.

They all ate their fill at the campsite and, after a month of scarcity, it was more than enough to sate their appetites. It’s Darius who thinks to ask Ben if he’s hungry, remembering that the boy hadn’t had the chance to eat with them. They have a good stockpile of food at the moment and he figures Ben must’ve been struggling.

But Ben shakes his head with an easy smile, and says, “Nah, I ate earlier.”

Darius leaves it at that, because there’s still so much catching up to do. They show Ben around their clubhouse, make plans for where to build a bunk for him (he insists he’d be just fine sleeping on the ground next to Bumpy, but they all veto that immediately). They talk well into the night about the day’s crazy events, filling each other in on their own sides of the story, and everything that’s happened since Ben got separated.

There are some more tears, some more hugs. But ultimately, the mood in the clubhouse is ecstatic. They never thought Ben had survived the fall so to have him back is better than a dream come true, it’s a miracle.

Darius thought he knew what it was to experience a miracle when they first saw that bonfire smoke on the horizon. But if he had to chose between the miracle of them finally leaving the island or the miracle of getting Ben back, it’s not even a competition.

Eventually the exhaustion catches up with everyone, and they turn in for the night. Bumpy parks herself underneath the clubhouse, her presence incredibly reassuring. Ben ends up sharing Kenji’s bunk because it’s bigger than Darius’s even when occupied by two, and the older teen had insisted in a very faux-casual way, to which Ben had rolled his eyes but nonetheless seemed touched by the gesture.

Darius takes the first night watch shift and gets to see all his friends sleeping peacefully. And even though Tiff sailed away with their only means for escaping, he feels a lot more hopeful than he has in a long time.

~*~

It’s canned peaches for breakfast.

A far cry from yesterday’s buffet. But no one’s complaining because the meticulous rationing of their food, courtesy of Darius, means they’re all starving by meal time and couldn’t care less what it tastes like. Darius is in the process of separating the food out into bowls, half a can for each of them, when he realizes Ben has yet to take a seat. He’s lingering at the edge of the room, watching.

“Hey,” Darius calls, “you coming or what?”

Ben shakes his head. “Thanks, but I already got my own breakfast.”

Before Darius can respond, Brooklynn shoots Ben a look. “What? Where?” she demands. “You holding out on us, jungle boy?”

Darius shoots her a look, but Ben just gives an easy smile and unzips the leather pouch that’s reclaimed its spot around his waist. He withdraws a small handful of bright red berries, no bigger than blueberries. It’s not even a fraction of the half-can of peaches the rest of them are settling for, and Darius sees his own unease reflected in the others’ eyes.

Brooklynn glances away. “Oh. Um, sorry. You don’t… you can have some of ours, you know?”

“I’m good.” Ben tosses a couple berries into his mouth. “You guys go ahead, I’m gonna go check on Bumpy.”

“O- oh, okay…” Sammy murmurs, watching Ben go with uncertain eyes. “If you’re sure…”

They’re silent for a moment.

Kenji inhales quietly through his teeth. “So… that’s weird, right?”

Yaz leans forward in her seat. “What do you think, Darius?” she asks lowly.

Darius bites his lip. Even though dinosaurs are his specific topic of interest, he’s gained a lot of second-hand knowledge about general biology and psychology. After all, he has to understand the processes behind behavior in order to identify patterns and deviations.

And right now, he has to admit that Ben is displaying a very concerning behavior.

“I’ll talk to him,” Darius decides.

There’s a collective sigh of relief around the table, and the others start eating. It takes Darius longer than usual to finish his serving.

~*~

“So, uh, bottom line is… you don’t need to feel bad about eating our food. You’re as much a part of this group as anyone else, and we’re happy to share.”

After a couple tense days, Darius is finally talking to Ben about the food situation. Or rather, talking at him. Because Ben’s not looking at Darius- his eyes are tracking the small spider that’s crawling along the railing next to them. Normally, Darius would take it as a sign of boredom and inattentiveness. But there’s an intensity in Ben’s eye that’s a little unsettling-

Quick as a flash, Ben shoots out an arm. He crushes the spider under his thumb and swipes it into his mouth. And then, untroubled as can be, he returns his focus to Darius as if nothing had happened.

Darius has overheard Kenji teasing Ben about eating bugs, and Ben has admitted as much in the stories of his time alone. Berries and grubs were what he lived on. Darius, for one, can’t imagine being hungry and desperate enough to snatch a bug off the ground and eat it.

But it’s even harder to imagine having access to real food, good food, and still choosing to eat bugs.

“Don’t worry so much,” Ben says lightly, patting Darius on the shoulder as he turns to go. “I can take care of myself.”

That does it. “You can’t keep living off berries and grubs!” Darius finally snaps.

Ben whirls around. “Says who?”

“Basic human biology!” Darius retorts.

Ben glares at him, but there’s something shaky behind it. “Darius, I told you it’s fine,” he says evenly, though he doesn’t fully meet Darius’s gaze. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Please? If I’m hungry, I’ll eat.”

Darius hesitates. “You promise?”

Ben breaks into an easy smile. “I promise.”

Darius sighs. It’ll have to be good enough, for now.

“Okay.”

~*~

Darius knows he isn’t the only one still concerned by Ben’s lack of appetite.

Right from the start, Ben was the scrawniest one among them, and it’s only gotten worse. But surely he’ll have to eat at some point, right? Basic survival instincts will win out over whatever stubborn mindset is holding him back. Plus, it’s clear that he’s got enough energy to run and climb and stuff with no problem.

Maybe it’s not as serious as Darius thinks. Maybe Ben just needs time.

~*~

Ben doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

He just- he can’t take their food! Why don’t they get that?

And it’s not because he’s stubborn, it’s not- no matter what Darius thinks. There’s nothing wrong with letting others help you (as long as you don’t let it make you soft, of course). After all, he relies on Bumpy. He just… when he looks at the food, and imagines eating it, he just knows it’ll sit in his stomach. Like a rock, weighing him down.

Plus, plus, if he gets used to eating like that, it’ll just- it’ll be harder to cope once it runs out. He’s already gotten used to roughing it and it was hard enough the first time, he can’t let himself slip back into complacency. And- and really, how long do they think it’s going to last? They’ve searched all the previously inhabited areas of the island and there’s no more food for them to scavenge.

Do they think they’ll be rescued before it runs out? No one is coming to save them. They know it as much as Ben does- they wouldn’t be bothering with rafts if they didn’t. Do they think they’ll escape, then? Sure, because their current attempts have been going so well.

No, they just aren’t thinking long term. Ben is.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

~*~

It’s the sixth day in a row where Ben eats nothing but berries.

He wants to search around some more, see if there’s anything more substantial. That would require him to leave Bumpy, though. And he can’t leave Bumpy. But the hunger is excruciating. It gnaws at him every waking moment, keeps him up at night. He’s never felt such hunger in his life, not even close. He can’t keep going like this, can he?

But there’s nothing else.

Except… something’s crawling up his arm. Something small, and leggy. Ben turns his head, squinting to focus his eyes in the dark. It’s some kind of beetle, with a shiny shell that catches stray shafts of moonlight poking through the roof of his lean-to.

Ben stares at it for a moment. Then, before he can think, he snatches it up and pops it into his mouth. He barely registers any taste, mostly just the crunchy texture. And even though it wasn’t any bigger than a quarter, after he swallows, he feels… fuller. Even if it’s purely imagined, it’s a comfort.

Berries and grubs. It’ll have to be enough.

There’s nothing else.

~*~

Ben continues to decline their offers of food.

~*~

A few weeks after the reunion, Kenji is starting to get antsy.

As the self-designated ‘pro-fun police’ (a clever play on ‘no-fun police,’ if Kenji does say so himself), he’s made it his responsibility to make sure none of his friends just keel over and die from stress one day. That means it’s his job- no, his duty- to lighten the mood with copious amounts of joking, goofing off, and, of course, pranking.

Jumping out to scare his friends while they’re trapped on a dino-infested island might, on paper, sound like a bad idea. But it keeps everyone on their toes, and the relief of realizing they aren’t facing a dino attack, just Kenji pulling a prank, helps keep any real anger at bay. It’s typically an exasperated annoyance, which Kenji will gladly take. His main targets are Brooklynn and Darius, because he can’t fathom doing that to Sammy, and Yaz is- while perhaps in the most need of lightening up- super freaking scary.

But now that Ben’s back, Kenji knows what he has to do.

Before, back when they were just campers and not survivors, Ben was easily the most frightened of them. The kid was scared of dirt. And his over-the-top hysterics always managed to, somehow, put everyone else at ease. Because if Ben was scared of something, that didn’t really mean anything. Again; scared of dirt.

(Now, if Yaz is scared of something, that’s a different story).

Since Ben’s, uh… departure, they’ve been sorely lacking that energy in the group. Kenji would wager he’s not the only one who misses it. He used to have so much fun riling Ben up with just a couple words (none of the others are so easily baited). And whenever Ben would freak out and instantly cling to him, like some kind of scrawny spider monkey, it made Kenji feel… capable, in a way.

Like, if Ben was trusting Kenji to protect him, maybe he wasn’t so useless after all (which was becoming an all too frequent feeling as the others continued to adapt and grow, leaving Kenji struggling to keep up).

Problem is, Ben’s really hard to scare now.

It’s not always obvious, like when he’s bragging about taking down Toro or itching to blow things up. Sometimes it’s the little things. Whenever they’re out in a group, foraging or gathering supplies, and there’s a sound in the distance that makes them all freeze, Ben’s frozen in readiness, not fear. He looks more like Yaz, tense and waiting with his fists up and eyes narrowed.

Sometimes, when they aren’t occupied by any particular task or imminent threat, and have the chance to enjoy some downtime, Ben drifts off to the side and just… watches, all tense, silent, and anxious. He’ll watch the tree line, or Bumpy on the ground below, or even just the rest of them as they go about their business. Kenji is sure he’s not the only one who’s noticed but none of them bring it up.

It’s… unsettling, seeing Ben like this. Kenji figured he just needed a couple weeks to fall back into the rhythm of the group, to see that he didn’t have to be this loner Rambo type of guy anymore. But even though he talks with them easy enough, seems to enjoy their company, and has a good handle on teamwork, it’s like there’s a part of him that can’t fully shake that mentality.

At least, not without help.

~*~

Kenji’s plan is- in his humble opinion- pretty dang brilliant.

He waits for a time when it’s just him and Ben in the main level of the clubhouse (Yaz is running laps around their perimeter, Darius is in his bunk writing in his nerd book, Brooklynn and Sammy are upstairs going over inventory) and then announces he’s going for a shower. His daily showers are common knowledge at this point, so Ben just nods in acknowledgement and goes back to leaning against the railing, watching Bumpy graze down below in that tense-silent-anxious way of his.

Kenji sets up the shower and lets it run (he’ll go down to the river later and get more water to make up for the waste, because even though he tries to avoid manual labor whenever possible, it’s totally worth it in this case). And then, being more careful and silent than he’s ever been (except maybe in cases where he’s being hunted by dinos), he slowly creeps up behind Ben before leaping forward with a shriek, grabbing him by the shoulders.

Ben doesn’t just jump and scream. He jumps, screams, then spins around and swings a fist into Kenji’s jaw in one smooth motion.

Kenji’s laughing even as he staggers back, his jaw stinging (because at the end of the day, even though Ben’s kind of a badass now, he’s still Ben and his arms are pretty much chicken wings so there’s no real harm done, just a bruise at most). Plus that’s a valid reaction, considering everything, and he can’t say he didn’t deserve it.

“Oh man, I totally got you!” Kenji says anyways, to rub it in. “You should see your… face...”

And Kenji trails off because now he’s seeing Ben’s face.

What Kenji expected is this:

Once Ben realized it was just him pulling a prank, he would get mad. In that totally non-threatening dorky Ben way, where he scrunches his nose and puffs out his cheeks, his little fists clenched at his side like an irate toddler. Maybe he’d stomp off but it’d be worth it because being mad is better than being tense-silent-anxious and it’d give him the chance to be annoyed with Kenji. And maybe Ben being annoyed with Kenji would help everything feel a little more normal, a little more like before.

What Kenji gets is this:

Once Ben realizes it was just him pulling a prank, he doesn’t get mad. He starts shaking. Violently, uncontrollably. Like he’s suddenly come down with hypothermia despite being in a tropical jungle, staring at Kenji all the while and not saying a word. His chest rises and falls rapidly in little panicky breaths and the kind of fear in his eyes isn’t the kind that’s funny. It’s glassy-eyed with shrunken pupils that dart around Kenji’s face, frightened and searching, as if he isn’t fully seeing it.

Kenji’s mouth is dry. “Ben…?” he croaks out.

Ben swallows. “Oh,” he says, in a very small voice. “It’s you.”

Kenji hasn’t heard Ben’s voice sound that small since before, and it doesn’t feel like a victory.

By now, of course, the others have noticed the commotion and it doesn’t take more than a second for them to piece together what happened. Yaz rounds on Kenji with a furious snarl and whisper-screams a lecture about how stupid and irresponsible he is. Darius is immediately trying to mediate the situation while Sammy frantically asks Ben if he’s okay, to which he doesn’t respond. Brooklynn steps in, citing an unboxing video about dealing with shock, and when she goes to put a hand on Ben’s shoulder, he lets her.

And now Kenji realizes where he miscalculated. Ben never showed discomfort with physical contact before because he’d never been surprised by it before (because Ben has gotten scary good at being alert, always keeping an eye and an ear out on his surroundings even in the middle of a conversation). And when it came to his friends, it wasn’t unexpected for Sammy to rush in with a hug or Darius to pat his shoulder or Brooklynn to playfully knock elbows.

But Kenji snuck up on him, so Ben’s first thought wasn’t that it was a friend. It was that he was going to have to run for his life, like he has countless times since being stranded on this island.

Kenji apologizes over and over again as Darius gently leads him away by the elbow and Brooklynn talks to Ben in low tones while Sammy squeezes his hand and Yaz takes up a lookout position because they can’t afford for all of them to be distracted even though she occasionally cuts a glare at Kenji out of the corner of her eye so it’s really debatable how vigilant she’s actually being.

Throughout it all, Ben doesn’t get mad, but he doesn’t stop shaking.

~*~

Darius explains it, later.

“The sudden fear reaction signaled a bunch of adrenaline to be released into his bloodstream, to give him the energy needed for running. And then, when he didn’t, there was nowhere for that energy to go. It’s like, even though his mind knew there wasn’t any danger, his body wasn’t convinced.” Then, a sympathetic look. “You didn’t know, man.”

Kenji only nods. But knowing doesn’t make it better because even though Ben’s stopped shaking he doesn’t turn his back on Kenji anymore and somehow that’s a million times worse than if he’d gotten mad.

~*~

There are claws wrapped around Ben’s shoulders and shrieks in his ears.

Wind whips his face and his stomach lurches as he’s carried through the air, weightless, at the mercy of the Pteranodon. He’s never felt so small and utterly helpless before, not once in his life. Even his screams aren’t big enough to carry, snatched away by the wind and deafened by the roars of the terror-birds fighting over the right to tear him limb from limb.

And then he’s falling and has other things to worry about.

~*~

Ben stops sharing Kenji’s bunk.

~*~

In a rare moment of downtime, Yasmina is curled up with Darius’s field guide, adding a few more illustrations, when she feels Ben staring at her.

It’s not the first time she’s felt him staring at her. It is the first time, however, that she decides to stare back.

She means it to be playful, at first. She meets his eyes, one brow quirked as if to say, ‘What, is there something on my face?’ But instead of glancing away in sheepish embarrassment or jolting out of a daze, Ben just stares back. There’s no emotion in his expression at all except intense focus.

The faint smile drops from Yasmina’s face as she stares back in surprise. Then, with ever-growing confusion and a fair amount of alarm, she realizes that Ben’s shoulders are rising, tense and hunched like he’s trying to make himself look bigger.

Like an animal.

Yasmina knows what it is to stare down a wild animal. She’s felt predatory eyes on her before and either bolted or turned to face the challenge. And that’s what it is, for some of the dinos- a challenge. Sometimes they’re testing your mettle, and standing your ground is enough to make them back off.

Ben must’ve learned that, too. And for whatever reason, he’s slipping into that behavior now.

It’s a ridiculous thought. This is Ben, her friend. Her very scrawny friend who can’t weigh more than ninety pounds soaking wet, and prefers a diet of berries and grubs. And yet, here he is, staring her down like she’s a particularly bold pack of Compies that’s decided to threaten him.

Yasmina gives a slow, deliberate blink. “Ben?” she calls. “What’s up?”

Just like that, the spell is broken. Ben gives a violent start, blinking and shaking his head. Yasmina sees confusion flash across his face, and then realization. And now the embarrassment comes, but it’s darkened by something like horror.

Without a word, Ben turns and darts away, scrambling down the ladder to the alcove underneath the house where Bumpy’s napping.

Yasmina lets him go, too baffled and unsettled to form words.

~*~

Eventually, Yasmina tells Darius about it.

His expression is troubled as she runs through the incident. But in the end, there’s nothing more he can tell her than what she’s already worked out on her own. It’s just another side effect of the mindset Ben has adopted throughout his isolation. Those habits were what he relied on to survive, and it’ll take time for him to realize he doesn’t have to constantly be on edge now that he’s got a team to look out for him.

Though privately, Yasmina wonders if maybe the rest of them should take a page out of Ben’s book. Seems like he’s got a better handle on survival than they do.

(And then she thinks how Sammy would react, if Yasmina started acting like a wary animal around her, and she realizes Ben’s methods come with a price.)

~*~

After Ben runs the Compies off for the first time, staring becomes a defense tactic.

It’s not always the Compies, who are slowly but surely learning not to mess with him. Sometimes it’s the Parasaurolophus in the river, or the lone Pteranodon perched in a tree, or the group of Edmontosauruses grazing on the hilltop. As soon as he feels their eyes on him, he knows his best chance is to stare back, to show that he’s willing to put up a fight, that chasing him wouldn’t be worth it.

Obviously, there are some dinosaurs that doesn’t work on. But if Ben can drastically cut down the amount of time spent running for his life by standing his ground, then he’ll take it.

All he has to do is not back down.

~*~

Ben avoids Yasmina for the next few days.

~*~

Brooklynn wakes up in the middle of the night with an unshakeable feeling that something is wrong.

Her bad feeling is confirmed when she gets a look at the moon. Based on its position in the sky, she should’ve been woken up by Ben to take her night watch shift at least an hour ago. This practice, established by Darius months ago who insisted they should always have at least one person awake, has already become routine within the group. Brooklynn couldn’t sleep fully through the night if she tried.

Ben’s only just recently become a part of the routine. Immediately after his return, Darius thought it best just to let Ben settle in and get as much rest as he could, now that he had the security to do so, and everyone agreed. Ben had insisted he didn’t mind, but Darius stood firm, so it’s only been within the last few days that Ben took part.

But this is the first time he hasn’t woken Brooklynn up and her heart is in her throat as she rushes to the lookout point-

Only to find Ben sitting right where he’s supposed to be, looking out over their compound as a small candle burns next to him.

As soon as Brooklynn’s relief passes, it’s replaced with anger. “What are you doing?” she whispers furiously.

Ben, not at all surprised by her presence, gives her a sidelong look. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You were supposed to wake me up, so I could do night watch.” Brooklynn struggles to keep her voice low, so as not to alert the others. “What gives?”

Ben shrugs. “I knew I wasn’t gonna sleep tonight, so I figured I’d just take the whole watch myself.”

“That’s not how this works,” Brooklynn hisses, crossing her arms. “Even if you can’t fall asleep- and I’ve totally been there- you have to lay down and close your eyes and rest. You need to rest.”

Ben breaks into an easy smile, but Brooklynn can see the annoyed creases at his eyes. “Hey, it’s fine. I can-”

“Take care of yourself, I know,” Brooklynn interrupts, hating how frustrated she sounds but unable to help it. “But you don’t have to. We’re a team. We can take care of you too, alright?”

Ben stares at her for a moment. “I know that,” he says, sounding uncertain.

Brooklynn softens. When she reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, he lets her. “Then… why?”

“I don’t know,” Ben admits. The muscles beneath Brooklynn’s hand are so tense, it feels like they’re going to snap. “I don’t know.”

They finish the night watch together.

~*~

Brooklynn almost hates to bring it up to Darius.

Dude’s stressing almost nonstop about everything, all the time. And it really isn’t fair for him to be responsible for the rest of them, including Ben. But Darius is the only one who seems to have the… what’s it called, emotional intelligence, she supposes, to weigh in on the situation.

(Sammy is a close second, but her brand of caring is a little more touchy-feely, and this doesn’t seem like the right time for that.)

Darius is immediately worried, pointing out that Ben might accidentally fall asleep on watch if he keeps this up (something Brooklynn hadn’t even thought about). He promises to talk to Ben about it, and that’s that.

Brooklynn is only slightly relieved because she knows if Darius had a real fix for the problem, he would’ve said so. And if Darius doesn’t have a fix for it, maybe there isn’t one.

~*~

Those first several nights, Ben doesn’t sleep at all.

And it’s not for lack of trying. But how can he sleep, when it’s pitch black and the jungle is full of unfamiliar sounds and he’s got no one but a baby Ankylosaurus by his side? He soon finds it’s even worse without Bumpy, though, because at least he trusted that Bumpy would wake up if there was any danger, as her senses are more powerful than his.

On his own, there’s no one to wake him up. So he has to stay up, and settle for catching short scattered naps throughout the day (if he can find a tree to hide up in).

It’s hard, but he’d rather be tired than dead.

~*~

Ben is taken off night watch, but still ends up awake more often than not.

~*~

Pyromaniac is a word no one ever expected to become synonymous with Ben, and yet here they are.

It’s one of the first things he always suggests as an answer to a problem; blow something up. Darius has a million reasons for them not to do that; they could get hurt, they could start a wildfire and burn the jungle down, they could attract unwanted attention from predators.

But that doesn’t stop Ben from cataloguing everything on the island that can be used as an explosive, memorizing their locations or creating hidden stashes. It doesn’t stop him from using the candles that came with the scavenged emergency kits. He’ll light them for no reason, just to watch the small flame flicker back and forth.

(Someday, months later, they’ll encounter a horrific hybrid dinosaur that is drawn to flames, and they’ll all think about how unsettling it is that Ben shares this trait, but none of them will say it.)

~*~

It’s been one week since Bumpy left, and Ben is starting a fire.

Just a small one. It rained all day and he’s soaked to the bone, which normally wouldn’t be a huge problem considering the jungle climate. But now that it’s nighttime, there’s a chill in the air and he can’t afford to get sick. It’s risky, because at night he knows the light could draw attention to him, but his teeth are starting to chatter so there’s no helping it.

When a Stegosaurus stumbles upon him, baying low and angry at finding another creature in its territory, it’s the fire that makes it balk. Rumbling displeasure, it retreats back into the dark jungle. Ben quickly adds torches to his arsenal, using the rest of his shirt as tinder.

Fire is safety.

~*~

Ben lights his candles in silence.

~*~

“You can’t just run off like that,” Kenji says, deadly serious.

Ben scoffs. “I think you’re forgetting who defeated Toro,” he says with an easy smile.

“You’re not invincible, Ben!” Kenji snaps. The anger churning inside him is deceptively hollow, like it’s masking something else. “And I can’t lose you again.”

Ben isn’t smiling anymore. “You won’t,” he mutters, pushing past Kenji. “I can take care of myself, now. I don’t need you to play the hero and protect me.”

Kenji wants to protest that’s not what this is about, and that’s never been what this is about, but Ben is already gone.

~*~

Ben still lives off berries and grubs.

~*~

“… and so I was thinking, berries have seeds in them, right? So if we plant some, we’ll have our own berry bushes at the clubhouse. It’ll cut down our foraging time in the mornings for sure, and-”

“Uh, who are you talking to, Ben?”

Ben blinks at Yasmina’s voice, the girl having only just entered the room.

“Um, Bumpy?” he says, as if this should be obvious.

Yasmina glances out at the compound, where Bumpy is fast asleep and well out of earshot.

“… right.”

~*~

Ben can’t sleep, even when he’s actually trying.

~*~

“Alright,” Darius says, “so we need to get the T-Rex out of Main Street so we can do another sweep for supplies. Any ideas?”

Ben’s hand goes up.

“For the hundredth time, Ben, we aren’t going to feed the T-Rex to the Mosasaurus.”

Ben’s hand goes down.

~*~

Ben feels more at home with Bumpy than the other campers.

~*~

“You know we didn’t mean to leave you, right? We would’ve come back for you if we’d known…”

~*~

Ben never talks about getting off the island.

~*~

“You have to tell us where you’re going, Ben, you can’t just disappear-”

~*~

Ben keeps slipping away.

~*~

“Blowing stuff up isn’t the answer to everything!”

~*~

Ben keeps saying he’s okay.

~*~

“We’re a team, we have to work together-”

~*~

Ben keeps smiling.

~*~

“Don’t you trust us to protect you?”

~*~

Ben doesn’t know.

~*~

Sammy finds Ben sitting on the roof of the clubhouse one day.

Her footsteps are loud and obvious as she approaches him. No chance of sneaking up. She knows he’s noticed her, from the subtle shift in his body. He doesn’t acknowledge her, though, continuing to stare off over the jungle and into the horizon, his skinny legs slotted through the railing and dangling over the edge.

The sun’s about to set, a few stars already twinkling in the purple edges of the sky. Sammy can remember another night, months ago, where Ben wasn’t here but everyone else was and they spotted bonfire smoke in the distance. She remembers the way her heart raced, the overwhelming joy and relief flooding through her. And yet, there had been undeniable heartache, because the realization that they’d made it out only meant it was more unfair that Ben hadn’t.

Sammy breaks the silence after a few moments.

“Are you okay?”

Ben doesn’t look at her, but she can see the easy smile that slants across his face, dying sunlight reflected in his eyes.

“Yeah.”

Sammy sees the lie for what it is. None of them are okay. No one who’s been through what they have would be. But there’s a certain danger that comes with not being willing to admit it, and an even greater danger that comes with not being able to see it.

“Y’know, it’d be fine if you weren’t.”

Ben doesn’t answer.

Sammy sits with him until the sky turns dark.

~*~

It’s the way he struggles to eat anything he hasn’t obtained by himself.

It’s the way he sometimes goes off on his own without telling anyone.

It’s the way he talks to himself when he thinks no one else is around.

It’s the way he takes any concern for his safety as a personal attack.

It’s the way he leaps at the chance to blow something up.

It’s the way he can stare silently for hours.

It’s the way he smiles a little too easily.

~*~

It’s not jumping at every unexpected movement, or screaming awake from night terrors, or flinching away from the slightest touch. It’s not loud meltdowns or hysterical sobbing or uncontrollable fits of rage.

(Even though those will come, someday, when the island is just a memory.)

It’s the little things, that- once you notice them- keep piling up.

And suddenly, they don’t seem so little anymore.

~*~

#jurassic world camp cretaceous #camp cretaceous #jwcc #jwcc fanfic #my writing

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ccelinewritess · 5 years ago

Text

the distance between us

pairing- draco malfoy x reader

word count- 9.7k

summary- the first time draco uses the muggle post system, it goes so terribly wrong, and a letter falls into the hands of a girl who was never supposed to see it, a muggle at that.

warnings- curse words, ptsd, anxiety/ panic attacks, depression mention of death, murder, blood and burns aswell as insomia, seperation anxiety (?) and my grammar.if these may trigger you, i suggested not reading.

a/n- this took me a while to get out, sry abt that. the reader was set to live in a canadian town called kelowna, british columbia. it takes place in readers grade 11/12 and dracos 6/7 year. i hope it’s not to self inserted, and you guys can enjoy and relate to it. big thank you to @dracodear for the help on this, love you! also thanks to everyone who left owl name suggestions, all were awesome and i ended up going with @winnsmills suggestion ‘noctua’ ! tumblrs been acting weird, so i hope it lets me post the whole thing. letters are in italics. also please note, this is off the movies timeline! i tried to fit in as many details as possible but some didn’t make it.

the town was widespread. wineries and mountains everywhere, the okanagan lake splitting it down the middle, reconnecting the cities halves by a bridge. little snow and tons of rain. jeep wranglers in every colour roaring around into unholy hours of the night, bustling with life yet all to lonely at times. but hey, that’s kelowna for you.

rain was running down the windows of y/ns most boring class, last period biology. she knew she should be paying attention. she had a high gpa to maintain, and couldn’t afford to fail another class besides french. the last five minutes of blabbering ended after what felt like a year.

‘you are dismissed, ill see you all monday, have a good weekend’ and with that everyone rose, heading to the parking lot as fast as possible in an attemp to dodge traffic. despite pouring rain, the air was hot, and on the ride home y/ns mind raced over every single assignment she had to complete over the next two days, while her hands tapped the steering wheel.

‘english essay, math review, history paper, business management graph’ she muttered under her breath. the town was busy, many students often blew off class to go shopping, or hit a movie, or smoke weed, the possibilities were endless. her house was cool compared to outside, and empty. no one was home, not that it was a surprise to the girl, people weren’t usually home, siblings gone to university, and parents working absurd amounts.

something caught her eye on the counter, an envelope, an ordinary seeming one, but absolutely covered in small pictured stamps with ‘england’ underneath each one. eighteen of them, all different. she knew shouldn’t open it, so she didn’t. at first. but it was irresistible. there was a return address written in the smallest writing she’d ever seen. wogshell, no, wiltshire? she took it to her room, and locked the door before ripping it open. she didn’t want the one time she had something intresting going on to be interrupted by whoever might show up.

her mouth fell open at every line of the same scroll. who was snape? why was this draco boy sending him a letter? he didn’t need his help to kill who? what the fuck was an unbreakable vow and why shouldn’t snape sign it? why was his mum going to see snape? who was the dark lord and why did he pick draco for a task? what kind of name is dumbledore?

what she already knew was confirmed- this letter was most definetly not for her. but newly- she opened a letter from a potential murderer or maybe it was a prank, a sick prank if it was one.

so instead she crafted up quite the response, whoever wrote this was either hysterical or in distress, and needed some sort of company- she thought, atleast.

it had been thirteen days, why wasn’t the letter back yet? the owl still couldn’t fly even about the house without damaging itself further. maybe using the muggle post system was a mistake. but better have it land into the hands of a muggle, who would likely throw it out, than a wizard who would know a death eater would soon be wondering around hogwarts.

as if on que, the door bell rang and echoed through the empty manor. on the porch sat an envelope, with only one stamp, his name in the middle and another he didn’t recognize in the corner. shit, this couldn’t be good. his eye caught the stamp. canada? fuck, this was supposed to go to cokeworth not bloody canada. no one was home so he opened it right there in the foyer.

hello, draco.

i am not snape- nor do i know who snape is. i am also very unfimilar with some of the vocabulary you used. dark lord? unbreakable vow? you seem to have quite the situation going on, if i read correctly. im not exactly stupid, but i do know that this letter was most definitely not supposed to be in my possession. i didn’t know who to send it to, id send it back to you, but you probably don’t want a copy of your own letter. i also know you likely have enough on your plate, but if you’d like someone to talk to im only half a world away, have no sort of schedule and am a good listener, well reader in this case. good luck with whatever task you’ve mentioned. p.s. you had about seventeen stamps to many, first time sending a letter? unfortunate fate, huh ? what kind of name is snape and what the heck is a dumbledore? i suppose it’s none of my business, knowing you likely won’t respond, but if you do i wrote my address on the front. have a good day/ night/ whatever time it is wherever you are.

y/n l/n

tears were welling in dracos eyes, he was floored, in a good and bad way. his task was already going downhill. the letter he sent snape had fallen into the hands of a muggle, who did not throw the letter away, but responded. and snape was likely going to bine himself into the task through the unbreakable vow, which draco was more than able to complete. he wouldn’t have been chosen if he wasn’t, right?

not only had she responded, she offered him help, well distant company, to a stranger who obviously had quite a few problems and she clearly had no regard for her own safety. he couldn’t tell her about the wizarding world. not that he could tell her about anything, she could be lying. he had a task to focus on, he couldn’t write her back.

and that was true- at the time. he had no intent of writing the girl back. and yet he found himself reading the 201 words over and over, running his hands across the paper, expecting them to fade away as he wiped. counting and recounting. he surely couldn’t talk to any of the twats at hogwarts, maybe a stranger could help numb the pain. and as long as he didn’t tell anyone- she couldn’t get hurt, she was to far.

draco was packed for hogwarts, the response at the bottom of the trunk, underneath his clothes. he’d just have to get to the damn school, then he could write all he wanted- without his parents knowledge or ridicule. his mind jumbled together what he was going to say while his friends rambled on. the train pulled up to the castle after dreadful hours and he could barely sit still during the opening feast. his thoughts did falter though, when dumbledore gave his speech, he felt guilty- the shame of his family weighing on his shoulders. he looked around, all his classmates staring in adoration at a man who would be dead ten months from now, and they were sitting in the same room as his killer.

the singular room was nice, he knew it wasn’t for lounge, but for plots of death.

before he began he started making promises to himself. if i get behind on the plan ill won’t write, if snape notices anything about it, ill stop. the list went on and on.

he couldn’t put his pen down, the words continued to fly out the end, was he oversharing?

dear y/n

my deepest apologies that my last letter found it’s way to you. im sure you didn’t expect whatever you may have perceived from it. honestly, i don’t know how it arrived all the way over there. im almost positive you have better things to do than listen to my problems, and i know you had no control over the fact it arrived, but i ask you to please not share this information with anyone. i am unsure if i will take up your offer of amity, if you were serious that is. im at school now, so if you’d like to respond, not that you have to- you can send letters back with my owl, it’ll be faster (and i won’t have to worry about stamps- thanks for the tip by the way)

draco malfoy

and with that noctua was off into the night, and he could only hope that it would make it to her.

droll was running down y/ns chin and she was caught in a dream. suddenly a vigorous tapping on the window pulled her into consciousness, the sight of owl knocking her backwards in a scare. a crash sounded, if the tapping didn’t wake anyone up, that surely did. she almost considered just trying to ignore it, until she noticed a letter tied to its neck and reluctantly opened the window. she’d never seen an owl in real life before, but was aware from school that they weren’t exactly the kindest of creatures. this one just perched on the window while she removed the new enevelope, no stamps in sight. just a neatly printed address, and his in the corner.

from the new letter she learned even more- this wasn’t a prank, draco was a real person, was still in school, and whatever the first misplaced letter contained was true. he had some sort of task and didnt want help, but that was all. so with what she could, she wrote another response. it took an hour and she wasn’t exactly sure what she had written by mid morning.

draco

you’d be quite suprised actually, it gets lonely over here. i still haven’t exactly deciphered your original note, so if you would like to help me understand i think i’d be ready. and no worries about me, my lips are sealed. what is an unbreakable vow, im curious? you go to boarding school? and owls, really? what the hell is up with that? im pretty sure it’s illegal to own one here, but we are countries away, so perhaps it’s different all the way over there. send whatever you want. i do not- by the way- have anything better to do in the slightest.

y/n

he continued to write throughout the month of september, which bled into october before he knew it. he was avoiding questions about the task, just wanting someone to talk to. it wasn’t easy, she was curious, which draco couldn’t exactly be mad at her for that since he continued to write her, accepting the distant friendship that was forming.

he was learning a lot about her aswell. besides french, which he informed her he spoke fluently numerous times, she was a very good student. she was single, he didn’t remember how that came up but made a note in his mind- he couldn’t date her, nor did he know enough about her to be properly involved.

she read a lot of books, sappy romances mostly, couldn’t cook anything deemed edible by anyone, and her favourite colour was green, he smirked when reading that for the first time. she didn’t know what she wanted to do with her future, just not a doctor like her parents wanted.

y/n was sitting in english as her teacher reviewed about univeristy application requirements. only next year they would be getting accepted and denied from their dream schools. she’d spent years dreaming of it, university, and yet somehow a boy half way around the was racing through her mind. she felt horrible about it, the small crush. it was incredibly selfish, falling for a boy with so much going on, he certainly didn’t need her as anything more than a friend to talk to, but he was good with his words, and making her feel important too. her dismissal came and so did a classmate, approaching confident and cocky.

‘hey, l/n’ he said, a smirk on his face

‘oh, uh hey, will’

‘what are doing tonight?’ her mind went blank, any excuse, come on, say something

‘i have plans’ wow real specific, great job, y/n

‘like what’

‘fish funeral, real important stuff, my family is just devastated’ her voice was clearly sarcastic and that was all before she walked right out. no she didn’t exactly have plans, but waiting for dracos owl provided much more company than any date could have. the sight of dracos owl flying towards the pre-opened window was somewhat relieving, she didn’t know why, just the fact that he had not failed yet, and was still out there was nice. she hadn’t had this much company. since last year at least, when her supposed best friend started ghosting her because of some petty shit.

thankfully noctua ad gotten quite good at being discreet when delivering the letters. of all the things on y/ns junior year bucket list, explaining to her parents that she had befriended a british boy with an owl who flyed into her room while her neighbours had a clear view, wasn’t one. she also began keeping a bowl of water under her bed for the owl to drink when it arrived, knowing it couldn’t have been easy travelling back and forth.

y/n

im not fully sure you want to know the depth, yet you seem to want me to corrupt you with my villain with a task baggage. i suppose it couldn’t hurt if i told you about the unbreakable vow. it’s like a promise or a bond, but if you break it then you die. if you can stomach that i may be able to tell you more. how far away do you reckon we are?

draco

draco wasn’t falling behind too far, but his first attemp had failed, and panic attacks were taking up most his time. he never had any, at least not this bad until this year. at least once a day he would start sweating, no matter how cold he was, unable to control his breathing or tears, feeling like the walls were caving in upon him.

that is, besides writing y/n as much as he could. apparently she was being honest, she had no schedule of any sort besides going to school. he hated to say, but he was becoming attached, he didn’t exactly know how either, but everytime he recieved a letter a small weight was lifted from his shoulders, even just when he read it.

noctua was doing the weekly, almost daily round at breakfast with the other owls and draco watched with anticipation as a letter dropped on his lap and owl on his shoulder. he tried to conceal the letter into his robes but pansy had taken matters into her own hands. likely jealous that she’d spent collectively around six hours with him the whole year, and he never talked to her like he used to.

‘ou draco whats this’ twirling the envelope between her hands. the letter had no name, no stamp, only a small heart drawing in the corner.

‘hands off parkinson’ he said while taking the letter back. ‘a letter from my mother, if you must know’ he said knowing that neither his mother or father had written him anything, despite having all the time to do so.

he got up and left the second he was done, not wanting to draw snapes suspicion about who could possibly be more important than working on this task.

he rushed to his room, desperate for more of her words. he tried to picture her voice in his head, but had to remind himself she wasn’t british nor was she from southern america.

draco,

so you just die if you break the promise? intresting. it’s not as hard to stomach as you seem to think, very unique tradition i suppose. you are not a villain draco, you haven’t told me much about it but your to good of a person to have picked any of this for yourself. i calculated when we you were home, seven thousand three hundred something, i don’t know where your fancy boarding school where you have owls for pets is, so it may be further. im ready whenever you are.

y/n

her letter was relieving for him aswell, even in the slightest it helped, but she deserved some sort of answer for helping him take his mind off the task for a couple minutes. he could tell if she wasn’t scared off already, this would do it.

y/n

if you are sure, here it is. dumbledore is my headmaster, the dark lord is a very powerful wizard, and snape is my professor. if i don’t kill dumbledore before july, he will kill me and my family, if i can’t complete the task, snape will kill him under terms of an unbreakable vow. im not a very good villain that’s for sure, my first attemp failed, and my classmate is out cold. i understand if you dont want to write to me anymore, just don’t tell anyone about this, please.

dm.

the only words to describe the feeling that overwhelmed her senses as she read were devastation and shock. tears pooled in her eyes as she tried to imagine herself with that much responsibility to wildhold until july. another detail that caught her eye, wizard? what did he mean by wizard? is that the word for dictator in england? certainly he wasn’t talking about the wizards she read about in storybooks as a child. her hand shook slightly and she debated mentioning it.

draco

you’re silly if you think i’d stop writing you. you need company now more than ever. please don’t hold things back from your letters, you deserve someone to talk to. that is quite the situation, im sorry if i pushed you, you do have enough on your shoulders and i want to help you as much as i can. i hate to ask, but you mentioned ‘wizards’ and i am a bit confused.

all my love

initially, draco went into shock. he knew he was probably oversharing, but didn’t expect to slip up in that way. he begrudgingly admitted; knowing that if this went badly he would likely be banished from the wizarding world, which didn’t seem like such a horrible punishment to him anymore. and yet she was fascinated, by the coins he sent her, the subjects he learned- which she compared to her own much less exciting ones, and everything he told her about it. he could now talk to her about much more, since both his secrets were now out in the open to her. he told her about the about the houses, and they both agreed she would probably be in hufflepuff, well he thought so, her kind and accepting nature, and she didn’t know enough to disagree. and for the first time in the long time he was seeing things differently, completely diminishing the rude behaviour he often displayed towards the house.

she even sent him a picture, the first time he ever saw her face. a large smile spread across her beautiful features, she seemed to be laughing. eyes glistening in the sun even prettier than he could have imagined. he slept with it under his pillow, and could stare at the still image for hours. no it didn’t move around, but he couldnt care less. he only had one picture of himself in his possession and he was young, about four. she was facinated by the moving image, his blonde hair and attitude shining right through. he would owl his mother for a more recent one, but didn’t want to explain why.

the letters were helping him, but the task wasn’t advancing. his second attempt had failed, he was caught sneaking into slughorns party, and harry was onto him. they were also causing him doubt. say they did get the cabinet fixed, he couldn’t see himself killing dumbledore anymore, the more he talked to her he realized he couldn’t be a killer, as cold as he was to some people, but he had to, didnt he?

most importantly every letter she sent gave him a sense of hope. that the second this is over he could move. away from voldemort, and potter, his parents even, england in whole. perhaps not to canada, but it could be a change, half way across the world with the girl who was helping him stay alive through his letters. he just needed to stay alive long enough too see her.

the seasons changed around draco, but his room stayed the same. hot from mysterious potions, for himself and some for dumbledore, he had not had much hope after the wine, though. it was lonely, not that he’d like y/n here, he’d much rather be there, all the way across the world.

may came in a blur, and finals were creeping up. one week y/n sat at her desk, every night, waiting for a letter that didn’t come. on the fifth letterless day she cried. not exactly knowing why, it wasn’t her that had much of a reason to cry, but dracos company had filled her lonely life up with light of its own, leaving it darker than it was before she saw the first letter. she was silly to be so attached and silly to expect him to reciprocate the feelings she had proclaimed in the last one she sent, and should have expected him to stop eventually. so she continued on with school, finding it a bit easier to concentrate now that a draco sized whole was missing from her brain, and her heart aswell.

the next week, though, a letter came, very appreciated by y/n as the whole other universe, british boy forgetting thing wasn’t as easy as it seemed.

y/n

im sorry for not writing, the classmate i mentioned all those months ago woke from the curse, and the potter twat hexed me with a spell id never heard of before. i would have tried to contact with you but i couldn’t exactly trust what my brain was planning on writing, and the cuts are still a bit sore. the cabinets fixed, but even if everything works out okay i won’t be writing very much at all. i’ll be home in july, but the manor will be infested with death eaters and i can’t let you get hurt. thank you for everything l/n.

draco

it stung a little, knowing that the empty feeling the girl just experienced would be more frequent, he didn’t mention anything about what she had said, and that this could be the last time she ever heard from him if he didn’t kill dumbledore. in hindsight, practically telling her she loved him in a letter wasn’t what he needed, she knew that.

he left out the fact that he the spell put a him in a huge emotinal draught. he was exhausted constantly, crying even more than before. the cuts were sore, so he wasn’t holding everything back.

the last month of school came and went all to fast for dracos liking, and death eaters now roamed around the castle, causing havoc where ever they could. his trunk had been shurken so small it looked like a small muggle toy he put into his pocket easily. the dark mark that was stretched across his left arm was now hanging in the gray sky, and the headmaster was no where to be seen. he paced anxiously around a vacant corridor until he heard a pop in the astronomy tower. he didn’t think people could apparate into hogwarts, it would have made his job much easier.

‘harry, get snape, i need snape now’ he seemed exhausted, maybe this wouldn’t be as hard

‘sir im going to sit you down okay, and then ill go get madam pomf-‘

‘severus, harry, I need severus now, go get him and talk to no one else’ he said in a shallow yet somewhat urgent and angry tone.

draco waited for footsteps to disappear, before whipping the door open with his wand already ready.

‘oh hello, draco, nice to see you on this fine evening’ he said nonchalantly, leaning his weight against the wall.

‘EXPELLIARMUS’ draco boomed, successfully disarming the man without counter attempts before glancing around to see a second broom

‘who else is here?’ he said sounding confident but feeling the opposite

‘i could ask you the same question, acting alone are you? you don’t seem supported’

‘no, there are death eaters in your school tonight, and i got them here’ he snarked ‘they’ll be up, any minute now, their fighting down below. i’ve got a job to do’

‘well done boy, if you don’t mind me asking a few questions, before you get on with it, im very intrested’ was he kidding? he knew draco was about to kill him right? wanting to stall, and not fully wanting to kill him he nodded his head yes.

‘you seem scared to act until they join you

‘im not scared, you should be scared’ he snarled, unable to contain the fear in his voice any longer any longer

‘oh draco’ he sighed ‘while we wait for your friends arrive, care to explain how you smuggled them in here? i never imagined it possible, especially not by a student’

‘i had to mend the broken cabinet that no ones used for years, there’s another one in borgin and burkes. montague got stuck in told everyone stories about it, how he could sometimes hear what was going on in the shop and sometimes hear hogwarts like a passage, and i was the only one who discovered what it meant. not even borgin, not you either, i did it right under your nose, you didn’t realize anything’ he said

‘you are right, i didn’t know that. i do- on the other hand, know that you aren’t a killer’

he raised his wand a little higher, feeling wheezy and as though his legs would give in any second

‘how you know that, I’ve done despicable things, you wouldn’t even be able to fathom’

it was dumbledore’s time to pause, glancing up at the sky and looking around the room before continuing

‘draco i know you almost killed katie bell and ron weasley. you’ve been trying to kill me all year, forgive me for saying this, but they’ve been very feeble attempts. to be honest ive wondered wheather your heart has truly been in it’

‘it has, and if you knew why didnt you stop me’

‘snape has been watching over you on my orders’

‘ it’s not on your orders, he promised my mother-‘

‘ofcourse he would tell you that, but it happens to be that i trust professor snape’

‘your losing it then, he’s a double agent, he isn’t working for you- he’s been trying to get in on the action all year, helping me and all. doesn’t matter now- he probably doesn’t even know they are here yet, he will wake up tomorrow and no longer be the dark lords favourite, he will be nothing compare to me’ confidence was building within him

‘very gratifying, we all like being recognized for our hard work, but, draco?im standing here wandless and weak, unable to defend myself, and you have not made any move to kill me, dont blame me for believing you will not, but let’s discuss your options’

‘my options’ he laughed ‘im standing here with a wand, about to kill you’

‘oh dear boy, if you were going to kill me you would have when you disarmed me, not stayed for a little chat’

‘i haven’t got any options, don’t you understand, i have to kill you, or he will kill me’

‘okay, if you don’t want to join the order with your mother where we could protect you, i only have one more question’

‘better hurry, theyre on their way’ he almost laughed which was quickly replaced when Dumbledore said his next words.

‘who is y/n l/n’ at that a tear fell down dracos face, and he lowered his wand almost completely

‘i-i don’t know who that is, odd l-last words’ he stuttered

‘draco dont play dumb now, not after we discovered you are very intelligent. we left some of the security measures from last year that Umbridge enabled, and I couldn’t help but notice hundreds of letters flowing to and from her. i looked into student files, ilvermornies too, nothing, id never heard the name, a muggle i presumed. but of all the things, that had me the most confused. i couldn’t figure out why you would be contacting her, so i did some meddling’

‘WHAT DID YOU DO’

‘fiesty all the sudden, are you? i felt bad after opening this, it seemed very personal, and i probably should given it too you sooner, but i was a bit preoccupied double checking my drinks and all’ dumbledore said handing him the letter.

draco

how is the cabinet coming? it’s raining even more here than usual, all day and night. and don’t talk like that, saying you don’t have a future. you do draco, you deserve another chance and infinite amounts of them. you are just a kid, you shouldn’t be forced to be a hero. you are protecting so many people right now, but i don’t need any. you have given my life enough light in the last few months than i ever recall, and im so thankful that letter came to me. i wish you were here with me right now, but i know you can’t be, so just stay alive, okay?

y/n

more tears fell, he hated being so weak at the mention of her, crying before he completed the blessing his father and bellatrix considered the task to be.

‘she’s right, draco, you deserve another chance’

he was speechless, and could tell Dumbledore knew he found his weakness.

‘i always pictured you and pansy, never in a million years imagined you to be in a relationship with a muggle’

‘no matter who does it, your about to be killed, and im not here to discuss my love life am i?’

‘so you do love her?’ before draco could even think he heard a door open and raised his wand, hiding the letter faster than he had ever moved.

‘shut up, they will kill her’ he said quietly and desperately

in walked fenrir greyback, yaxley, and bellatrix. they made banter of their own, but her words replayed. he couldn’t do it.

‘go on draco’ his aunt whispered into his ear, making him shiver.

‘DO IT, DO IT BOY’ she yelled, in a high pitched and annoying voice

he felt a strong arm over his chest, pushing him aside, and he saw the whoosh of snapes robes and an already pleading dumbledore

‘severus, please’

‘AVADA KEDAVRA’ snape shouted, a green flash producing from the end of his wand, hitting the old man square in the chest. draco rushed over to the edge, watching him fall. it was a long way down.

the rain had sudsided, sunlight leaking into her room during the day. watching the sky at night, failing to find constellations he described many times to her. her wardrobe was mostly untouched, remaining in pyjamas most of the week. the odd time she did leave, she saw her old friends walking and laughing out her car window. eating and socializing felt like a chore, and she hadn’t communicated with the boy since may. he could be dead, she didn’t know. there was no death on the ‘muggle’ news, and draco wasn’t on the top wanted list, not that he likely would be on the television all the way over here. he could be fine, in wiltshire, going to dinner parties and holding balls. or maybe, he too, was sitting in his room staring at the ceiling for days on end. she had now hung the picture of a young draco by her desk, not needing to worry about anyone seeing. her siblings were once again home, but out living their lives so much that it still felt like they were gone. for the first time she noticed his scroll on the back.

‘i was four when this was taken i believe, my hair is very similar, i was quite sassy, im sure that shows without explanation.’ she blushed while reading, it was true. his hands were on his hips whipping his head around.

every day was a surprise around malfoy manor. not the kind of surprise draco liked. not the feeling of butterflies in his stomach when he read y/ns letters, those were replaced by a pit as they were summoned around the large table in the dining room. the first one he attended was horrible, watching his muggle studies teacher being hung above their heads, pleading for the help of severus as she died. he bit his tongue in an attempt to avoid raging about about every comment surrounding muggle culture. each one tore his heart, as he imagined the girl all those kilometres away, the girl he had no contact with, but he looked at her picture as much as possible, and hoped one day he could make her smile again like she did in the image.

senior year was here, and y/n schedule picked up once again. her timetable was full, maybe it was best, a distraction, after a whole summer of thinking alone in her room. draco was on her mind at night, no matter how hard she tried to forget. she’d made friends with her creative promotions partner, logan. he was certainly not intrested in her in anyway besides friends, but company after all this time was enjoyable, just in the hour of class

draco had little privacy, with death eaters in every hallway, conversing with eachother. wherever he went someone was there, until he finally got sick of it and began going to the garden bench. with a book, sometimes, giving some of the sappy love stories y/n mentioned a try or even the poetry books she sent with noctua awhile back, they were okay, but his heart hurt at the feeling of relation in every line. he could only read one or two poems at a time, without tears forming in his green orbs.

sometimes he went with a pen and a notebook. he wrote about everything. the smell of the plants around him, the feeling in his chest when the dark lord called for a meeting. most of the notebook, though, was filled with poems of his own. and letters he had no intention of sending for her own safety. she wasn’t in harms way, though, other followers were preoccupied with ruining weddings and other things they considered fun. he blabbered on for pages, about how he missed seeing noctua fluttering towards him at breakfast. how he rereads the letter that dumbledore gave him the night he died. how she listened to him rant on and on, giving her support no matter how evil he felt. how he found love where it wasn’t supposed to be.

snow was falling once again, he had to dress in layers, making it hard to write often, the plants started dying as cold settled over and his mother no longer babied him like she used to before the death eaters began inhabiting the mansion. he couldn’t keep himself company any longer and gave into the pressure he put on himself. as long as they were careful, she’d be in no destruction- he prayed as he wrote what seemed to be an appropriate response after all this time.

like it had been decades, she flinched at the noise of the owl on the window, carrying a much larger scroll that he’d ever sent before, some parts scratched out and written above. his writing was much less tidy than she remembered, like the letters on the page were anxious for her reaction.

love,

after all this time, im sorry you are just now hearing from me. you have ever single right to be annoyed with me, after you listened to me for months, helping me emotionally in ways i never be able to repay you for. you do not need to forgive me, or write me back. i just wanted to keep you safe. but i needed to tell you everything before it might actually be to late. you’ve probably moved on and forgotten about me, like you should, but i guess im saying that i am alive. i didn’t kill him either. snape did. i thought i was going to be able to, but he started talking about you. he gave me a letter from you that he had already opened, the words repeated in my head over and over. you talked about how i deserved another chance, and how you wish I’d was there with you. right before he died he asked me if i loved you. i knew the answer but didn’t have time to say it. ive read your poetry books, they aren’t as bad as i once thought, i can’t read to many at once. i try to forget what dumbledore said that night, and that night altogether. but one day i read ‘that’s how you know you love someone, i guess. when you cant experience anything without wishing the other person was there to see it too.’ when i sit in the garden i imagine you smelling the flowers, myself picking one and putting it behind your ear. when i go on walks i imagine your hand in mine. youre in my dreams. my never ending thought. i remember the way i felt when we started talking a lot, and how I felt when we didn’t get a chance. you listened to me when no one else offered. not even my parents. i hope your doing okay, and smiling and laughing. i don’t care if we talk about absolutely nothing, i just want to talk to you. i know that’s unfair to you after all ive weighed on you. but i guess that’s all, i love you. draco ♡

well this certainly didn’t get him off her mind. she didn’t need to either. ofcourse she was going to write him back, but she needed time to think about her response. she missed the next day of school, and his owl was comfortably standing on her desk, nibbling away at the water and crumbs. she took an hour long shower, multiple naps, raided her fridge, and had to email the school pretending to be her mum, excusing her for the day. before she even knew what she was going to write, she began on a new piece of paper. she’d have thought longer, but was sure draco would be convinced she stole noctua out of anger.

draco,

wow. i don’t really know what to say. i knew you weren’t a killer, and i meant what i said about you deserving more chances. i will admit i was angry, and a bit confused. i sent that letter with high hopes. i don’t know what i was hoping for at the time, i was being incredibly selfish. but couldn’t help myself feel pained when you didn’t mention it in the next letter when you said harry hexed you. i know we can’t be together, especially not right now, but i love you too. i wish more than anything you were here with me right now, and it was you i’d be graduating with half a year from now. i wish you were in the passenger seat of my car while i drive through the city. i wish you could point out the constellations in the sky. i usually can’t read to many poems either, they get me thinking to much. im ready to write again if you are.

y/n

draco hadn’t felt more joy in a long time. around seven months. she loved him, and that was enough happiness for a life time. he just needed to stay alive.

they continued to stay in touch, almost as if they never stopped talking, entertaining eachother as much as possible, masking their separate misery and the distance between them. he could get time away from the reality that was his life for a while, he thought, until snatchers brought the trio he spent so long bickering with to the manor.

a very distorted looking harry fell before him, his hair tightly gripped by bellatrix.

‘well, is it him’ he knew it was harry. and yet a part of him couldn’t bring himself to letting the boy get killed.

‘i can’t be sure’ he lied

‘draco, look closely son’ lucius said loudly, getting a grip on the back of dracos neck before leaning in and whispering.

‘if we are the ones that hand potter to the dark lord, all will be f-forgiven. a-all will go back to how it was’

his father and the and a snatcher quickly got into an arguement. lucius was yelling something about the manor before narcissa calmed him with a hiss.

‘don’t be shy, sweetie come here take a closer look’

draco was know level with him. the scar was still visible on his forehead, and swollen eyes staring back at him, hopeless.

‘what’s wrong with his face’ draco said

‘yes what is wrong with the boys face’ a shrill voice repeated

‘he was like that when we got him, something he picked up in the forest i reckon’

bellatrix walked away, laughing away at something. the blonde boys eyes were still on harry, before he felt a tap on his shoulder. bellatrix began acting out, yelling about a sword, putting ropes around snatchers neck from the end of her wand. sword now in her hand she walked over to ronald weasley, grabbing his collar and demanding that the boys be put in the cellar.

a different draco would have gladly watched a mudblood be tortured by his aunt. but he flinched at every scream of hermione, unable to watch he went to the next room, resisting tears as he thought of the girl he fell for enduring the same. she had moved onto the goblin- ridiculing it about who got into her vault- and hermiones screams were now gone.

‘youre lucky, goblin, the same won’t go for this one’ he heard footsteps

‘like hell it wont’ he heard ron yell, followed by the expelliarmus and what must have been harry stupefying his father. draco rushed in, now dueling a more normal looking harry, until their attention caught on bellatrix, a knife to grangers throat. they dropped there wands, and he did as instructed, picking them up. lucius was summoning the dark lord when they heard a tittering on the ceiling, and the chandlier crashing. it all moved so fast and harry was now wrestling draco for his wand back. he tried, but harry had already pried it out of his cold and shaky hands.

‘STUPID ELF. THAT COULD HAVE KILLED ME’

‘dobby never meant to kill. dobby only meant to maim or seriously injure’ the house elf squeaked, and draco had never resisted a chuckle so hard.

‘HOW DARE YOU TAKE A WITCHES WAND. HOW DARE YOU DEFY YOUR MASTERS’

‘dobby has no master, dobby is a free elf, and he has come to save Harry Potter and his friends.’ and with that they apparated out, not without bella throwing a knife into the mix.

meanwhile, y/n was receiving letters of her own. not from draco either. letters from the schools she applied to. so far everything was good, except for princeton, but she didn’t have the highest expectations. she was accepted to the university of british columbia, seattle university, even ucla. she only had one letter left, and the large stuffed yellow envelope sat in her hands. she wasn’t sure about it- would she even be able to go to the univeristy of london? it was far, but draco was there, well closer to there atleast. accepted- it read. it was an option, and she still had weeks to think about it.

draco was very hesitant to write after the incident at the manor, the screams of Hermione, and the terrifying looking potter still vivid in his brain and nightmares. he often woke from sleep in a sweat, yet freezing cold. whispers of the war around his house also haunted his mind and soul. he’d walk to the window and look up at the the stars, they were under the same sky, at least. eventually he had to write her, it had been half a month and he couldn’t leave her hanging alone again.

y/n

love, im sorry for being hesitant, but there is going to be a war. i hate to leave you contact-less, but i need you to be safe now more than ever. i couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt. potter and his friends were brought here to the manor, it didn’t last long- they escaped within the hour and a half. with that doped elf, and a goblin too. if you don’t hear from me again, remember i love you. and always will.

draco

of all the letters y/n had recieved, from draco in all, that was probably the most displeasing. a war? like with tanks and bombs? tears were shedding down her face as she wrote the shortest response yet. knowing he most definitely didn’t have time to listen to her talk about schools, and how she got accepted to london, but her parents deemed it to far, ubc would have to do, she’d find her way to him eventually, if they were meant to be.

draco

stay safe, i love you.

yn.

draco now stood at snapes new office, dozens of corpses on the floor, pooled in blood. the dark lord speaking parsel tounge to nagini. no one needed to speak it to know that the man was infuriated about something potter had done.

the information he left was lacking, was he serious? what did wizarding wars even look like? her graduation date was set, June 6th, but it all seemed irrelevant, suddenly picking out a dress didn’t seem as fun as she thought, same with getting portraits taken. should she have said more?

next thing he knew the protection spell was countered and he apparated in, grabbing zabani and goyle by the collar. rushing them into a corridor and waited for the door of the room of requirement to completely vanish before approaching himself. they successfully found harry, opening a box carefully before finally drawing attention to themselves.

‘well well, what brings you here, potter’ draco said, softly, much to his surprise as he meant it to sound snarky and rude

‘i could ask you the same’

‘i believe you have something of mine, and id like it back’ was he becoming… kind?

‘whats wrong with the one you have?’ harry replied

‘it’s my mothers, powerful but different, doesn’t fully understand me, im sure you know the feeling’

‘why didn’t you tell her. bellatrix? you knew it was me, and you didn’t tell her’ he wasn’t exactly sure what to say, nor did he know. harry really didn’t have anything to do with his feelings for y/n, maybe he should have just turned in him when he had the chance, it would all be over if he had.

‘don’t be a wuss draco, just do it now’ goyle whispered in his ear, making him chill the same way bellatrix did on the astronomy tower, almost a year ago.

‘expelliarmus’ hermione half shouted, causing narcissas want to fly out of dracos hands and run the other way.

‘avada kedavra’ goyle missed and weaslebee started chasing after them, yelling something about his girlfriend. turning back around after goyle unsuccessfully casted the fiendfyre curse.

fear was making his body almost rattle as he desperately climbed bookcases in an attemp to outrun the flames. he watched goyle fall, into the orange. yes, he was a complete and utter twat, but wasn’t a half bad friend during dracos bullying peek. his foot slipped, now just his hands were keeping him up, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on. in the distance he saw the three, zooming off to safety in the distance, leaving them their to die. not that he blamed them, after anything he did to them, he would have probably left himself there aswell.

but potter was flying towards him, arm out-stretched, grabbing onto his own and hoisting himself on the broom. had he already died? must not have, because the heat had finally caughten up. feeling as though he was going to pass out, he gripped tighter onto harry, maintaining his position on the broom. so much for staying safe. the second they made it out, they crashed onto the ground. he wanted to thank harry, but found himself running off instead.

explosions and hexes were being sent everywhere. people dying left and right. giants and trolls and spiders helping, he found himself in the slytherin common room. partially because he wanted to say goodbye, as he never wished to return to the building again once he had the choice. and partially as he was now aware of a large burn on his arm, and he felt a need to put off fighting until absolutely necessary. he entered through the portrait, for the last time. it felt like an aquarium, looking out upon the lake filled windows, merpeople and the giant squid often zooming by. he sat down upon the sofa, where he spent countless hours avoiding homework, plotting against potter and swimming in lust of his pure-blood status that now felt like a curse. he went up to his dorm, where he did very similar things. he wondered as to what he would be doing if he was a muggle right now. picking out a suit for graduation, buying a corsage for his date, but he wasn’t, so he best get going. running his hands along the furniture before leaving, not looking back.

the noise in the entrance courtyard had completely been diminished and draco found his way into the crowd of students pooling in. death eaters swarmed towards them at a painfully slow place, his mother and father near the head of the group. he noticed hagrid, towering above them, carrying what could only have been harrys corpse.

he watched carefully as they approached, trying to wedge himself inbetween and behind other students.

‘harry potter is dead’ voldemort paused ‘from now on, you put your faith in me’ silence fell over the hundreds of people who were know gathered. he swished his robes and turned backwards facing his followers

‘HARRY POTTER IS DEAD’ obnoxious and deafening cackles erupted

‘and now is the time to declare yourselves. come to our side, or die’ even more silence fell.

‘draco’ his father hissed before repeating ‘draco’

he felt eyes fall all over him, gazing expectantly. tears ran down his face.

don’t talk like that, saying you don’t have a future. you do draco, you deserve another chance and infinite amounts of them. was this what she meant? he’d been looking for another chance, maybe this was it.

he shook his head no, and noticed his father had fallen a shade of pale he didn’t know existed.

‘Draco, DRACO’ he yelled, clearly enranged, but before he could continue - a movement shifted in hagrids arms, and harry fell out. in a heartbeat draco threw his wand to the scar faced boy. he caught it, looking grateful as he could while casting some sort of spell at nagini. death eaters were disappearing into the air- including lucius, narcissa being dragged with him.

draco didn’t know what to do with himself, he was wandless and he couldn’t fight, unless he wanted to engage in an actual physical duel, which he didn’t. he found himself in the great hall, asking professor sprout if she needed help patching those up, she pulled him into a hug, unexpectantly. he never recalled such contact or connection with a professor. he spent the rest of the battle helping healing wounds with dittany, and caring for those left in the wake. it was a nice distraction from the fact he would most definitely be disowned, left a family-less orphan at 17.

y/n couldn’t blame him for not writing, he clearly stated that it might be the last time. but every night she cried until she couldn’t cry anymore, or until she fell asleep. how could she like him so much? they’d never even met. she didnt really need to see him to know him, his letters told him enough about him. and she could only hope- that if he managed through his six year without killing his headmaster, he could make it through the war.

he delayed going back to the manor for as long as possible, until he decided to apparate directly into his room. he considered packing his things up, but realized no one was home. he was thankful, he don’t think he would ever be able to fully confront his parents again. he fell asleep in his bed, and slept for 48 hours straight. he slept through very vivid dreams, ones of y/n being tortured the same way as Hermione, ones of the dark lord coming alive once again and killing his mother because of his choices. he couldn’t bring himself to sleep again purposefully, no matter how exhausted he was. the days weren’t much better, his mind raced at unbelievable paces. he saw the dead bodies laying around the great hall, the unrecoverable ones. maybe he should have just fallen into the fire, surely that would have been easier. he was slowly becoming thinner, and always needed multiple blankets to even stay at a somewhat warm temperature, his heart beat faster than normal. he often felt pains in his neck, and his eyes were almost always puffy from crying. he spent so much time in bed he almost didn’t hear his owl flutter onto his nightstand mid afternoon, a small package tied loosely around his neck.

he opened it to see a letter, muggle candies and a worn book. suddenly he felt more awake, and be shot up a little to fast then he should have, sitting on the edge of his bed.

draco.

i don’t know where you are, or if youre alive, if youre reading this now. i hope this doesn’t arrive at a bad time. but your 18 now, so happy birthday. if you are seeing this, i still love you. i think about you all the time. i hope you are okay, and safe. in case you don’t end up writing me back, i just thought I’d give you some random information to keep you company and away from your mind. i graduate tomorrow. i look at your picture everyday. I remember what you once told me about following my dreams, so instead of medicine, im going to study literature and business next year. im staying in kelowna aswell for now, hoping maybe you’ll be able to visit someday. im sure you’d like it. my favourite colour is still green. i don’t know what else to say.

always here to listen if you’d like to talk. yn.

was it actually his birthday? had it already been a month since the war? it felt like a year but the visions played over and over like it was yesterday. it took him awhile before it clicked. the war was over, Voldemort was dead and there was no one to stop him from seeing her. he completely disregarded the lightheaded feeling he got when he stood up to fast- and rushed to his wardrobe. it took him a bit longer than he thought to pack up all his clothes, including the thousands of letters he kept hidden in a large drawer. the trunk was a bit heavier than he may have thought, and he ended up needing to take a car, in fear that he may not be able to apparate successfully to the airport without injuring himself. he quickly found out that muggle travelling was harder than he thought, and security and customs were also apparently a thing that all people needed to get through.

he wrapped himself in his cloak and didn’t get a drop of sleep the whole plane ride. it was nighttime when they flew over montreal, and then toronto. the sun rose as they crossed through winnipeg, regina, and calgary. he didn’t know this himself ofcourse, but he aggressively hit the map on the screen in front of him, desperate to know where he was. he only got an hour of half decent sleep before he felt rattling of the plane landing, and he gripped tightly onto the arm rests. he struggled for half an hour before he even got sight of his luggage on the moving thing that went round and round. compared to London, kelownas airport was very small and easy to navigate. the air outside was hot, making draco feel even more self concious about his clothing choices.

y/n put her hair back into a twist with a clip taking a suprising amount of effort to make sure it looked okay. her makeup was natural looking, nothing crazy but she looked gorgeous none the less. she slipped into her black romper, some canadians didn’t wear their fancy dresses to convocation, only something simple to go with the cap and gown. she arrived at the ceremony, seeing everyone, with excited smiles and laughs, conversing amongst themselves. and every memory came rushing back. they sat in rows on a stage, listening to the heartfelt and extremely cheesy speech the staff made every single year. she’d never noticed how many kids were in her age group until they were being called up one by one.

‘alex can’

‘ruth lee’

and the list went on and on until finally

‘y/n l/n’ the moment had come, and she shook everyone’s hand, receiving her diploma and flipping her caps tassel to the left. ‘y/n is staying around next year, and attending the university of british columbia okanogan, good luck l/n’ her principal said and claps continued like they had and the rest of the list finished sooner, or seemed to go by faster, she wasn’t sure.

draco had never had to find a taxi by himself, but once he did he gave the driver the only place he knew, the address he saw on the top corner of her first response almost two years ago.

y/n pulled away from the school grounds, watching them disappear in her rear view mirror. it was hot with a breeze, but she smiled the whole way home. she’d done it, made it through every assignment and class, dealt with attention hungry bitches, and crappy teachers. the next door was truly opening. pulling up to her house, and closing her car door as she hopped out, she watched her feet carry her up to the house. turning the corner, she saw him, sitting there on her steps, a present wrapped horribly in his hands, looking very out of place in his black cloak. she stopped in her own steps and he hesitantly stood up, before she launched herself into his arms breathing in his cologne, finally together after all this time.

#draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy #draco fanfiction #draco x you #draco x female reader #draco x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter headcanon #draco malfoy headcanon #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfic rec #harry potter x y/n #cedric diggory x reader

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ezekielbhandarivalleros · 4 years ago

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Addicted to Weed - Chapter 1

Characters: Jake Tweneboah (MC), Sienna Trinh, Jackie Varma (Mentioned) Ethan Ramsey (Mentioned)

Summary: Sienna finds out about Jake’s weed problem

Rated - M

Taglist: @princess-geek @gamechoices-player @secretaryunpaid @arnikki-2406 @choicesficwriterscreations @riana-drarry @treasure-seeking-elf @lisha1valecha @yourresidentplayer @schnitzelbutterfingers

Also thanks for @secretaryunpaid for helping me make the necessary changes and editsl

Jake let out a sigh of relief as he stepped through into his apartment. Quickly he locked and dead bolted the door, and slid the security chain into place. After nearly three years at the hospital he never entered his apartment without immediately doing those three things. He turned on several lights and moved to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee brewing before dropping himself onto the couch.

Jake retrieved a cup of coffee and settled himself into the couch. He kicked off his shoes to display his mismatched socks as he loosened his tie. He was very glad to be home, but at the same time it increased his anxiety. While he was an introvert and did enjoy spending time alone with Jackie, the last few months had been hard. Lately when he was alone he turned to Weed, but for the past two weeks he had been trying to avoid using it. He hadn't been very successful. He had tried to wean himself off slowly, but once he had taken a small dose he usually got to the point that he didn't care and ended up taking more. Already, though he had only just gotten home, he felt his eyes drifting to the bathroom where he kept the drug hidden. He gripped his coffee cup tightly, trying to fight off the urge to use.

He thought briefly about calling one of the team to see if they wanted to go out for something to eat, but quickly decided against it, deciding he needed the rest of the evening to relax. Jake sighed and put his cup on the coffee table. He rubbed his face and again his eyes drifted to the bathroom. He was so tired, but he knew that he probably wouldn't be able to sleep without some help. He groaned and leaned back on the couch, and tried to distract himself by watching random videos on Youtube.

Abruptly he stood and crossed to the bathroom. He tore open the medicine cabinet and pulled the last of the weed out of its hiding spot in a box meant to hold cough syrup. Not that he really ever had anyone over to his place besides his old roommates, but he still wasn't careless enough to leave it out in the open. He tossed the box aside and unscrewed the top of the bottle. He held it wavering in his hand. He wanted desperately to just tip the bottle to empty the contents into the sink and be done with it. He had had this battle with himself many times before. Two times he had even succeeded, but then found himself calling his dealer only hours later to gain more.

Jake ran into his and Jackie’s bedroom and pulled out pieces of rolling paper and made blunts. Jackie was the only person who knew that he still smoked as he told the others that he quit a few weeks ago. He remained on the floor for quite some time, feeling no desire to move back to the living room with the tv still on.. He was perfectly content where he sat, enjoying the feeling of nothingness and after a while he dozed a bit. He didn't know how much time had passed before he heard a knock at the door. It had probably hadn't been more than an hour or two. He tried to ignore it, but whoever it was knocking was persistent.

Groaning, he rolled to his knees then used the edge of the bed to pull himself to his feet. He legs felt rubbery, so he stood there for a moment to steady himself. He looked at his reflection and stifled a giggle. At the moment he found looking in the mirror incredibly funny, but he wasn't entirely sure why. It felt somewhat surreal, looking at himself. The knocking at the door became more persistent. He sighed. It was probably was one of his friends. No one else ever came to his home this late.

He cringed as his door was pounded on, and this time was accompanied by a voice. "Come on, I know you're home. Please open the door." Jake sighed heavily. Sienna. Of course it was her. Anyone else would probably have given up, but she would be there until two in the morning, still knocking if he thought that was home. Jake shook his head and made his way down the hallway slowly. He hadn't even made it halfway when Sienna knocked again, louder.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Jake called out. He made it to the door and fumbled with the locks, struggling with the security chain. It took several tries for him to be able to slide it free. He swung the door open. "What are you doing here, Sienna?" he asked, not bothering to try to hide his irritation. "Hey, grumpy much?" Sienna smirked and raised her hands. Jake didn't respond except to glare and gave a roll of his eyes. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" "You've never been out this late before. Why did you decide to just show up in the middle of the night?"

"Somebody's cranky when his beauty sleep gets interrupted." Sienna pushed past Jake into the apartment without his invitation. He held up a brown paper bag. "I left the office about an hour after you did and I thought I'd stop and grab some Chinese at that really good restaurant and then realized how close I was to your place so I figured I pick some up for you and Jackie and bring it over here, but as she’s asleep you can have hers”

"That restaurant is almost seven miles from here, Sienna," Jake said.

Sienna didn't seem fazed as he walked into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards for paper plates not caring if she woke Jackie up. "I got those egg rolls that you like." "Okay, I see we're just going to pretend that you showing up here is normal," Jake grumbled. He followed Sienna as he brought the plates to the dining room.

Sienna looked around the luxury apartment, taking in the well-used but comfortable looking furniture and the many shelves housing hundreds of books and the one shelf that contained dozens of science fiction DVDs. " I can definitely tell that you live here and It shows that mostly everything belongs to you."

"It's my apartment, Sienna. Was it supposed to look like someone different lived here?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You usually reserve this level of hostility for occasions."

Jake blushed and looked away. "Sorry. I'm just tired."

Sienna shrugged. "Sit down and eat."

"I'm not really hun—"

"Sit," Sienna interrupted. "Eat." She ordered.

Jake dropped into the chair, looking a bit like a child who had been reprimanded for something. He grabbed one of the egg rolls and took a small bite.

"I'm fine," Jake said quickly.

"How often have you been using the drugs?" Sienna asked conversationally.

Jake looked up, the expression on his face giving the impression of him being a deer caught in the headlights. "What are you talking about?" he asked, voice a little higher than usual.

Sienna pushed his plate of food away and leaned forward, elbows on the table, and his face suddenly deadly serious. "You're high right now, aren't you?”

“Hey, I was still eating that” Jake screamed.

Jake laughed, the sound slightly hysterical. "Sienna, you- you're confused. I-I'm not-… I don't-…" he sputtered, trying to keep the smile on his face. "That's crazy," he finally managed to finish.

Sienna's face was still locked in that serious look. "I'm sorry, kid. I knew something was going on with you, we all did. I thought maybe it was PTSD. But we all left you to deal with it on your own. We should have been there for you. I should have been there. I should have seen. I'm sorry."

The faux smile fell of Jake’s face as she spoke. He dropped his eyes to the table, seeming to struggle with himself to find the words. It looked as though he was trying to decide if he wanted to admit to the drug use or to continue to try to deny it. The internal battle waged for nearly a minute before he looked back up. "Pretty stupid thing to do for someone who's supposed to be a genius isn't it?" he smiled, but it was bitter and self-deprecating.

"Not stupid. Not really smart either," Sienna sighed, looking at Jake his dark eyes troubled. "It's Weed, isn't it?" “Jackie has been telling me.”

Jake nodded, almost imperceptibly, avoiding eye contact. Morgan wasn't reacting to this in a way he had expected. There was no yelling, or threatening. No accusations or anger, only a weary acceptance. "I stole it from one of they younger interns after their first week and got hooked, not even my brother whose a year above me knows. After I ran out I bought my own. I t-… I tried to stop. I really did. I threw it out twice. But I always-… I always got more afterwards." He ran a trembling hand through his hair.

"How often do you take it?"

"Usually only once a day, but I don't take it at all if we're working a case," he elaborated, shooting a quick glance at Sienna.

"Why do you only take it when you're home?" She asked him. She was still acting much to calm for Jake to understand, and things that Jake didn't understand made him nervous.

Jake shook his head. "If the other know, for sure Ethan might have to report it, and you'll be fired. I won't tell him as long as you stop."

Jake looked desperate. "I've tried before, Sienna. I don't think I can do it." He looked so hopeless that it almost made Sienna want to cry.

But she didn't. Instead she leaned forward and put his hand on the older man's shoulder. "Yes, you can, and you will. You've only tried by yourself before. Now you've got help. You don't have to be alone anymore."

#playchoices #choices #oc #sienna trinh #open heart #jake tweneboah

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wickedmilo · 4 years ago

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YOU’RE REALLY NOT MY TYPE | MILO & LUCE

PLACE: A dive bar TIMING: 1:13 AM SUMMARY: Tired of drinking alone, Milo approaches Luce and makes an attempt to befriend her. It does not go well. WRITING PARTNER: @divineluce CONTENT WARNINGS: Addiction, alcoholism, inebriation, PTSD

Milo was drunk. If he considered being inebriated a regular occurrence before his death, he had taken things to an entirely new level after waking up as a vampire. Even with Harsh making an effort to help him learn and understand, things were difficult. Beyond difficult. He missed his old life, missed being in the centre of a crowd, making friends with every single stranger in the smoking area, going home with someone without even knowing their name. He couldn’t do any of those things anymore. Not without an overwhelming desperation for blood. Not without fear, and anxiety clawing viciously at his chest. That didn’t ease the need to drink though, his body was still craving what it had been relying on for years. There was only so much he could do before being alone and sober became too much. Which was how, not for the first time, he found himself at a bar.

It was stupid, he knew it was stupid. But he was so tired. If he could steal even a semblance of his old life back, then he was going to try. He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting alone, staring down at the dregs in his glass, before he finally forced himself to his feet. There was a girl who didn’t look too far from his age, sitting alone just across from where he was lurking in the shadows. If she didn’t want company, he would leave. And if his bloodlust became too great, he was confident he would find a way to excuse himself. With that justification playing over in his mind, he set down his empty glass on her table. “Any chance you’ve reached the point of realising how depressing it is to drink alone, and wouldn’t say no to some company?” He asked, his voice lazy, drawn out by the alcohol in his system. “I mean, tell me to screw myself and I’ll go- I swear, I just- well, I’ve reached that point.”

The nightmares were still coming. She’d heard bits and pieces of the weird dream situation from fucking Leah of all people, a fact that irritated Luce to no end. She’d heard that whatever supernatural bullshit that had been fucking with the town’s collective sleep schedule was over. But, tonight-- just like so many other nights-- Luce’s dreams had jolted her awake and driven her from the place she called home. She could see Lydia’s face, staring at her, wide eyed as she stalked towards her. She could see herself, blood rolling down the wound in her leg, dripping from the knife she’d yanked out of her own flesh. Luce had watched, hovering behind Lydia, and had seen the unrelenting rage in her own eyes as she’d lunged forward and stabbed the iron spear through her body. Luce had felt the iron burn and sear against her skin, she’d heard the begging, pleading screams that still haunted her to this day. And then she’d woken up. And dragged herself here. Some shitty hole in the wall bar with shitty, cheap whiskey. But at least it was cheap.

Staring at the bottom of her glass Luce paused mid sip as some random kid approached her table. He looked as though he’d been drinking just as long as she had and he sounded it too. “If you’re making a pass, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” She said, more tired than irritated for once. “If you actually just want to drink. Sure. Go for it.” She said and gestured to the chair next to her.

Milo laughed, unable to stop the sound from escaping his lips. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He teased, his tone lighthearted, as he took a seat. “You’re really not my type.” Getting comfortable, something that was all too easy to do considering how inebriated he was, he tapped his fingers absentmindedly against his glass. If he leaned back against his chair a little, he could almost ignore the close proximity, the smell of his company’s blood. “So,” he started, watching the girl sitting across from him with an open curiosity. People didn’t just drink alone at bars when they were happy. Not in his experience, at least. “Do you get hit on by strangers very often?”

“Good cuz you’re not mine either.” Luce snorted. This guy looked like he was Nell’s age. A fucking kid. But, hey, if he was old enough to drink, so be it. And even if he wasn’t, she didn’t really give a shit. As he made himself comfortable, Luce stared at the ice cubes in her glass, willing them to melt. She wanted them to melt. For them to bubble and froth and to sublimate straight to vapor. But, they sat stubbornly whole in a pool of amber. Glancing over at the kid, she laughed. “No. Other way around.” She said before lifting the glass to her lips, “Usually, not right now though. Not really looking for that kind of company tonight. And if I was, it wouldn’t be here. Flaming Mo’s, Friction, anywhere but this shitty little bar.” She said, rattling off the usual haunts. Well, usual before shit had gone down with Remmy and Nadia, before her magic refused to flow through her veins.

Milo smiled. The easy, playful nature of the conversation was allowing him to relax. There was still a faint voice in the back of his mind telling him he couldn’t afford to, but it was the same voice that occasionally told him not to drink, or not to accept an unnamed substance from a stranger. He had been readily ignoring it for years. “Oh, really?” He asked, grinning easily at his company’s admission. He had a feeling he was going to like her. “So what’s got you drinking in this shitty little bar?” He asked. “There has to be a reason you aren’t at Flaming Mo’s, or Friction.” He downed what was left in his glass, dregs, really, before turning his attention back to the girl.

Still staring at the ice cubes in her cup, Luce’s lips curled slightly at his question. Nope. A lot of shit had happened in the last year. A lot had changed, including her. But, she still wasn’t the type to just fucking unload her problems to some stranger at the bar. Let alone some kid who looked like he could barely afford his drinks. “Sometimes people just want a change in scene. Nothing wrong with that.” She said coolly, lifting her glass back to her lips. “What about you, huh? What’s got you here? There are plenty of other places in town that don’t card. And they’ve at least got a more lively scene than this,” Luce gestured to the sleepy looking bar, filled with other people who had been doing the same as her before this kid rolled up. They were all quietly stewing in their own thoughts, in their own misery, with a glass in hand because it was easier than sitting in the dark at home.

Milo knew from the look the girl gave him that she wasn’t about to tell her story. Which was only fair when he considered the fact that he definitely wasn’t ready to share his own. “A change of scenery like a downgrade?” He teased, glancing around at the less than classy establishment. There were posters tacked to the walls, thrown into focus by dingy, yellow lighting. The bar was small, the bottles behind it suspiciously dusty. And the lack of patrons was a sign of just how poor the customer service was. In a way, he almost liked it. It felt good to be somewhere so… unbothered. Whoever owned this place wasn’t out to draw crowds, or make money. They just wanted to give people a place to mournfully drown their sorrows, and he respected that.

“Me? Oh, I really was looking for a downgrade.” He countered, sarcasm dripping from his tone. His eyes were shining though, a sign of his good nature. “You think I’m not old enough to drink? I’m 22.” He assured her, amused by the assumption. He had a list compiled in his head of every place in town that didn’t card at the door. Even though he didn’t need it anymore, the information seemed to be seared into his brain. Waving his hand, brushing off the mention of a livelier scene, he wrinkled his nose. He wanted a livelier scene, it just wasn’t an option for him right now. He had begrudgingly been forced to settle. “I’m kind of avoiding people right now…” He realised approaching her contradicted his statement, but it was the truth. Or sort of the truth. “Trying to, anyway.” He added. “Guess I’m not cut out for drinking alone.”

Lips pressing together in a thin line, Luce finished off the last of her drink. “Change of scene like people not bothering me here.” She said pointedly. This wasn’t a place where people made conversation, or met with some friends after work for drinks. That was what places like Dell’s was for. This bar was a dusty hole in the wall where the people here were for one thing only-- cheap drinks. “Uh huh. Sure you are.” Luce said with a shrug as she drummed her hands on the table. She should go home. She should just go home and just… deal. She should just go home and face it. With a sigh, Luce waved to get the sleepy-eyed bartender’s attention and gestured to call it quits.

“Well,” Luce said with a long sigh, knocking on the table as she stood up from her chair, “Sounds like you’ve got some work ahead of you if that’s the case.” She said before putting a twenty on the table, gesturing to the kid as she made eye contact with the bartender. “Use whatever’s left to cover his drinks too.” She said before making her way out the door. “Good luck with whatever’s got you drinking here. Check out Mo’s when you have a chance. It’s a better scene than here.”

Out in the cool night air, Luce paused outside the bar and pulled out her phone. She could Uber home, which would be fine. Or she could walk, it was how she got here in the first place. Without meaning to, Luce realized she was flicking through the contacts on her phone. She still had Remmy’s number. Which didn’t matter-- they’d left town. They were better off away from White Crest. Away from all the fucked up shit here. Away from her. Swallowing, her finger hovered over the delete contact button.

She took a deep breath and hit the button. She had to move on, she had to move beyond her past. And that meant letting go. Stowing her phone back in her pocket, Luce headed back into the night. She had to go home.

Milo frowned, suddenly feeling guilty for disturbing the girl. Although his motivations were often selfish, he never intended to cause trouble for anyone, and now he was forced to wonder whether she had agreed to his company to be polite. Or even worse, maybe she had felt as though she couldn’t say no to him. He stayed silent, listening to her brush off his comments. He liked to think he was self-aware enough to accept the fact that he wasn’t incredibly personable. On multiple occasions he had argued with people purely because they didn’t like his attitude, and looking back on said arguments, he couldn’t exactly blame them for getting upset. But he had kind of, almost been trying here. At the very least he had made a conscious effort not to be a dick. He watched as she flagged down the bartender, dropping a twenty before standing up to leave. “Oh- I… okay.” He couldn’t hide how miserable he felt, though he wasn’t sure why the rejection hurt. He had been alone five minutes ago, did it really matter if he was alone again now? Especially not when somebody had willingly paid for his drinks.

Tapping his fingers against his glass, he downed what was left of the contents, thinking about the last time he had visited Mo’s. He wanted, more than anything, to trust himself in such a busy environment, but he had already taken too many risks. He wasn’t in control. When was he ever in control? Letting out a huff of breath, a habit he had yet to shake, he pushed away from the table too, uncomfortable in the sudden silence. Pulling his cigarettes from his pocket, he had one in his mouth by the time he reached the door, desperate for a distraction from his thoughts. The cold air hitting his skin the moment he stepped outside, the vague scent of the girl he had been talking to still lingered in the air, but she had long since disappeared into the night, apparently desperate to get away from him. He sparked up, leaning against the brick wall behind him as he struggled to force down his emotions. It wouldn’t be the first time he had chased his feelings away with a trusty combination of nicotine, and alcohol. It certainly wouldn’t be the last.

#milo and luce #c:luce #ptsd tw #drug mention tw #alcoholism tw #addiction tw

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i-ate-your-card-decks · 4 years ago

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I hab cute AU for father son duo :0

Masky and Silver chose to move out of the mansion to save them both from there bad past there and past relationships.

They get jobs/part time jobs to save up money, once they saved enough money they bought a runned down and small shop connected to a small house that had only one bedroom. To save the house, they renovated it. Yes it took a few months, and a bit of money, but they were able to have a very nice place to live. This is when they decide to run a plant shop as a living. Silver always loved plants and Masky thought it was a good hint for him to try and quit smoking since smoke isn’t good for the plants. He still smokes a bit, but he’s trying to smoke less and more outside. Silver would buy a ton of seeds from Lowe’s and grow them in the small yard they have.

The house only had a living room, kitchen, bathroom, and one bedroom, so Silver and Masky chose to share a room since they wouldn’t stop arguing about who gets the bedroom and who’s gonna sleep in the living room. And by arguing I mean “no I can sleep in the living room, you sleep in the bedroom!” “no you can sleep in the bedroom I’ll sleep on the couch!” So there’s two beds in the one bedroom and a television, which at times they’ll stay up all night and watch LGBTQIA+ dramas. They don’t have a uniform, they wear what makes them comfortable. And Masky and Silver definitely would have there body confidence raised way up. They even have matching tennis shoes and blue overalls, and sometimes straw hats. Masky thinks it’s a little much, which is fine with Silver.

Now here comes the new relationships! There’s a lesbian girl that visits the two everyday, her names Ari. She’s 19 and is Silvers best friend. Masky’s friends with Aris very supportive dad who’s name is Jacob. Both go out on drinks every once in a while, but not a lot since both of there children hate them drinking any kind of alcohol. And what about the romance? There both dating there daily customers. Silvers dating a 17 year old boy who gets flustered easily and is honestly scared of hurting Silver in any way since he knows a bit of Silvers past relationships. His names Terrence, we can say his a soft and tall dom :D. Maskys dating a 24 year old Demi boy who will never be let down and is always energetic, at times he tries to get Masky just as energetic, but you can guess the old man cannot get energetic my demand. His names Kyle, we can say he’s a theater switch. Silver already calls Kyle ‘papa’, so there gonna be stuck to each-other for a while. They also have a ginger cat they named Milo that visits them a lot, but it mostly roams around.

Now drama! You can’t have a AU without drama! (Well you can) In the town there at, theres another more popular but expensive plant shop. That plant shop is trying to take down and buy Masky and Silvers, which is stressing them out. The town is trying to support them as much as possible since there struggling, especially for there medication. Maskys depression gets a bit worse and Silvers anxiety is always through the roofs. Silver starts breaking during work from the stress, most times it happens are PTSD flashbacks. Masky immediately goes to action and help Silver as much as possible. Same for Masky, he also breaks just not as often, and Silver closes the shop for the rest of the afternoon around that time to give Masky a break for that day. The only thing they have is together, and there both scared that this will break there relationship. Both find small ways to earn a little more money. But, they have amazing partners that help them. And soon it’s half over, there shop is popular enough to where the other shop wasn’t able to just buy it off.

Now some small and minor extra things :D. They have a coffee maker in there room, but they use it for both coffee and tea. Silver has tea while Masky of course is addicted to coffee. For breakfast, they either cook together or go out to a small restaurant that serve breakfast. Both have overweighted blankets with a pride flag on it, Silvers is the non-binary flag while Maskys is the gay flag. They have double dates with Terrence and Kyle a ton of times since they both can’t be separated for even 10 minutes.

If you want to know some more about this AU just ask me! And I would love to know what your HeadCanons are for them and the new characters.

#creepypasta #lost silver #masky #creepypasta au #father son duo #nothing can stop me #this is beautiful

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agent-cupcake · 5 years ago

Text

Dimitri and mental illness

**Warnings for Blue Lions spoilers and armchair psychology

Depending on who you ask, Dimitri is an innocent sweetheart whose actions are entirely excusable and justified or an unforgivable war criminal and overall terrible character. Arguments for both sides have been exhausted, usually in the form of the popular Edelgard versus Dimitri debate, but I feel that both statements are heavily flawed and, truthfully, I think I take more issue with the former. Does it strike anyone else as rather patronizing that the audience (and the game, to an extent) treats Dimitri like an innocent, broken uwu soft boy both before the time skip and once he begins his recovery arc? Of course, a lot of this can be blamed on the awful pacing and poor writing of said recovery (which is the most valid structural critique of his character imo), but there’s a lot to be said about the fan depiction of Dimitri and the way people treat his mental illness. I think the reason this gets me is because I see it as an extension of the problems I have with the romanticization of male-specific mental illness. In this case, “all depressed boys are emasculated, soft, sad bois” and “anger is an accessory that is vanished once the cute boy takes it off” with the related sentiment of “the only two real mental illnesses are depression and anxiety, with a splash of PTSD for argument's sake”. And, speaking of arguments, while many people bring up mental illness in regards to the discussion around Three Houses characters, it is often supplementary to support their points rather than the main point unto itself. Dimitri’s mental illness (aka, the thing his entire arc is predicated upon) is mostly given only a passing recognition in the discussion of his actions. Even then, it’s often used as a justification to defend or lambaste him.

TL;DR Dimitri is a flawed person with a debilitating and incredibly well written mental illness that, while not excusing his actions, allows for further exploration of his character and a well-deserved shot at a recovery arc that is not usually awarded to people with the “non-traditional” mental illnesses. Furthermore, the game offers a wealth of insight as to what they intended his mental illness to be, the symptoms that manifested, and a plausible background to match up with it all and I have the receipts to prove it. Let’s go~

“Me? Oh. Um. Please forgive me... It's difficult to open up on the spot, don't you think? I'm afraid my story has not been a pleasant one... I do hope that doesn't color your view of me, but I understand if that can't be helped.”

I know that mental illness can be singularly caused by a traumatic event or events. That is, generally, how I see people framing Dimitri’s mental illness. My argument, however, is that the Tragedy of Duscur was not the genesis, but the trigger for issues that would exist otherwise. Perhaps it’s due to my own personal experience with mental illness, but I’m almost always more inclined to believe that issues stem from an unlucky combination of many things.

Regardless, my evidence to entertain the idea that he would be naturally predisposed to mental illness is slim. Aside from arguing that it wouldn’t be out of the question for his mother to have been unwell while she was pregnant with him considering she would later die of plague (a cause that in and of itself is subject to skepticism), I would bring up his Crest. In-game there is clear proof that Crests have wide-reaching effects on the person, there are actually a few analysis posts that hypothesize that Crests could be the reason for certain character motivations. In ng+, the Crest of Blaiddyd is called the Grim Dragon Sign. There’s no definitive proof to point to here, but if his Crest was one of the reasons for his mental deterioration it would follow other rules set in-game. Rather than inherited human genetics creating the blueprint for mental issues and the writers having to face that issue on its own terms, it was the Crest’s influence. This goes along with the fact that the game never overtly references Dimitri’s illness, essentially using “the dead” as a blanket symptom of his problems. Both these things are cool ways to imply a possible way to read more deeply without having to use anachronistic medical terms.

Side note: There’s something uncomfortable about the idea of a Crest that gives the individual inhuman strength and mental issues. Grim Dragon indeed.

My next point is one that I don’t see being brought up too often in regards to how it might have affected Dimitri, likely because the events that came later in his life far overshadow it, but Dimitri lost his mom when he was young. The date is not given, but I think it’d be when he was about six-ish. Admittedly, the timeline is strange and non-specific around here but if that were true, it would mean that the plague, Dimitri’s mother’s death, and Lambert and Rodrigue’s war campaign to subjugate the southern half of Sreng would all have happened around the same time. Dimitri says he doesn’t remember it, but that doesn’t necessarily matter. At six years old he had lost one parent and the other one left him to go on a battle march, leaving this child without any sort of parent figure to console him in a country that is culturally opposed to expressing emotion. Lambert will probably always remain a mystery, but I think it could be fair to say he was a poor father. Or at the very least a distant one. Dimitri was undoubtedly a sensitive child (if we’re to judge by the sensitive person he grew up to be) and during the years where he was actually becoming old enough to remember, he had nobody to teach him how to properly navigate and manage his emotions. Emotional neglect in a child who is predisposed to being emotional and empathetic can leave them suffering from a sense of isolation, an inability to ask for help, and a predisposition to having break downs as they get older.

But three-ish years later, possibly one of the best things that ever would happen to Dimitri came to pass and Lambert married Patricia. Dimitri adored her.

“I share no blood with my stepmother, but to hear you say that... It pleases me greatly. She was the one who raised me. I suppose it makes sense that we would share certain mannerisms.” (Dimitri’s B support with Hapi)

I don’t think Dimitri’s feelings about Patricia can be overstated, as I feel it’s one of the most defining aspects of his reactions to things that happen later on. Dimitri talks about Patricia more lovingly than he talks about Lambert. She was in his life for around four to five years but had such an impact on him that even his mannerisms are similar.

Soon after, a ten-year-old Dimitri made his first friend that wasn’t knightly, who didn’t embody those Faerghus ideals of stifling emotions and swinging swords.

People point out the Faerghus crew as Dimitri’s best friends, and yet Edelgard is the one associated with his best memories. It’s just my own assumptions, but I think that it’s because both Edelgard and Patricia gave Dimitri space to be an emotional child, to not have to be the knightly prince who had no emotions and engaged only in the most masculine of activities. And, I mean, look at them. He’s learning to dance and she’s bossing him around, absolutely no regard for propriety.

It’s pretty clear that Dimitri doesn’t feel romantic feelings towards Edelgard in the academy phase, but I think it would be fair to say she was his first love when they were young. He essentially says this was the best year of his life and establishes Edelgard as someone very precious to him (as well as the daughter of one of the most precious people to him). Strong feelings beget strong feelings, do they not?

Google says that eleven to fourteen is the general age of male puberty. It’s the time that kids begin to more fully define how they’re going to emotionally interact with people and the world at large. Meeting Edelgard was at the cusp of this period of Dimitri’s life, and the Tragedy of Duscur was right in the midst of it.

And we all know what that turned out.

Dimitri’s accounts of what happened during the Tragedy are... conflicting. This CG of an unharmed Dimitri in a field of corpses is... conflicting.

“My father...was the strongest man I knew. Someone I loved and admired deeply. That said, he was killed before my eyes. His head severed clean off. My stepmother, the kindest person I had ever known, left me behind and disappeared into the infernal flames.”

I’ve seen people create a plausible scenario in which Dimitri’s recollection is entirely accurate, where he saw Lambert call for revenge and get beheaded, saw Glenn’s ruined body and face twisted in pain, saw his step-mother disappear into the flames, and all despite the raging chaos of the battle and how people would undoubtedly be targeting the prince, but I think it makes more sense that his memories are unreliable. Dimitri suffered a severe head injury (very important to keep in mind) at Duscur. Maybe that happened early on, after seeing who attacked Lambert but before he was an actual target himself, which merely made him look dead. Maybe he saw a version of the events he described, but through the filter of confused head trauma, smoke inhalation, and intense terror. To think that his recollection isn’t exactly entirely reliable sets a precedent for his later skewed take on reality.

Regardless of opinion, though, the facts are that Dimitri left Duscur with a traumatic brain injury and post-traumatic stress disorder.

After that, from thirteen to seventeen, Dimitri was pretty isolated. Most of the people he cared about were dead. His entire emotional support system (Patricia) was gone. He saved Dedue (although they were definitely not on even terms, that relationship is unbalanced to the extreme) and occasionally saw Rodrigue (who I have no reason to believe was emotionally accommodating in any way considering the way he sees Dimitri as an extension of Lambert to his dying breath). Again, it’s strange. People act like Dimitri was super close friends with the Faerghus crew, that he was surrounded by people who loved him (although it is clear there is a lot of love there), but he never presents things in a way to imply that’s the case. In fact, he highlights his isolation:

“In Duscur, I lost my father, stepmother, and closest friends. I didn't have many allies at the castle after that. In truth, I had only Dedue for companionship.”... “I once had people I could confide in. Family, friends, instructors, even the royal soldiers. But they were all taken away from me four years ago.” (Dimitri’s C support with Byleth.)

Two years passed before the next time Dimitri saw his friends and it was a war campaign, putting down the rebellion in western Faerghus. Dimitri speaks about those battles from a place of deeply affected emotion, expressing empathy, pain, and disgust with his actions and the killing.

“I recall coming across a dead soldier's body. He was clutching a locket. Inside was a lock of golden hair. I don't know to whom it belonged. His wife, his daughter...mother, lover... I'll never know.... in that moment, I realized he was also a real person, just like the rest of us… Killing is part of the job, but even so... There are times when I'm chilled to the bone by the depravity of my own actions.” (Dimitri’s B Support with Byleth)

I love this support, honestly. It’s so very telling about the destructive quality of empathy. Although caring can be a good thing, it’s also arguably one of the most destructive of Dimitri’s qualities. His empathy is what presents him with situations he cannot accept, the thing that pushes him to disassociate from reality so he can be rid of it and fight without remorse like he was taught to do by his father and other soldiers. Dimitri is a man of extremes. Either total control or none, without any room for error. This dialogue is also the first time Dimitri brings up reconciling himself with reality and hints to the fact that he has been unable to do so. This is contrasted perfectly in this line from Felix,

“The way you suppressed that rebellion... It was ruthless slaughter and you loved every second. I remember the way you killed your victims. How you watched them suffer. And your face...that expression. All the world's evil packed into it...” (Dimitri’s C Support with Felix)

Dimitri doesn’t deny this. Just like all of the other terrible things Felix says, he takes it without protesting in an act of what I think is stilted contrition. Although, it’s not just in supports that Dimitri’s contrasting behavior is brought up. The Remire incident probably works as a good reference for what Felix saw all those years back.

This is the first time we see Dimitri’s darker side in full. The similarities in the situation to what is shown to have happened in the Tragedy of Duscur are interesting. The fire, the utter chaos, strange figures watching it all from above. This is another case of a perfect disaster. I wonder if his ultimate snap would have been so destructive if not for Remire.

Anyway, this draws parallels to his and Felix’s separate recall of the rebellion because later Dimitri apologizes.

“Professor... I...I'm sorry you saw that side of me in the village… When I saw the chaos and violence there...my mind just went completely dark.”

Dimitri is unreliable. A lack of control, a separation of self, and becoming consumed by a dark rage only to come to his senses later, full of shame and a sense of confusion about why. From my own experience, it’s not unnatural to come out of an episode like this without being able to explain what was happening and being baffled by your behavior. This firmly establishes Dimitri’s uncomfortably fast mood shifts in relation to his trauma from the Tragedy and confirms all of the warnings Felix had given. When Dimitri was faced with a reality he could not accept, he lost control of his emotions and his mental state shifted to adapt accordingly.

This is when I’d also like to note something interesting about how Dimitri discusses his trauma. He is very honest and open about his experiences, explaining exactly what happened to him to Byleth. However, he uses the truth to hide. In recounting the events of the Tragedy of Duscur, in talking about how his family died and saying how badly it hurt him, he does not make himself vulnerable. When he admits weakness, he does so in the past tense or apologetically, vowing to be stronger. “Stronger”, aka, he’ll be better in suppressing his emotions.

“I always strive to keep my emotions at bay, but... Sometimes the darkness takes hold and...it's impossible to suppress. It just shows you how lacking I am... I have much to learn.”

Dimitri lies by using the truth, shoving down his feelings, and blaming himself rather than attempting to figure out how to handle his emotions. In his own words:

“Everyone has something that is unacceptable within them. I certainly do, and I'd wager you do as well. I wonder which is best, Professor... To cut away that which is unacceptable, or to find a way to accept it anyway...”

Good advice Dimitri. Might want to keep that in mind.

It is at this point is when I’m going to get into my personal thoughts and armchair psychiatry nonsense.

First off, when I mentioned earlier about “non-traditional” mental illness, I did not mean abnormal or rare. Although people mostly just point to Dimitri having PTSD (and depression) as the source of his issues, I’m going to use all of my above information to make the (decently common) argument that Dimitri is schizophrenic, which is, contrary to popular belief, not too unusual. I state that with the caveat that I understand that there’s a lot to be said about schizophrenia and the tumultuous relationship between mental health and fiction. However, now is not really the time to go into mental health politics and representation or the many lies spread about the illness so instead, I recommend that you read into the topic if you’re personally interested (This has some good information).

At the very least be aware that this IS sensationalized.

That said, Dimitri does not, to my understanding using grossly simplified terms, meet the qualifications generally (very generally) used to diagnose schizophrenia through the majority of the White Clouds chapters. These qualifying symptoms include, but are not limited to, the duration of the psychotic episode, the concurrent presence of hallucinations and delusions, and a greatly lowered ability to keep up with basic quality-of-life tasks. You only see these symptoms in the final chapter of White Clouds and the first few of Azure Moon. This isn’t unusual, however, because schizophrenia manifesting fully in younger individuals is extremely uncommon, sometimes taking years to trigger during a person’s late teens. And since the diagnosis generally relies on the occurrence of a psychotic episode, it can be mistaken as other mood disorders. Actually, the idea of him having a mood disorder was one of the things that caught my eye originally. Prodromal symptoms such as depression, irritability, headaches, sleep disruption, and mood swings are common in bipolar disorder (and, of course, schizophrenia).

Still, I don't deny that Dimitri has PTSD and depression, only that I don’t think PTSD is his main (or only) issue. In reality, PTSD and schizophrenia are closely tied. They share many symptoms, even the symptom of psychosis. There’s also evidence that those with genetic precedent to develop PTSD overlap with those at risk for schizophrenia, and that the nature of PTSD triggers can act as a severe stressor to aggravate a schizophrenic episode.

(From here)

This falls into the realm of being uncertain where one ends the other begins, highlighting the lack of concrete understanding about schizophrenia and the dependency of diagnosis and treatment to rely entirely on the individual experience, but that’s not a conversation I’m actually qualified to have.

The study that truly caught my eye and while researching for this was one called “Psychiatric disorders and traumatic brain injury”. As I mentioned, at some point during the Tragedy, Dimitri sustained severe head trauma. We know this because of his development of the rare inability to taste called ageusia. I was originally interested in following this narrative thread because, as you might know if you follow true crime cases, there are many murderers who recall having sustained a head injury as children. Not that Dimitri shares similar psychology to people that kill and eat their victim's feet... Although his body count is higher. Besides that, head trauma, in general, is known to be linked to mental illness and altering a person’s behavior. There is even a correlation between TBI (traumatic brain injury) and schizophrenia.

From the study I linked above:

To put it more simply, patients in the study who had suffered TBI and developed schizophrenia reported that their most common symptoms were delusions of persecution, auditory hallucinations, and aggressive behaviors. The auditory hallucinations were often voices. Many of the subjects experienced psychotic episodes two or more years after the initial incident (although, as I mentioned, Dimitri’s age could also have something to do with the timing as children rarely have fully developed schizophrenic episodes). Furthermore, the behaviors classified as an absence of normal behaviors called “negative symptoms” (which include apathy and disordered speech) were rare in this testing group.

Dimitri exclusively displays “positive” symptoms of schizophrenia (“positive” meaning the presence of symptoms such as hallucinations and delusions). He also clearly suffers from delusions of persecution in his belief that Edelgard is the sole instigator of Duscur and the war and that he immediately accuses Byleth of being an Imperial spy upon meeting them post time skip. I think it’s pretty fascinating how closely Dimitri’s symptoms follow the outline of the study, especially with the aggressive behaviors, as those aren’t actually very common in schizophrenics.

In very, very simplistic terms, if I’m right and Dimitri was born with the genetic blueprint for schizophrenia/PTSD (through Crests, inheritance, or environmental causes) and later suffered severe head trauma in an event that also gave him PTSD in combination with his pre-existing parental issues and stilted emotional development, then this could definitely create the type of person who loses all sense of reality, can’t control his emotions, and is prone to episodes of murderous rage when being reminded of the trigger (however tangentially) of losing everything he loved.

However, I’ll add real quick that the study I mentioned should be taken with a grain of salt.

I use it mainly because I thought the similarities were interesting and it shows that there was more thought put into Dimitri than maybe people appreciate.

This brings us to my final point; Some kind of twisted joke.

A major point I saw being made as proof of how terrible Dimitri is as a character was that he blamed Edelgard for the Tragedy of Duscur (a time where she would have been twelve). More accurately, he blamed her for everything that had happened and the thing is, I don’t disagree with that critique entirely. However, this is a case of him being a bad person, not a bad character. This might seem like an odd distinction, but I think it changes the scope of deserved criticism.

As I’ve been trying so desperately to illustrate, Dimitri snapping wasn’t just because of Edelgard being revealed as the Flame Emperor. Rather, it was an unlucky combination of many things. His grasp and interpretation of reality were already hazy at best by the time she was unmasked, slowly falling apart as his prodromal symptoms worsened. Going into the fight, he believed the Flame Emperor to be responsible in whole or in part for the worst thing that had ever happened to him, guessed at Arundel’s involvement, had found (and lied about) the dagger, and was rapidly mentally deteriorating. While Dimitri suspected Edelgard’s involvement to some degree, he did his best to act like it wasn’t true.

Dimitri didn’t want it to be true. To the extent that he was willing to lie to Byleth (and to himself) to avoid reality. He cared deeply about Edelgard. The best year of his life was spent with her, she was his first love, and she was the daughter of the step-mother he adored. Strong feelings beget strong feelings, do they not? This reveal confronted Dimitri with something that he could not accept, so his mind sidestepped the issue altogether. Delusion convinced him that all of the fears and worries he had beforehand were related, all into one larger delusion that Edelgard had sole responsibility. It’s not right and maybe not even excusable, but it falls in line with everything else.

Edelgard and Dimitri. Bound by some twisted fate but forever doomed to be separated, unable to understand the other’s chosen path.

I do recognize the flaws of Dimitri’s character and arc. There are some pretty major flaws. I have parts of a post typed out about his shoddy recovery and how I’d fix it that, hopefully, one day will see the light of day as well as many complaints about the way the story is hindered by the need for flexibility to accommodate gameplay and a happy ending.

But, despite that, this has all been a very long-winded way of praising Dimitri’s writing. His mental illness has a surprising amount of depth and I loved studying it as intently as I did. I learned a lot about his character as well as about mental illness in general.

Ultimately, Dimitri is neither an innocent sweetheart whose actions are entirely excusable and justified or an unforgivable war criminal and overall terrible character. You can feel bad for his pain and his struggle with his illness and understand that as a reason for his actions, but you shouldn’t use it as justification. He had the opportunity to seek help before things got too bad. He was selfish with the mismanagement of his emotions and goals. However, he also was a victim. Dimitri worked to recover and mend the mistakes he made while he was unwell, which is a side of this mental illness that is rarely shown in media.

I wholeheartedly believe that, love him or hate him, Dimitri is the most well-written of the Three Houses characters,

#dimitri #fe dimitri #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fire emblem 16 #fire emblem #FE3H #fire emblem three houses #i spent an ungodly amount of time on this feel free to share your thoughts

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glitterwolfvi · 5 years ago

Note

Can you talk abt ur favourite fallout character and your hcs for them?

OK YEAH I CAN! this is going to maybe get a bit long tho because I have.. a few favorites from each game

also in general, I want to smooch all the ghouls

Fallout 3

Butch DeLoria: ah yes, the boy, the bastard. I love him and his whole look, and the Tunnel Snakes! first off, I like to imagine he is a GNC Trans Masc dude, he’s gay, and he’s 5′1. he/him pronouns! he HATES how short he is and will fight anyone who calls him that, don’t test him. huge fear of radroaches AND the dark, don’t mix them. he’s bipolar and autistic, and favors vocal stims. echolalia!!! growing up he was forced to be pretty feminine and hated that he was forced, so when he first came out, he tried to be as masc as possible, but later at 19, he started letting himself being as feminine as he wants, but not forcing it, y’know? smokes and drinks. later, I imagine he absolutely gets his gang up and running again, with better people. they stab transphobes. Tunnel Snakes Rule!!

Charon: heart eyes motherfucker. I love him. he’s a big dude, and I mean big. 6′10. he’s bi! he/him pronouns! he’s always super nervous to act on his attractions, because not only is he a ghoul, he’s honor bound to a contract. Azrukhal said he got hypnotized to follow it I think?? I imagine he actually did! he’s not a pre-war ghoul, but a more recent one. maybe ghoulified during the what the people did to hypnotize him. canonly, he has a 3 Intelligence, and I like to think before he got hypnotized, he had a higher Int. but still had a low Charisma heh. probably also has a brain injury. selective mutism! BIG softie under all that grump

Sergeant RL-3: love this Mister Gutsy! I think he sounds way too like.. charming to be a Gutsy, but I love it. good robot! they’re definitely demi-bi/ace and Masc Nonbinary! He/They pronouns for this bot. they’re protective of the Lone Wanderer, and he just wants them safe and secure. I think he should be a companion that doesn’t have karma requirements to have them. despite his... patriotic comments, I feel like he doesn’t really care who you are or what you follow, as long as you don’t harm those they care about. the patriotism is just how he was programmed anyways. they love to just be called Sarge, rather than Sergeant RL-3

Gob: ;o; I want him to be safe and ok. Trans Masc and bi with a preference for men. He/They. 5′6. PTSD, anxiety, depression. he’s autistic too! vocal stimming and hand flaps. but he can’t because of stupid Moriarty. loves his lesbian moms and just wants to go back to them, where he’s safe. crush on Charon!

Fallout: New Vegas

Raul Tejada: love this old ghoul and his voice. augh I just can’t get over it. anyways, he’s gay, 5′8, and he/him pronouns. he absolutely hates being alone, but is scared to get close to anybody. if you do manage to get close to this man, he’s a ride or die kind of friend, y’know? he’s also the type of guy for lots of platonic ‘I love you’s and cheek kisses if you’re close. he doesn’t like when those he cares about wanders far from him when they’re traveling, and gets super nervous, and just wants to run and make sure they’re ok. he respects boundaries, but still worries over them. sweet man, jokes a lot, but also complains a lot about being old

Arcade Gannon: I haven’t known him for very long, but I love he. he’s a Demi-Boy, he’s gay, and he/they pronouns. 6′0. autistic and will go on and on about certain topics, there’s no stopping him. not like you’d want to, but still. likes the sound of a clicking pen and stims with it. more stims than that, but y’know, his favorite. he has lots of anxiety, but does have plenty of ways to cope. he gets crushes super easily. you’re nice to him? he loves you. that cute guy over there that said hi to him? love. dhfgkjgf

Lily Bowen: don’t have much for headcanons. but just... grandma. I love her. lesbian grandma. she/her

Yes Man: the best bot in the Mojave!!! good bot!!!! baby boy. baby. anyways, Masc Nonbinary, bi, and He/They. just loves everyone! easy to make friends with. when he’s allowed to feel other things and say no, he’s still super friendly and happy. he just... he’s filled with love. shaped like a friend. relationships with them? lots and lots of affection, and sweet gestures, and gifts. he tries his best, and likes making people happy. but he’s also a sarcastic shit at times, and can get very passive-aggressive

Fallout 4

Deacon: stealth egg!!!! Trans Masc Genderfluid, Demi-Bi, and He/They/She. 5′5. the sunglasses are to hide who he was. jokes about his depression and anxiety and ptsd. which is.. not good. he’s super good at sewing. he has lots of wigs, but that pompadour is his favorite! it’s so so so hard to get him to open up, but when you do, it’s only in private, with said person, but when he is, he’s super sweet and soft-spoken, makes less jokes. sensitive, but has it easier time hiding it when not being... himself

RJ MacCready: trash husband. rude garbage weasel. I want to smooch. Trans Masc, Bi, and he/him. 5′2. don’t call him a mungo, he gets super whiny and pouty. he’s a good dad tho and loves his son very much. probably spoils Duncan a shit ton when he’s cured. he’s very awkward with relationships but is very loving. he’s very nervous something will happen to his partner a lot, considering what happened to Lucy. loves dogs a lot

Nick Valentine: ahh, the reason for my last name. synth detective. BETHESDA LET ME ROMANCE HIM. Questioning his gender, Bi, and He/They. 6′0. it’s easy for him to defuse a situation. one of the sweetest people alive. he’s comforting, and if someone he cares about needs it, will sit by them while they sleep, just to make them feel safe. good singing voice. pre-war Nick wasn’t a movie person, more of a book person, so everyone’s favorite synth detective is the same. puts himself down a lot, because he’s an old synth. especially if you confess to him. doesn’t feel like he deserves whoever is his partner, but is so sweet and loving

Ada: not many headcanons for her yet. tiny lesbian bot, she/her. gives you anything that reminds her of you ;o; and random junk to help build settlements

Oswald the Outrageous: LOVE. good ghoul. Trans Masc Nonbinary, Demi-Bi/Ace, and He/They. 6′2. autistic, love performance and painting. tbh? water is a big sensory issue, especially now because water has been described as ‘sludge’ now. often covered in paint

Kent Connolly: I love him and his excitement. Demi and He/Him. 5′7. autistic and his special interest is The Unstoppables! specifically the Silver Shroud! sweet man. easily flustered

Fallout 76

Mordecai McCoy: good ol Morty-Mort. Trans Masc, Bi, and He/Him. 5′6. wants to make a name for himself, besides just being able to go into heavily irradiated places for people. a sweet man and easily excitable, but always tries to put on like.. a kinda tough guy act. but it’s super easy to break. likes to joke around a lot, and can be a flirt

ok to rb!!!

#answer #booshwash.txt #Fallout #my headcanons #Anonymous

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komahinasecretexchange · 5 years ago

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Title: Delicate Cycle

Author: @cellophanerose

For: @akito666us

Rating/Warnings: G/No warnings apply!

Prompt: Hinata helps Komaeda to recover from PTSD

Author’s notes: Hello! It’s my first time writing fic, but I still hope you enjoy! It’s more of “Hinata helps Komaeda recover” in general - I hope that’s ok! Thanks for reading!

Hinata had already known that his past was indelible, even if he couldn’t remember it. This was something that class 77-B all had in common – their lives in despair seemed like a hazy memory of a story someone once told, not the painful truth of how responsible they all were for the effective end of the world. Ironically, most of the class more clearly remembered what had happened in the simulation, even though only the “survivors” left with their memories completely intact. Still, it wasn’t something easily brought up – asking a murder victim if they remembered how they died, or the blackened if they could still feel the phantom pains from their executions. Because that was the thing – although no physical harm was carried over, the mental scars cut deeper than any murder weapon.

Despite all their attempts to move forward and forgive each other, Koizumi still flinched when she ran into Pekoyama alone, and Sainoji surreptitiously rubbed her throat when she thought no one was looking. Hanamura froze up when his batter splashed onto him, and Tanaka clutched his fists hard enough to draw blood when loud stampeding sounded. Truly, even a fictional past was inescapable, but they all silently agreed that this would be their penance.

However, Hinata noted, Komaeda remained virtually unaffected. No panic attacks when walking by the warehouse, no nervous sweating at the sight of ropes or fire, not even the spears they used for fishing or bright red containers..

“It was something I did to myself, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda once tried to explain. “I knew exactly what to expect and prepared myself for that. Besides, I’ve been in plenty of other terrible accidents and trauma-inducing situations!” Komaeda tried laughing it off, but Hinata still felt he wasn’t getting the whole truth. But, since he had nothing to go on save for a gut feeling, Hinata decided to let it go for now. Plenty of his classmates vocally asked for his guidance, so he wasn’t going to pull teeth trying to get Komaeda to reach out for help. He wouldn’t even worry about it! At all!

Or so Hinata had told himself. Until, one night, his mind was screaming at him that he wasn’t doing enough – that he would never be enough – that offering his entire being to the sacrificial altar of Hope’s Peak Academy for a chance to mean something still wasn’t enough – kept him awake. (Between visions of a talentless reserve, a bored god, and a dead digital girl, he hardly ever slept through the night, but none of his friends needed to know this.) Tonight, however, instead of futilely chasing sleep that was never coming for him, Hinata slipped his sneakers on and stepped outside. He figured he could do some preliminary work for the day ahead, namely making rounds and noting any malfunctioning equipment or depleted supplies, but truthfully he just felt the need to move.

Hinata left his cottage and headed towards the communal washing machines when he noticed the light was already on. Not an odd thing, per se – several of his peers also had trouble sleeping, but the quiet music did pique his curiosity. It was definitely a familiar song, but he didn’t connect the dots until he opened the door and found Komaeda kneeling on the ground, looking like a marionette whose strings had been cut. It was then it all came together in Hinata’s mind – the heat from the fire, the smoke causing his eyes to tear, the pounding of feet and the shattering of bottles, and finally the sprinklers turning on, leaving only the overwhelming feeling of dread and anxiety for reasons he was too afraid to confront. So many sensations had led up to that point, but when they pulled back the curtain, all Hinata could remember was ((despair)). The smell of blood, the look of terror permanently affixed to his face, the spear grotesquely impaling his stomach, every nauseating detail came giftwrapped in a single thought, a single moment, a single truth – Komaeda was dead.

Hinata snapped back into the present.

Komaeda was alive, and he needed Hinata’s help. Hinata instinctually dashed to the radio and slammed the power button, then immediately pivoted and fell onto the floor beside Komaeda. Komaeda’s usually crisp and clear eyes were faded and swirling with a slight darkness, and his façade was distressingly blank.

“Komaeda,” Hinata was shaking, but he still placed both of his hands on Komaeda’s shoulders in an effort to ground him. His grip tightened when he received no answer.

“Komaeda!” he raised his voice, panic bubbling inside him, “It’s okay! I’m here with you.” He couldn’t eloquently string words of comfort together, but he tried his best. “You’re safe, you aren’t alone, you’re going to be fine, just please listen to me!” Komaeda offered no reassurance that the words were reaching him and continued staring blankly through Hinata, to a place only he could see.

Hinata’s hands were still trembling when he wrapped his arms around Komaeda. They had never been physically intimate like this, but at that moment, Hinata needed to feel Komaeda’s warmth just as much as Komaeda needed Hinata. “I’m here,” Hinata mumbled, surprising himself when the words, “I’ll always be here,” slipped out. The most shocking part, Hinata found, was that he wanted it to be true.

Hinata had lost many of his friends during the killing game, and he cared about each one of them, but he would be lying if he said Komaeda’s death didn’t leave an especially strong impact on him. Even after it was revealed that Komaeda had orchestrated his own death, Hinata felt a sadness and regret that he didn’t want to name at the time. Nanami paid the ultimate price for Komaeda’s actions when she didn’t get the choice, so it was easy to bury those earlier feelings under anger and frustration. After everything had settled, and Hinata was reunited with their digital classmate in a moment of great distress, he couldn’t ignore those buried feelings.

Hinata didn’t want Komaeda to be alone. Luck had constantly torn those who cared about Komaeda away from him, leaving him with no one who loved him. Komaeda had told Hinata once that he was afraid of dying alone, and though Hinata at the time fell for Komaeda’s lie of “it was something I read in a book!” it wasn’t because Hinata truly believed it, but rather because it was easier to do so. Komaeda had given him an out in the form of a flimsy lie, and Hinata had taken it. Of course Komaeda was afraid of dying alone – after spending as much time as he had with Komaeda, it was an obvious conclusion for Hinata to reach. And yet, Komaeda manufactured a situation where he would not only die alone, but also in such a horrific manner. He chose to die alone, and that was something Hinata could never accept.

So when Komaeda finally raised his arms to return Hinata’s embrace, Hinata felt such a wave of relief and calm that it nearly brought tears to his eyes.

When Komaeda came to, he admonished himself for being so weak, and started brainstorming ways to explain his reaction away. Telling Hinata he wasn’t having problems with his death, and yet here he was, putting on such an unsightly display. …Actually, what was Hinata doing here in the first place? Embracing Komaeda, of all people? Maybe it had something to do with why Hinata was shaking, he thought. He might as well venture a guess (and buy himself some more time in the process.)

“Hinata-kun, why are you shaking so much? Are you getting sick, maybe?” The question was asked in earnest, but Hinata reacted with anger.

“Don’t make light of this! Do you really think I would be so heartless as to not react?” Hinata was still trembling, but he let his arms fall from Komaeda and balled his hands into fists. Komaeda felt a flash of disappointment before curiosity returned. Maybe he was thinking of this the wrong way?

“…Are you angry with me, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda felt a little silly trying to have a conversation while kneeling on the floor, but he wasn’t going to complain.

“Is it really that hard for you to imagine that I was worried about you, Komaeda? That I feel things other than anger and boredom?” Hinata stood up, and Komaeda quickly followed. Hinata looked directly into Komaeda’s eyes, but whatever he was searching for, he must not have been able to find. “…Sorry,” Hinata continued, “this isn’t… I just was scared, all right? Hearing that music, and seeing you like that, I… Actually, it doesn’t matter.” Komaeda was ready to refute that ‘No, it actually matters a great deal,’ but Hinata still continued.

“Are you ok, Komaeda? Does that happen often?” Hinata looked painfully earnest, so Komaeda held back his self-deprecating comments for now.

“Thank you for worrying about me, Hinata-kun, but I’m all right. That song simply caught me off-guard. Up until today, I had completely forgotten it was part of my plan. Only somebody totally useless like me would let such an insignificant thing shut them down!” Komaeda hoped Hinata would let his ‘useless’ slide for now. Hinata sighed and placed his hand on Komaeda’s shoulder.

“It’s ok to not be all right, you know? I know you don’t think you’re worth it, but we’re all here to support each other. You went through something terrible. And don’t say it doesn’t count ‘cause you did it to yourself! You wouldn’t be collapsed in front of a washing machine at 3 AM if you weren’t hurting. Maybe you don’t even realize it, but even if that pain isn’t on the surface, I want to remove it from you.” Hinata held Komaeda’s robotic hand with both of his own. “I won’t let you get lost in despair again.”

Komaeda was deeply shaken by those words, and even if he wanted so badly to believe them, he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. He ached to open up, to lay everything out to Hinata that he couldn’t even tell himself, but he knew he wasn’t brave enough to do so. Instead, he fell back into his failsafe: being contentious.

“Haha…Tell me, Hinata-kun, what makes you think you have the power to do such a thing? What could a failure of a reserve course guinea pig do to help someone like me?” He was on a dangerous line, he knew - already he had slipped up and admitted that he needed help. But the faster he hurt Hinata and pushed him far enough away, the better. “I never asked for your pity.”

The words stung both of them, Komaeda realized. He was so used to pushing away people he cared about, but hurting Hinata felt especially vile. However, Hinata surprised him by doing the exact opposite of what he’d planned - instead of getting angry and storming off, he agreed.

“I guess I am pretty useless,” Hinata started. “I’ve always known I was a failure, and you’ve never hidden your contempt for that part of me. But I won’t let that stop me. Because I know you, and I know you want this,” Hinata laced his fingers with Komaeda’s, “And so do I. You can’t push me away this time, Komaeda.”

Komaeda’s heart was pounding so loudly that he was afraid the roof would collapse from the sound. He looked up into Hinata’s eyes and saw all stubborn determination and kindness and hope. Komaeda’s lips trembled.

How long had he wanted this? Someone to talk to him, someone to comfort him? Someone to take his hand and make silly, irresponsible promises?

“…I guess if you’re going to be that stubborn, I won’t be able to stop you,” Komaeda tried saying nonchalantly, but a genuine smile was sneaking its way onto his face. He still couldn’t bring himself to fully believe it, but looking at Hinata’s expression, he couldn’t not believe it either. Hinata relaxed in understanding of Komaeda’s thinly veiled acceptance. He squeezed Komaeda’s hand once more before letting it drop. Suddenly, it was like the force that was keeping Hinata steady had vanished and his visage changed to one of pure exhaustion. He swayed towards Komaeda, who held him upright.

“Hey, Hinata-kun? Have you been sleeping poorly lately, perhaps?” He paused for a second before deciding to take it a step further. “I’ve also had problems sleeping recently. Do you want to talk about it?” Hinata looked like he wanted to object, but realized the hypocrisy of such and decided to answer honestly.

“A little bit. Nightmares, y’know? Sometimes I can’t get my brain to shut off,” Hinata admitted. “ A lot of the times I can’t remember if what I see in my dreams is real or not.” Komaeda had a hunch on what Hinata was referring to, but didn’t interrupt. “…Sometimes, I dream about you.” Komaeda jolted to attention.

“Ah, my features are quite haunting, I suppose-” before Komaeda could spit any more vitriol, Hinata cut him off.

“About your death,” Hinata clarified. Komaeda’s vision briefly flashed to visions of fire and blood and pain, but a quick squeeze of Hinata’s arm brought him back to reality. Well, that was surprising. Komeada chalked it up to sleep deprivation that Hinata was admitting this, because the thought that he wanted Komaeda to know how much it affected him was too much to handle.

“…Do you want to tell me?” Komaeda didn’t know how far he could push his boundaries.

“No- I mean - yes, but… I do want to talk with you eventually, but I’m not sure if I have enough energy for it right now.” Was his death truly something that haunted Hinata to such a point? Komaeda had no reason to believe he was lying, but still…

“Let’s try getting some sleep, then,” Komaeda suggested instead. “We can always talk more at a later time!” Komaeda gave Hinata a tired, but bright, smile. He was elated when Hinata returned one in kind.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Hinata grinned. Hinata was so bright, like a beacon of hope for Komaeda, but he was still so human and flawed. He had felt a kinship with Hinata from the very first time they met, but through all the trials and tribulations they went through, Komaeda had found himself drawn to something more than a feeling of similarity. He listened to Komaeda’s ramblings, and while he didn’t always agree, he always engaged. It felt like someone was finally seeing him, and that prickly kindness Hinata offered was ‘hope’ in his eyes.

Yes, to say Hinata was Komaeda’s hope wasn’t an exaggeration. Every version of Hinata was dear to him, and the man standing before him despite all odds was the man he grew to love.

Hinata was dizzy with exhaustion and giddiness (at being heard, at finally reaching out and being honest with Komaeda, at Komaeda reaching back) that when Komaeda gave a small wave and turned to leave, he called out to him.

“Komaeda!” Maybe Hinata didn’t want this bubble to pop because he was afraid that, even after tonight, nothing would change, or maybe he could blame sleep deprivation. But when Komaeda turned around in response and Hinata pulled him into a hug and whispered, “thanks,” Hinata realized there wasn’t a reason - he just wanted to hold Komaeda. Hinata was treated to the sight of a slightly red-faced Komaeda, awkwardly deciding how to react.

“Nnnh…No problem?” Komaeda asked, clearly looking for an explanation from Hinata. However, when Hinata dropped his arms and walked away, he left Komaeda with nothing but a ‘good night.’ If Hinata’s ears were burning by the time he got back to his cabin, Komaeda didn’t need to know.

That night, he dreamt of soft touches and interlocking fingers, of white hair and pale eyes.

Hinata wasn’t naive enough to believe that this was the end of nightmares or breakdowns for either of them, but when Komaeda invited him to stargaze and air some more things out before they fell asleep, he had hope that both of them were healing. Even when Komaeda’s luck inevitably brought a storm that covered the stars and drenched them both to the bone, Hinata had never felt as calm as he did when Komaeda dozed off while leaning his head against his shoulder. He spent a long time listening to the soft sound of Komaeda’s breathing and feeling the slight movements beside him before following Komaeda into sleep.

While it was still true that they couldn’t erase their pasts, they can still move towards a brighter future together.

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

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nightwingshero · 4 years ago

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47 - 57 to wren!

Thank you!!! Under the cut because it got long, sorry! (TW: mentions of self-harm, child loss, alcoholism, and emotional/mental abuse).

How easily does your OC forgive?

I think it depends on the situation, but for the most part, not very easy. Wren remembers who hurt and wronged her, and she isn’t one to let go of it easily or to forget. Breaking Wren’s trust is the worst you can do, it’s not something that is at all easily forgiven. While Wren is an open minded person, she can be very harsh and severe to those who betray her, good luck getting back in her good graces after that.

What are some of your OC’s vices?

There are a few. I think the lighter side would be smoking cigarettes (or marijuana) when stressed or angry, her sweet tooth for cheesecake. On the darker side, it would be her drinking problem when she’s not mentally in a good place and cutting to cope. She has gone to therapy for the harder vices, determined to work through her dependency, anxiety and depression, and her anger problems. It’s a dark spiral she can find herself in if she’s not careful, however, and some days are harder than others.

If your OC experienced trauma, what was it?

Wren has experienced trauma most of her life, unfortunately. It started when her mother died when she was very young, leaving her with a father that believed she wasn’t enough and a child he didn’t want. She dealt with mental and emotional abuse until she finally moved out and started to go to school. After a swift affair with a college professor, Wren ended up getting pregnant, and was in a car accident with a drunk driver that made her lose the child. The Holy War brought about its own form of traumas, while also bringing back the old ones she had buried away.

What secrets does your OC have?

Her deepest, darkest secret is that when her father was sick in the hospital, there was a chance that he could recover, albeit small, and Wren had decided to pull the plug anyway. It was advised against, but she still had the option to do so and she took it, seeing it as retribution for all the things that he had done to her as a child, and how he refused to help her in her darkest and worst times. She also saw it as a fresh start, cutting away the old baggage and freeing herself from her past.

What are some of your OC’s morals?

She’s very loyal and true to her loved ones. Wren won’t ever dare to betray or ever lie to those she cares about most, it’s just...not her. Being direct and honest is something she takes seriously, and it’s not something she really does for others, it’s for her. Wren doesn’t ever want to compromise herself, or the morals/values that she holds close. Family comes first, of course, once she finds those special people to call family. So, I would say her top core morals would be loyalty and honesty.

What are some of your OC’s motivations?

Wren just wants to be loved and happy. At the end of the day, she wants what she couldn’t ever get most of her life. She is ambitious and has career goals, most aligning with psychology and/or music, but she’s constantly seeking that person, or people, that she could be happy with. She also tries to find a way to kind of restart her life, to start over and kind of find herself. It’s why she moves to Hope County in the first place, her mom having grown up there as a child. Wren will do whatever to feel closer to her mom and to find a connection.

What is the health of your OC?

That depends on where she’s at in life. Her mental health isn’t the best, and there are moments in her past where she spiraled and hit rock bottom. She does suffer from PTSD, insomnia, anxiety, and depression. Wren will suffer from palpations from time to time, (which is why Rowan tries hard to get her from drinking so many damn Monsters) but most of her health concerns are mental. Wren is able to get better (only to fall back during the Holy War), she’s gotten help before, and isn’t above doing it when she’s not okay.

Does your OC think with his/her head or heart?

Wren is intelligent and has good insight, truly. She does well with talking people through things and being empathetic, or even thinking logically to help educate or advise. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always apply to her, because she really does think with her heart rather than her head when it comes to herself. There are even moments where her advice is driven by her own emotions when helping a friend, because she does have the capability (I say capability, but honestly its a habit because she often does it) of getting defensive, protective, or allowing her own personal feelings towards someone else to cloud that judgment if she’s not careful. She will always be ruled by her emotions when push comes to shove, and that’s not always a good thing.

What are your OC’s thoughts on death?

Death...is a touchy subject for her. She doesn’t really believe in Heaven or Hell, she’s not at all religious even though she’s well versed in a lot of them. She has the knowledge, but that’s as far as that goes, she’s more spiritual. It’s a topic that she avoids only because of her past attempts to take her own life, and its the memories of that need to end everything that kind of...I wouldn’t say scare, but it’s off-putting to her and it’s a reminder of what she had done or tried to do. Wren does believe in past lives and that there’s something more, just not really an afterlife that most people believe. She just has theories that she ponders on.

What are some of your OC’s strengths?

I would say her loyalty, compassion, empathy, honesty, and how faithful she is to those she loves. Commitment is important to her and she’s loyal to the end when you earn it. Wren’s also very understanding and open, so she’s someone you can depend on when she’s in your corner. She sticks to her beliefs, values, and is true to herself and friends without wavering. Wren is just someone that will bend when it comes to loved ones, but will refuse to bow to those against her. She’s also very giving, putting others before herself even at her own expense to make sure those she cares about or those she needs to protect are okay. It wears her down in most situations, but she does it gladly when it means that the people she loves are happy and okay.

What are some of your OC’s weaknesses?

Her strengths can honestly become her weaknesses rather easily because she’s so emotionally driven, it’s easy to turn the tables on her. Wrath is definitely a big one, because it completely blinds her judgment, she lashes out without thought, and it ends up making things worse than better--whether she’ll admit that or not. Wren’s not manipulative or a liar, but she does taunt with hopes of getting you where she wants you. It’s like she wants you to rise to the occasion to challenge her Wrath or she wants you to put yourself in a position where she’s in control. It’s always on you to make those decisions while she just waits for it, which is more her Dark Siren thing vs the Judge aspect of who she is. It’s all about her appeasing her own Wrath, and taking her own personal view of justice (which in this case, is more retribution than anything). She is impatient, stubborn, and sometimes insecure when her value is called into question. Wren always fears she’s not enough for people, because her father spent most of her childhood convincing her she wasn’t.

#oc: wren blake #my ocs #asks

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marvelandimagine · 6 years ago

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In My Home

Series summary: After Wakanda opens its borders, you begin working in Shuri’s lab as part of an all-women STEM program, and you meet a certain White Wolf. What starts out as mutual bonding over science turns into much more than you ever could have anticipated.

Pairing: Bucky x scientist reader

Word Count: 3,400

Warnings: Language, PTSD

A/N: I think this is the longest first chapter I’ve written in my life oops guess that’s what happens when you’re gone for two years!! I regret nothing. Bucky POV coming in part 2! Loosely inspired by “In My Home” by Young the Giant.

“Please, you powerful little receptor, I am BEGGING you to bind with this epinephrine, BEGGING YOU.”

You cross your fingers and peer into the microscope, only to be met with what feels like the 100th disappointment this week. No positive binding. No responsiveness. Nothing.

Your foot connects with the side of your lab table, increasingly faster with every syllable you yell, causing Francesca, the new program recruit from Spain, to quickly inch her chair away from your adjacent work station.

“GOD DAMMIT YOU MOTHERFU—“

“Good results?”

You halt mid kick and turn to face Shuri, her eyes lit up in amusement as she surveys you over the rim of her Starbucks frappucino with a loud slurp––they’ve been her new obsession ever since Wakanda opened the borders and built one two blocks from her lab. As much as you’ve grown to bond with her in the time since she invited you to work in Wakanda as part of her new all-women biotech research program, in this moment, you have to truly fight back the urge to slap the drink out of her hand.

You collapse into a desk chair, trying your best to joke as usual with your new friend but find your words coming out gritted anyways:

“What, no coffee for me?”

As if on cue, three handmaidens appear holding recyclable trays of various caffeinated beverages for the team, who cheer and abandon their current projects for a moment to collect their drinks in a flurry of movement.

One of the handmaiden approaches and you sheepishly accept your cold brew, grimacing at Shuri in a way that you hope reads, “Sorry, I’m an asshole.”

Shuri snorts and rolls her eyes, but her tone is light:

“Colonizers. Always so impatient.”

She nods over to your desk.

“And not just with Starbucks orders.”

You let out a frustrated exhale.

“Shuri, I’ve been here for two months. I have the most advanced resources and tech on the planet at my fingertips, and yet I still have nothing concrete to show for it––nothing to show you for it.”

Your tone gets quieter but maintains its intensity.

“Look, you brought me here because I know you know that, if I can get this, we can change lives everywhere––and not just soldiers, but anyone trying to work through PTSD or severe trauma. Being able to de-intensify the physiological response to triggers to shorten dissociative periods or even get rid of them so we can get a stronger sense of normalcy back, to lessen that fear and strain even a little -- that’s worth the long haul, I know it’s a long haul, one that’s worth the setbacks and sleep deprivation and madness because that’s science and I love it, but, I don’t know.”

You sigh before taking a sip of your coffee.

“I just thought I’d be farther along, that’s all.”

Shuri grabs a chair and wheels it to face you.

“Do you know how many trials it took before I got the nanotech working seamlessly in brother’s suit?”

“Knowing you, probably three.”

“Four, actually.”

You groan and cover your eyes but Shuri drags your hands away from your face, clasping them in her own.

“Let me finish! Do you know how many trials it took for me to get the remote access functioning in the Kimoyo Beads?”

“More than four?”

“759 to be exact, and they still have much room to improve. My point, Y/N is to not be discouraged.”

She looks at you seriously.

“I would not have brought you here if your body of work was not excellent. The work we’re all doing” — she turns and gestures around the room of women who have all returned to their respective stations, coffees in hand and intently focused on various glowing blue projections of statistics and diagrams hanging in the air, the sound of rapid keystrokes and odd hisses and bangs echoing around the room. “we can only know so much until we know more, yes?”

As if on cue, you feel a rush of heat move past you as Francesca hurls the flaming, mangled remains of what looks like a helmet into the sink, flinging on the spray faucet and wiping her brow as her ruined demo piece hisses with smoking finality.

You turn back to face Shuri.

“Point taken.”

You rest your chin on one hand, shaking your head slightly.

“Why are you so wise?? You’re 13 years younger than I am and dropping some real life truths.”

“The real life truth is that I think you need a break.”

You laugh and take another sip of your coffee.

“I can’t say I disagree with you.”

Shuri grins, her eyes lighting up with mischief.

“You know who else needs some fun in their life?”

“Who?”

“Bucky!”

You swear internally as your heartbeat immediately quickens at the sound of his name, averting your eyes as you spin your chair away from Shuri, but she scoots herself closer.

“I’m sure he would loooove to spend a whole day with his favorite scientist.” Her grin widens. “And I’m sure you would loooove to spend a whole day with your White Wolf.”

You roll your eyes, trying to stop yourself from smiling and failing miserably, which only seems to delight Shuri more as you shake your head with a half-assed:

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. We’re friends.”

“More than friends!” Shuri yells, poking your shoulder in quick succession. “You do not look at friends the way you look at each other! I took that broken white boy all over the city, show him my lab, and he says maybe three sentences—to me, the girl who saved his brain —but for some reason, he has no problem asking the American a million questions about science and tech and how her work is coming.”

You feign as much nonchalance as you can in your response, but you can’t help how light your chest feels at her acknowledging Bucky’s supposed eagerness to talk to you.

“You said it, we’re both American, maybe he just feels more comfortable--”

“Comfortable enough to spend hours sitting with you while you work, hmm? And you, letting him, you, the same woman whose shouting made W’Kapi look like an antelope in headlights when he came for my tech upgrade and got too close to your samples!

“Hey, I apologized, but I was not about to redraw 10 vials of my blood that got contaminated all because some border security chief decided -”

Shuri presses on.

“The first time I saw Bucky smile was when he was with you, and you two go on walks and eat lunch together,” Shuri crosses her arms with a broad grin as she delivers her final piece of what she evidently deems as damning evidence, “and I know you are the only person besides me and brother who has gone out to see him.”

You open your mouth and close it, your brain firing on all cylinders to come up with some kind of argument, any kind of argument, to deflect away from your relationship with Bucky. Because thinking about it, talking about it, made the way you felt whenever you were together that much harder to try to ignore.

But you’ve got nothing because, while you can’t speak for him, you know Shuri’s right. You don’t just like him as a friend. You like him way more than that, want him way more than that. But you aren’t sure you’re ready to deal with all of that.

You didn’t anticipate catching feelings -- you didn’t even anticipate meeting this quiet, attractive stranger. It was a few months earlier, only a few weeks into your stay in Wakanda. The combination of excitement and anxiety and the time change had meant you weren’t sleeping much, so you went into the lab early to get some work done. You were in the zone — with the lab all to yourself, you were able to comfortably spread out your work across tables and even onto the floor, blaring your “productive playlist” at full volume as you ran through your latest brain scan videos and blood samples.

Your phone pinged and you checked it to find a message from Shuri:

“Gonna be in late -- Bucky is supposed to be in at 6:30 for his scan, so just tell him I’m behind.”

Shuri had briefly explained the situation with Bucky to you last week, and while you found yourself being fascinated by the logistics of how Shuri deprogrammed decades worth of conditioning, you also felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and empathy for what he had been through. When Shuri suggested bringing him as a data sample and to see if he’d consent to participate when your clinical trial took off, your head instinctively agreed, but your heart won out, telling her that you still weren’t close to a full-fledged medication, and, besides, you thought the guy had been treated as an experiment for so long—you didn’t want to add to that, not when, based on what Shuri said, he was finally in a semi-stable place to heal.

You were still definitely curious to meet him, though, so you texted back an “ok” but found it odd that she didn’t just tell him herself. The thought faded, though, as you quickly became absorbed back into your work.

You didn’t even realize the time that had passed until you heard the gentle woosh of the lab doors sliding open, barely audible over the growling, fast-riffed Rise Against track that was currently playing:

“Do you still believe in all the things that you stood by before?

Are you out there on the front lines or at home keeping score?”

Would you care to be the layer of the bricks that seal your fate,

or would you rather be the architect of what we might create?”

Bucky didn’t see you at first, but you saw him. Even just from his side profile — his hair, his beard, the muscle clearly prominent even underneath his dark clothes — you thought he was gorgeous.

You did your best to keep your cool, though, as you walked out from behind your lab table in the back corner, turning off the music with two taps of your fingers in the air.

“Hi, Bucky?”

He whips around to face you, and your initial impression attraction to him was only heightened as you were met with a pair of brilliant blue eyes, but you were also thrown by the panic you see in them, how fast his posture shifts to defensive.

You held up your hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you — I work here.” You gestured to the back corner of the lab, his eyes following.

“I’m Y/N, Shuri’s latest recruit. She told me to tell you she’s gonna be late for your scan.” You smiled, hoping it would ease his tension, and it seemed to work because he unclenched his fist. “You can hang out wherever, and don’t worry about bothering me— as you can tell by the sound from when you walked in, I thrive in chaos.”

He just stared blankly at you, seemingly uncertain of how to respond.

Uncomfortable in the silence, you turned away to go back to your corner, but stopped as he asked quietly, but with genuine curiosity:

“What are you working on?”

You looked back and he actually gave you a small smile, and you were surprised to find your cheeks warming up.

Your panic about feeling all kinds of things over a solitary smile must have read on your face, but Bucky misinterpreted it as reluctance, and so he quickly backtracked:

“You probably get asked that all the time, I’m sorry, I don’t want to distract you.” He averted his eyes and your brain finally caught back up to speed.

“What? No, it’s totally fine!” You sat down at your desk, wheeling over another chair. “C’mere. I’ll show you.”

And that’s how it started. For whatever reason, as you went on and on in excitement about your project, about how you collected 500 data samples back home, about how you were now working with binary augmented retro framing, Bucky got more and more relaxed around you, asking questions and laughing at some of your jokes. And you felt more and more relaxed with him, falling into a rhythm that felt both comfortable and utterly exhilarating. You were pleasantly surprised by his sense of dry humor that matched his own, and any man who openly admired your work got an automatic extra few points in your book.

And when Bucky paused and asked why you were doing all this work on PTSD, you still felt somehow just as comfortable as you were joking around with him as you were then candidly sharing about some of the things that happened to you. You were normally pretty open about the trauma in your story, but you were usually pretty brief, even in the support group you went to. But here, with him, captivated by this newfound connection you felt, it was easy to not just share, but to truly open up, and not just about what happened, but what you had been doing to try to heal and move forward. And you were floored when he reciprocated��Shuri told you he was pretty shy, but here he was, telling you some of things that kept him up at night, about how he felt like, even with Shuri’s work, what he had been through still felt like it was always pressing on him, like it would always be engraved into his bones.

You hadn’t even realized that an hour had passed by the time Shuri came into the lab, apologizing for being late but saying she was glad you two had finally been introduced.

“So am I,” Bucky had murmured quietly to you, and you smiled in a daze and nodded in agreement, trying to still maintain your composure because what in the fuck was happening here between you two already, this felt like it could be something, even though you had no intention of looking for something when he walked into the lab. It was dizzying and overwhelming but it lit you up from the inside out, beaming back at him as he asked if he could come back to see you—see your work, as he adjusted quickly, and so you gave him your number and said he was welcome to come up anytime.

And he did. And you weren’t an idiot, you had a pretty good sense of when a man was interested in you, and it certainly felt like that as you kept spending more and more time together -- the way he looked at you sometimes made you feel like passing out and grabbing his face to make out at the same time. But still, there was that hesitation, the uncertainty and anxiety -- what if you were wrong? What if he genuinely just appreciated your company, liked having someone who had been through similar shit to talk to? What if that was it and nothing more?

All of this runs through your head as you sit there, and you realize there’s it’s pointless to try to refute a fact backed by evidence. You liked him. You really, really liked him. And if there was a chance he felt the same, if an objective third party like Shuri even sensed something romantic between you two—maybe it was time to stop hiding behind your fear.

“I --” You run your hands down your face, knowing you’re going to feel both defeated and liberated by your admission, “fuck it, yeah, ok you win. I like Bucky.” You sigh, the words rolling off your tongue seeming to solidify how you felt inside, making it even more irrefutable. “Goddammit.”

Shuri throws her fist in the air.

“HA! You admit it, more than friends!”

“Shhh, Jesus, I can’t speak for him, but yeah, maybe, I don’t know, just keep your voice down!” you hiss, pushing your palms toward the floor as you crane your neck to see if anyone is paying attention, but they’re all too absorbed in their own work.

“Not maybe, definitely!” Shuri grins, resting her chin on her hands. “So, take the day off, go spend it with him. I’m sure one of you will crack and finally break the sexual tension.”

You groan and cover your eyes, shaking your head. “Oh my god, we’re not having this conversation.”

You look up, your anxiety getting the best of you.

“But I don’t even know what we should do for the rest of the day.”

“Ah, but I do! You should go to echibi elikhulu -- the great lake. Baba used to take mother all the time when they were younger.”

You frown, confused.

“Where is there a lake in Wakanda?”

Shuri chuckles.

“Well, technically, there isn’t one -- not on any map, anyways. Just because we opened the borders doesn’t mean we gave away all of our hidden treasures to the rest of the world.” She smiles, clasping your hands, “But I will certainly tell you about it in the name of true love! Only if, and I mean, if, you tell me EVERYTHING that happens.”

You laugh and shake her hands emphatically, touched by her willingness to share this piece of her home with you, with Bucky.

“Deal.”

You still feel nervous, but it’s mostly excitement now as you think about not only getting to enjoy the beach, but to be able to stop dancing around your feelings for Bucky -- if you had the courage to finally admit it to him, and he reciprocated, it would absolutely be worth the time away in the lab.

Shuri jumps up from her chair. “Then no time to waste! You can take my Jeep, I’ll program the GPS to get you there and back.” Her tone changes suddenly to businesslike. “You go home, shower, change, and get your things ready, and I’ll meet you outside in 45 minutes.”

You tilt your head to the side slightly, trying to work out the final aspectt hat’s puzzling you.

“Why do you care so much about us getting together?” You pause, quickly adding,” And I don’t mean that to sound shitty, I’m just curious.”

“Y/N, when I know something can be improved, I want to help. You both have suffered, and you each seem to find peace in each other -- you’re good for each other. I think you’d be happier together and could even heal better together then just as ‘friends.’” She smiles, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “And, also, then I could say I set up the cutest colonizer couple in the country.”

You smile back. “I appreciate it.” Your tone softens. “Really, I do. Thanks for the push.”

“You’re most welcome. Now go! I’ll see you in a bit.”

You quickly grab your backpack from your lab table, shoving in notebooks and folders before you swipe your coffee of the counter, give Shuri a wave, and power walk out the door.

You laugh out loud at the absurdity of it, how agitated you were this morning compared to how you were nearly bouncing down the street in anticipation now, the prospect of exploring a new and beautiful place with Bucky and finally telling him how you felt buoying in your chest.

You felt determined, you felt like you might throw up, but above every emotion and thought racing around inside you, you felt hope.

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