#do they have anxiety caged like a rabid animal?

[spicylove4ever]

[whumpacabra]

45. Play

Panic, anxiety, confusion, fear for others safety, past trauma, dog mention, implied past dog attack, implied past self sacrifice, implied minor character deaths, implied military activity, blood

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

Harrison’s brain caught up with his body after he tackle-hugged Wolf - half relieved and half enraged as he pulled back to grip the taller man’s shoulders. Wolf looked down at him, glassy eyes blinking to brightness as he avoided Harrison’s stare.

“Never do that again.” He didn’t look away until Wolf finally gave a stiff, unsteady nod. Harrison hugged Wolf again, surprised how desperate he was to know Wolf was still there, how terrified he had been.

(Not for himself, not for Thomas, but for Wolf.)

Who was barely breathing, the dull thump of his heartbeat too fast in his chest.

Harrison could tell Wolf was looking at Anders, the dog -

Fuck. Right. There was a fucking dog.

Harrison spun around, back to Wolf’s chest as he stared at the animal. Big - it was bigger than any dog he had seen, but vaguely husky-ish. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was part wolf. It wore a now bloodstained vest, pale white and beige camouflage wrapped over the dog’s tawny coat. (The white of it’s throat was dyed red, jowls dripping with blood and saliva.) It stopped growling over Anders’ bloodied body long enough to look up and meet Harrison’s eyes - it’s own a startling yellow.

Definitely part wolf.

Now Harrison was barely breathing - short gasping breaths - and his heart was racing against his rib cage. Because all he could see was that rabid mutt snarling over Merrick’s still breathing body and all he could hear was the screams echoing against stone and steel -

And a short, sharp whistle that had the dog dutifully and delicately trot away from where Anders lay bleeding to sit next to the person who was helping Thomas stay upright.

It didn’t calm the (rational?) panic blooming in Harrison’s chest to see that it was well trained and loyal to the mysterious soldier. Wolf didn’t seem to find it comforting either, a tentative hand on Harrison’s shoulder, peering over his head. Their eyes met briefly, a question and an answer.

Are you okay?

I don’t like the dog.

(Funny, how fast you learn to read a stranger when you’ve seen each other bloodied and near death.)

“Dog is good. Don’t mind him.” The soldier leaned over to scratch behind the dog’s ear. (They didn’t have to lean far - the massive animal sat higher than their hip.) Harrison squinted at the stranger, short and stocky in their pale camouflage. Between the sun glare glasses covering their eyes and the scarf pulled up to cover their mouth and nose, he could hardly tell more about them beyond the tactical vest filled with knives, glow sticks, grenades, and - apparently - dog treats, which they gave to the beast by their side.

“If they’re touchy about the pup he can ride with me. I don’t mind your coileáinín - he doesn’t shed does he?” His eyes drifted to follow the redhead who had dropped her admittedly impressive Russian accent for a thick Irish brogue. She shot Harrison a smile, emerald eyes chipped with something between curiosity and…sadness? “Regardless we best leave before those fuckers get their heads on straight.”

“Solid copy.”

“W - wait - who - ” Thomas stumbled over his words, weakly trying (and failing) to escape the mystery soldier’s grasp.

“RJ. She’s Liza. Sniper is Walker.” They looked Harrison and Wolf up and down unsubtly before looking at their dog. “This is Dog.” (Was it’s name really just ‘Dog’?) “We’re the ones that want you alive.”

“That’s encouraging.” Harrison could feel his hackles raise, sarcasm thick in his throat. Wolf’s presence at his back was steady, comforting, emboldening. “Why do you - ”

“I already told you. Jaybird asked for you alive.” There was a dull impatience to their tone as they half dragged Thomas along toward the truck. Harrison’s brain finally caught up with their words, suspicion flagging to relief.

“Jennings sent you?” Harrison had only ever heard Jennings' grandmother call them ‘Jaybird’ - it was unnatural hearing them called all these years after her death, let alone to hear it from the mouth of a stranger.

“Yes.” They paused, Thomas groaning as they settled him into the passenger seat. “Liza is here because - ”

“Because you pulled me off a bloody Vegas job to help you ruin some Yankee’s day. Which I’m happy to do, but you owe me.” Liza gave a quick whistle, Dog bounding to her side and jumping into the convertible with practiced precision. Harrison couldn’t help but flinch at the movement, but Wolf’s hand gave his shoulder a firm squeeze, grounding him.

“Put it on Ghost’s tab.” RJ shut the door with surprising softness, quickly making their way back to the circle of corpses in the street. “What are you two waiting for? Get in the truck.”

“We can’t - how do you plan to outrun them? The helicopters - ”

“We have exfil secured at the property with the cattle fields to the south. We’ll be airborne before you know it.” They gave Liza a nod as she stepped back into her convertible, the sports car’s engine purring as it turned over. “Regrouping at Duck Creek with Jaybird and your contingent of refugees. I assume that’s where they’re headed?”

“Y -yeah. Yeah, okay. Alright.” Harrison took a deep breath, looking up at Wolf. “Sound good?”

He gave a nod, eyes sharp as he glanced between the stranger and Harrison. Harrison smiled, nodding to himself as he glanced around -

“Right - the - the files - hang on, let me grab the hard drive.” Harrison broke away from Wolf (already missing the warmth) and stepped over the corpses to reach the duffel bag abandoned by the garage door. The heavy brick of the databank in his hands felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders as he clutched it to his chest.

Looking back, Wolf had taken the initiative to gather the paper files, the folder splayed on the ground and spattered with Anders’ blood -

Anders wasn’t dead yet.

His intact arm twitched, and Harrison felt his heart drop to his feet.

“Don’t - ”

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

(An AU of my Freelancers series)

Taglist: @i-eat-worlds @whumpy-daydreams @stargeode

[spicysoftsweet]

summary: gojo’s tired of you resisting him

warnings: home invasion, noncon, degradation, fem!reader

a/n: this was supposed to be a crumb for @mahitopegger i have no idea wtf happened. i didn’t edit this || reposted from sideblog (now deactivated) on 4/17/2021.

It was only after the soft click of your door, and the eerie silence thereafter that seemed to threaten to close you in, that you realized that something wasn’t quite right. Your eyes darted left, then right, and you kicked off your shoes slower than usual, setting them semi-haphazardly to the side of your entryway.

Even if you weren’t paranoid, you were still the type of person to double check, sometimes triple-check your locks on occasion before you left your home, and you did remember your key turning the right way just seconds ago.

Maybe you were overreacting - after all you lived in a relatively safe area, alone save for your cat with a propensity to mewl for food at all hours of the day. Ah, that was possibly the issue, the fact that your little furry friend hadn’t made his presence immediately. But he knew how to be quiet sometimes, and was fond of an early afternoon nap.

The sound of your keys clattering on your coffee table now seemed unceremoniously loud, like you were disturbing a religious service. In your own house.

Your heart started to race for just a moment, and you turned around quickly.

Nothing. No person, no ghost, no cat. Just you, a sudden sense of unease, and your rapidly beating heart.

Why were you so anxious?

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d felt so unsettled for the moments in which you paced down your hallway, ears tuned to the soft footfalls of your presumably sleeping companion. You would have whispered its name but you didn’t want to wake up the needy little bastard unnecessarily.

It was only three paces in that you stilled suddenly, and the memory of the last time you’d felt this way suddenly struck vividly in your mind.

Clear blue eyes, bordered by long, pale white eyelashes. A smile, once easy and bright, with corners turned up far too high into malice.

You froze.

Was it him? Was Gojo in your house? He wouldn’t... would he?

Your last encounter had been... suboptimal, to say the least. You’d all but told him to get lost, that you weren’t and would never be interested, not after knowing who he was, what he was.

You needed a quiet, calm existence. Your imprint on the world would be measured. You had to stay away from bad omens like his.

But his reaction had been unnatural. He hadn’t given you a real response, just a smile, and you had felt just as unnerved then as you did now before you parted.

You were clearly still spooked.

But these nerves were just vestiges of your anxiety. Gojo knew how to take no for an answer. Of course he did.

He didn’t - you opened your bedroom to find the young sorcerer waiting for you, your cat comfortable in his arms.

“Ah! You’re back~”

Gojo didn’t move; rather, he continued to sit in his relaxed position, legs outstretched onto the bed, palm stroking softly at the soft orange fur. The soft purr of the docile animal filled the air with sharp contrast to your wordless mouth, opening and closing once in shock, and the frenzied beat of your heart.

He smiled before his eyes did, and shifted on top of your covers, getting to his feet. Dressed casually in a white t-shirt and a loose pair of sweatpants, as though he’d been lounging around your house the entire day... as though he lived here.

“W-what are you doing here?”  You choked out.

His eyebrows furrowed, and his hold on the little creature relaxed, who remained for just a moment, mewing once before jumping off his lap, brushing by your legs that felt as though they would start shaking any moment, and then promptly sauntered out of the room.

“You didn’t tell me you had a cat,” Satoru remarked, now sitting with legs criss-crossed on the bed, hair mussed and relaxed, and with affect as bright as a child on his first sleepover. He patted the space on the bed next to him, beckoning you to come sit. “Did you have a good day?”

“Gojo, please get out of my house.”

His expression darkened for just a moment before it returned to its natural cheeriness. He patted the space next to him again.

“You must be tired. I can make you something. Tea?”

Your feet were glued to the ground, neither advancing nor retreating.

“P-please leave,” you repeated, more wary this time. Your hands were starting to shake and you watched his eyes flicker to them, then back to your eyes.

“Why would I do that?” He said, tilting his head ever so slightly.

His eyes bore into yours and you felt your stomach turn.

“Don’t you like my attention?”

“Satoru, please,” you continued, your lower lip wobbling inadvertently. “Please, just leave... I won’t tell anyone you came here, just... I can’t return whatever feelings you have, so just go.”

Your fists clenched and unclenched, but you still were so tense, planted onto the floor as though you were a sharp dagger thrust into vulnerable flesh. Why weren’t your feet moving? You should be running. Running as far as you can from this man who could just as easily become a monster if he so pleased.

As though he knew you’d already become powerless - not that it made a difference, the power differential was already so vast - he rose, walking towards you in an open, unguarded stance. He wasn’t afraid of you in the least. The very thought made your blood boil.

Once he stood before you, towering over your shorter, smaller frame, his lips pursed.

“Stop shaking.”

It was a command, given in an annoyed but direct fashion.

You don’t know why you eked out, powerlessly, “I can’t.”

“You weren’t this afraid when you were telling me to fuck off a couple days ago,” he noted. His hand rose to grip your chin, tilting your face to him. You don’t know when you’d started crying, but tears were now streaming down your face, warm and wetting his fingers.

“You’re crying? Where’s the sass you had then?”

“Please...”

Against your better wishes, his lips pressed to yours, and somehow then, your body remembered that adrenaline could also make you fight, and you did fight, thumping your hands balled into fists against his chest and his shoulders, as his hand gripped your chin tighter and his tongue forced its way down your throat. Once he’d gotten tired of your struggle, his other arm hooked around your waist, and he pulled you closer, pressing you against his body.

Your screams were muffled by his kiss as it grew deeper, and at some point, he’d decided on biting your lip painfully, drawing blood once he’d threatened you to shut the fuck up before he gave you something to cry about for real.

You remembered that the first time Gojo had kissed you, it had been soft and tender, nothing like this kiss that was violent and demanded submission; once his hand moved from its grip on your chin, it grasped your hair, fingers twisting and tugging to tilt your head back.

His lips left yours, now red and soon purple and blue, and made their way down your neck to mark them the same.

Every scream was futile, every plea for mercy fell on deaf ears.

At some point, you may have heard your cat meow for something... food? Out of sympathy? You weren’t sure, all you could think about were the painful hickeys on your collarbones and traveling down your bosom.

“I don’t know why you’re so resistant. You yourself called me selfish,” he murmured, ripping the top part of your clothing with the nonchalance with which one would peel a banana. At the sight of your exposed breasts, he was like a man rabid, slamming you backwards into the wall without much regard for head injury. His left arm caged you in, while his right pressed painfully onto your breast.

He paused for a moment, and grinned salaciously.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that~! You look so docile... it’s weird coming from you.”

To that, a fire renewed in your eyes, and you spat directly in his face. His lips curled again in satisfaction, barely reacting to the spittle dripping down his pretty features.

“Fuck you.”

“I will.”

With a small chuckle, he jerked your face painfully to the left such that you couldn’t look at him directly as he took your breast into his mouth.

The idea of this bastard suckling on you, loudly, lewdly as though you’d belonged to him only made the churn in your stomach worse, but the desperate attempts to a knee to his chest were met with barely a resistance. Like he knew you couldn’t hurt him and it was only a matter of time until you stopped and succumbed to him.

The process was already happening - you could feel your nipples hardening and a new flow of heat in your panties. Your tears became more prolific - no longer fear, but rage, but the hand that kept you steady against the wall was impossibly strong.

Your head swam as a confused pleasure started to replace the pain and fear you were feeling. More clothing was torn off of you, more of your skin was marked and licked and sucked. Once your panties were ripped to shreds, he lay your now languid and fight-drained body against him, cooing appreciatively at the new helplessness, pumping two slender fingers up and down your wet inner core as he moved you from the hard wall to the soft bed.

You almost thanked him.

His fingers remained within you as he laid you down, but once he withdrew his touch as your pounding hazy head hit the pillow, he replaced them with the roughness of his tongue, penetrating you without the least bit of shame.

You let slip the moan you had been holding in in defiance.

“That’s it, baby, let me hear you.”

He continued to lick and you continued to mewl.

Once he’d tired of the taste of your cunt, he invaded your privacy in the most all-encompassing way possible, pushing every inch of a greedy, throbbing cock inside of you. As you cried from the stretch, he shushed you with a hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your screams.

As if someone was going to help you. Maybe your cat would come and watch, but he’d found something else to do.

“I know it hurts but you’ll get used to it, I promise, babe,” he murmured, groaning slightly as he seated himself to the hilt. “There.”

He stilled and in the silence of the moment only punctuated by both of your soft pants, you remembered how to sob.

His nose crinkled, and he let out of a soft sigh, cock jerking impatiently inside you.

“Why are you so stubborn?” He mused, leaning against you so that his head rested in the softness of your breasts. He could hear your heartbeat that doesn’t beat for him... but rather it did, because he is the one making it quicken in some odd rhythm of terror and pleasure.

You didn’t speak because there was far, far too much to yell.

As though a timer had rung to mark the end of his empathy, he rose onto his hands again, sighing as he adjusted into the plushness of your walls that didn’t reject him as fervently as you did. He moved, shoving two fingers down your throat to gag your renewed protests as he thrust into you repeatedly.

The short gasps with every stroke only encouraged him, and the immense pleasure he found in the light of your eyes starting to fade into a placid dullness.

“You love me,” he informed you with every rut.

You didn’t answer.  

You weren’t sure what this disgusting repetitive sensation bringing your body to climax was. You were no longer sure what he was even talking about, just that there was a warm thing pumping inside of you and fingers down your throat and pain everywhere else in your body, particularly your neck and shoulders and arms and breasts, and you were staring into precious sapphires littering the base of twin lakes.

“You love me,” he repeated. “I know you do.”

[writingkitten]

L!Joker x Reader: Dogs

Note: pure fluff, v short, and super inspired by a post I saw awhile back about the three (? I think three) Rottweilers being loyal to J and all that. Also I’ve been busy working on this other project that I kinda let this one have not-as-great quality, but it was cute so there. Double also, pls forgive formatting, both the shitty paragraph spacing and the lack of italics. Tumblr fucked up the format and I don’t feel like fixing it lmao

Warnings: like, swear words? And some graphic descriptions of violence? But that’s it, not too sinful

In the dwindling hours of the day, dusk heavy on the horizon, you trudged home. Exhaustion plagued your body, the frigid air and harsh winds further driving your desire to get home. It wasn’t far from your work, only a few blocks, but it was on days like this that you cursed yourself for not taking a car. Even the thick mauve sweatshirt you wore couldn’t keep the cold away.

You had been out since 8am, almost 10 hours ago by now. Your throbbing head told you that cooking dinner tonight was a no-go, and so you’d stopped to pick up some warm comfort food. A treat for you, and a nice little surprise for J.

He’d been away all day yesterday, leaving before dawn and never returning. It did worry you a bit, but J had disappeared for much longer in the past, either running a scheme for days on end, or staying at his other hideout — an abandoned warehouse just outside of the city limits — to avoid leading whoever was after him this time back to you. Still, you worried, your mind racing with every bad thing that could’ve happened, like a kid whose mother was taking too long at the store. J knew this, though he continuously tried to convince you he would always come back. He knew your anxiety was far too engrained into your very being to not imagine the worst case scenario, but he still tried, if for no other reason than the hope that his constant reminder would dig itself deeper into your psyche than the anxiety.

But that had yet to happen, and so J had taken to other means of calming you. Keeping you informed was first and foremost. He’d call to tell you where he was, or text if he was in a rather boring meeting with mob bosses. He’d perfected the art of maintaining eye contact and taking part in the particulars of the conversation, while simultaneously writing a text with his phone under the table. Always a new phone, always a new number, but he had yours memorized, and you knew who it was when a message from an unknown number popped up.

That’s why, despite the apartment being empty when you left this morning, you knew he was there, waiting. It had only been about ten minutes since you’d left, so, by the time you headed home, he’d been there all day. Alone. You hoped he had caught up on his sleep, but you knew him better than that. You knew he was too bored sleeping alone, as wild of a concept as that seemed. No, instead you’d probably come home to see parts of makeshift weapons on the coffee table, or maybe the kitchen torn apart like a rabid raccoon had broken in.

At least he’d be home, you thought.

Finally standing in front of your door, you couldn’t unlock it fast enough, your feet aching, begging to be given some reprieve.

“J?” you called out as you entered.

You heard him say something, his voice too quiet to make out anything legible. Just as you were about to ask what he’d said, a massive black form sprinted towards you. Screaming, you dropped the bag of food on the floor, holding your hands out to stop whatever it was.

You eyes were screwed shut, but nothing happened. At least, not what you expected. Instead, you felt something prop itself on your shoulders. Hot breath hit your face, smelling of peanut butter. If that hadn’t given it away, the hassling sure as hell did.

Opening your eyes, you were met with the dark glassy eyes of a Rottweiler, standing on his hind legs, front paws gripping your shoulder.

J said something, this time louder, though you still didn’t hear him through your shock. The dog jumped down and ran back to the living room.

Ripping yourself from the frozen stance that you had been put you had been stuck in, you followed the Rottweiler.

On the floor sat J, his coat and blazer off, sleeves rolled up. There were strange stains on his pants. Peanut butter. Several dog toys lay around him, and two giant buckets of dry food and water sat in the corner. Most surprising, however, were the two other dogs that sat next to him.

J hadn’t looked up to greet you, busy filling some kongs full of peanut butter, seemingly the only treat he had for them.

“Uh, J?” you said, mouth agape at the sight.

“Hiya, doll,” he said, finally looking up at you, “I like that color on you.”

You had no idea what has happening, you didn’t know how to react. All you could really do was laugh.

“What the fuck is happening?” you asked.

“Uh, peanut butter time?” he said, as if it was obvious.

“J, why are there three massive dogs in our apartment?”

J sighed dramatically, “Well, I was just attending a little meeting with the Russian guy. And, wouldn’t you know, somehow he got locked up in their cages, and they just ripped off his limbs and ate him! Really fuckin’ weird cowinky-dink.”

Your eyes widened, “You fed him to his own dogs?”

J looked up at you in disbelief, “Didn’t ya listen to the story, doll?”

“Right, because you’re known for telling the truth.”

J growled, “...I’ll feed you to the dogs.”

“Ha,” you said, knowing full well that J would rather feed himself to the three than put your life on the line.

You left J on the floor as he passed out the stuffed kongs, taking the food out of the bag and setting it up on the table. Well, you were, until J turned around and watched you with an eyebrow raised.

“Uh, doll, I’m eating with them,” he said, as if it were obvious.

“...What.”

What the hell is happening?

“I’m building trust with these guys, I gotta show ‘em that not everyone is an abusive prick.”

You were silent for a moment, staring at J. Compassion was not a common experience to have with him, at least, not for other people. Towards you? He was very compassionate, even if he showed it in his own gruff way. But anyone else was lucky if they didn’t get the business end of J’s blade shoved through their throat.

Then again, that was still the case. He hated people, despised their selfishness and callousness, especially after experiencing that evil when he was still young and innocent. But animals? They were pure, only acting on nature with no societal influences. They were loyal as long as you were loyal to them, something that couldn’t be said for many people. That was one of the things he liked about you, your loyalty. You knew what he did, even if you didn’t know specifics. You knew he killed people, tortured them, destroyed the city and disrupted “society”. Yet you stood by him, loving him without question. Why you did, he’d never fully understand. But you did.

Instead of just bringing J his food, you brought your own, as well.

“I still wanna eat dinner with you,” you said, sitting down next to him.

“Aww,” J said, his voice mocking.

As soon as the containers were opened, the dogs abandoned their treats and sat around the two of you. Their eyes bored into you, pleading for a bite. Having all three of them up close now, you could see their bones, and thick scars that broke through their fur.

J tossed food at each of them, all three catching it mid-air.

“Good boys,” he said, reaching out to them and scratching around their face and neck.

“So, I assume they’re yours now?” you asked as you ate.

“Ours, bunny. They’re guard dogs, they’ll protect ya from, uh...bad guys.”

“Like you?” you asked with a smirk.

He grabbed his chest, feigning pain, “Shot to the heart, doll!”

———

After dinner — which J pretty much ate as much of as the rottys, giving them most of his food — you showered and got ready for bed, too tired to stay awake any longer. J stayed in the living room, working on a new idea, and, you had assumed, training the dogs. However, it seemed as though he was testing them now that you were home. Everywhere you went, you had three massive shadows following you. They stayed in the bathroom while you showered, laying next to the door, watching you. It felt as though they were ready to both protect you from an intruder, and come to your aid if you slipped and fell.

J couldn’t have trained them that much by now...right?

Once out, they practically escorted you to your bedroom. You got in bed, laying on your usual side. The three followed suit, taking up J’s space. One snuggled up by your feet, resting his head on your legs, staring up at you, while the other two did their best the lick your face. After the first few swipes, your face had practically been rewashed.

You laughed as they licked, “Oh, you’re so sweet! Thank you, thank you! Sweet babies!”

“So, am I gonna have to actually sleep in the dog house, now?”

J stood in the doorway, watching you laugh and love on the dogs. He mouth twitched, a quick smirk gracing his features when he saw the look of pure happiness on your face. It wasn’t something he got to see often, most of the time your happiness being qualified by some cloud of negativity. Depression, anxiety, self-loathing...it was a welcomed sight to see your unhindered smile.

He said a quick command, something in Russian that you couldn’t understand, and the dogs jumped off the bed. It was only then that you noticed three massive dog beds lining the wall next to yours.

“They’re so sweet,” you said to J, watching them curl up, getting as close together as possible.

“Yeah,” he drawled, climbing into bed beside you, “that guy got what he fuckin’ deserved. He kept them hungry, beat them, locked in cages too small for ‘em...”

You could see the anger rising in J’s eyes, his jaw clenching with malice as he stewed in his thoughts.

You reached out and took his hand, “They’ll have a good life now, J. We’ll spoil them.”

J looked over to you, “You know, that one that was at your feet was actually a service dog. Saw it in the papers the Russian kept. He’s trained for depression and anxiety.”

You perked up, “Wait, so I can take him around with me?”

“I’d want you to take all three, in case someone wanted to mess with ya and I wasn’t around. Bu-t you can have him with you at work and all that.”

The thought of having a dog to stay by your side at all times — and two more to come home to — was already making the knowledge of J leaving again much more bearable. That night, you fell asleep wrapped in J’s arms, him squeezing you far too tight to his chest as always, feeling invincible with your boys by your side.

[neekaasaddie]

Silver Chevy Silverado Part 3

      You know that feeling before a storm? The wind whistles, leaves rustle. Not in a menacing way, but in melancholy anticipation. There’s this electricity in the air. The atmosphere is unstable. Suddenly the polarities of the world become apparent. The clouds start condensating, becoming heavier and darker with their burdens until eventually they can’t hold on anymore and they let it all out. You’re standing in no-man’s-land and you know it. You’re conscious of your position in the middle phase––something’s gonna happen soon. You’re on a bridge and when you get to the other side, it’ll be completely different. The animals sense it first. They don’t come out of their dens and nests. They prepare for the storm.

     “Come over!” someone shouts over the hedge to my right.

     I sit up onto my knees, only seeing a head in the distance over the foliage. 

     Him? Why is he asking me to come over? Did he forget our previous interaction? Because I don’t think it ended on a very good note. 

     “But I’m reading!” I yell back. 

     I’m not reading, actually. I’m journaling––but my book is lying right next to me. I don’t know why I said I was reading. I guess reading seems more urgent and a better excuse not to go over than journaling does.

     I peer over the hedge again, watching him as he lights a pipe. The pungent smell of weed wafts through the air and penetrates my nose.

     He waves his hand in a motion towards himself and shouts, “Come on!”

     Damn it.

     I leave everything lying on the lawn and hop over the hedge, staring at the patchy green grass as I approach him. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. He obviously doesn’t like me. But if he doesn’t like me, why is he initiating an interaction?

     The intense afternoon sun blares onto my body and I feel like an ant under an interrogation lamp. I squint, my eyes adjusting from the shaded area I occupied previously to the strong rays of a setting sun. 

     As I approach him my stomach contorts itself into a million knots. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and have him make me feel horrible about it for days after. I don’t want him to pick me apart. 

     I feel like I’m walking on eggshells.

     I shouldn’t even care. 

     I should stop caring. 

     I attempt to un-squint my eyes as I approach him, my eyes tracing up from the ground.

     He’s shirtless. 

    God damn it. It’d be much easier to hate him if he wasn’t hot.

     “What’s up?” he asks, reaching into his pocket, extracting a pack of Camels, and selecting a cigarette. As he places it on his lower lip, he stares right through me. I’ve never met someone with eyes like his. I remember the first time I spoke to him, they were attentive and kind. I study him for a bit longer. His gaze is oddly distant today. There seems to be a disconnect––but they’re still incredibly mesmerizing.

     I realize I’ve been staring at him for too long so I turn my face away. “…Nothing,” I say, flustered.

     “You were just hanging out on your front lawn alone?” he asks, taking a drag. My eyes drift down to his bare chest but I catch myself quickly and respond.

     “Yeah…well kinda…but I was reading.” Could I be anymore incoherent? I can practically hear the eggshells cracking underneath my feet.

     “What are you reading?”

     “The Inferno by Dante Alighieri.”

     He responds with a shrug. I kick myself for answering honestly instead of diverting the conversation back to him. I don’t need him to tell me I’m a dork.

     He takes a step towards me and the tangy aroma of weed pervades my nostrils once more. Maybe that’s why this conversation is insanely dry.

     “So what have you done today?” he asks. He takes another drag and as he exhales the smoke, I smell something else besides weed and tobacco. 

     His breath is heavy with the scent of alcohol. 

     This whole interaction is bizarre and confusing. Didn’t he imply that other day that we weren’t friends? Why is he asking me what I’ve done today?

     I stare blankly at the ground for a good five seconds. I feel something in me shift, but I’m not sure what it is. “Uh…well let’s see. I went on my morning walk, made some pancakes and coffee, gardened a little, and played some video games––” Stop talking.

     “Video games?”

     Shit. “Yeah.”

     “You’re a gamer,” he snorts in that all-too familiar condescending tone.

     “Well, no. I just play the games my brother had for his old Xbox 360.”

      i receive a grunt as a response.

     He picks apart everything I do and I’ve been nothing but nice to him.

     God this is awkward.

     I watch the smoke of his cigarette swirl and swivel through the air in a silky light grey streak. He takes out his phone and starts scrolling mindlessly. 

     He asks me to come talk to him, doesn’t really talk to me, and then whips out his phone. What the fuck is going on?

       When his cigarette dwindles down to just the pale yellow filter, he glances at it for a moment, then flicks it onto the road. I physically reel at the sight of him intentionally littering, especially since it's a cigarette bud. 

     Now it’s my turn.

     “You’re just gonna fling that onto the road and not pick it up?” I ask.

     “Yeah, you got a problem with that?” he snaps, grabbing another cigarette from the pack.

     “You know that pollutes our oceans and contaminates our water supply.”

     He rolls his eyes to the gods and scoffs. “The street cleaners will clean it before it goes anywhere.”

     “When was the last time you saw a street cleaner come through this street?”

     “Look, this is where my taxpayer money goes, so I’m gonna use it––and I pay a lot of taxes.”

     “Oh yeah cause you’re in such a high tax bracket,” I snort.

     “Whatever,” he spits, walking back to his garage and grabbing a twenty-four ounce can of Heineken. My legs instinctually take a couple steps back. 

     I don’t feel good. Something’s not right. The first time we spoke he wasn’t like this. What’s different? He had just come from work then––he was probably sober. That morning we spoke and he was rude, he had some alcohol. Right now, he’s high and drunk––and I doubt the cigarettes help. 

     He turns around. 

     “Woah, woah where are you going?”

     “What?” I ask, my quivering voice riddled with anxiety.

     “You’re just gonna call me a loser and leave?”

     “I never called you a loser I just––”

     “You did!”

     “No! I just pointed out that you probably aren’t in a high tax bracket but it’s okay because I’m not either! It was a joke, I swear!” 

     “No, no. I got exactly what you were saying. You think I’m a loser. It makes sense, I mean, I still live with my parents. I have a mediocre, low-paying job and I party all the time. I do drugs––in fact, I’ve done every fucking drug in this world. I smoke a lot, I drink a lot and, like you said, I’m not in a high tax bracket.”

     He takes a step closer. The concentrated stench of weed, tobacco, and alcohol radiates off of him to configure the most repulsive and fear inducing concoction––the scent of sheer volatility. 

     My stomach leaps into my throat.

     I attempt to distance myself but find my back against a tree. He stumbles forward, slamming his hand onto the trunk of the tree right beside my head. He downs half of the large beer can and wipes the side of his mouth with the back of his hand, his erratic eyes and intense gaze violate me. 

     I’m frozen with terror. 

     I could shove him off and run home––it’s only a few long strides from where I’m standing––but suddenly the distance seems insurmountable. 

     “You know, I drank a fifth of whiskey earlier too, let’s add that to the list,” he says, almost slurring. His marajuana-and-alcohol-laden breath molests my nose as he exhales. 

     “What list?”

     “Oh, you know, that mental list you keep of all the repulsive shit I do. Let’s see, I mean, just within the last couple hours I've smoked cigarettes and flung the buds onto the street, I’ve smoked weed, I drank too much alcohol, and I’m drinking even more alcohol now.” He leans his face even closer to mine. I feel like I’m face-to-face with a raging bull. The kind eyes I once used to revere have transformed into the most spiteful pair of snake eyes known to man. “Did I forget anything?” he hisses.

     I feel hot tears well up behind my eyes. I don’t dare blink. “Look, I’m just your neighbor. You asked me to come over and talk to you. There’s no list in my head. I don’t know who you’re mad at and I don’t know where this is coming from, but I barely know you and I just made a joke––I didn’t mean anything by it––”

     “Shut up!” he shouts. Slobbering spit flies onto my cheek but I don’t have the strength to wipe it off so I just let it slowly drip off the side of my face. 

     He’s breathing heavily. The hand he hit against the trunk is still there, trapping me in a malicious embrace. Veins protrude from his neck and onto his jaw. His previously calming green irises are being suffocated by red bulging bloodshot vessels. Who is this person? 

     “You think I wanted my life to be like this? You think I wanted this? Well I didn’t, and I still don’t––but I’m stuck here.” he slurs. “You think a stupid kid like you knows anything? I know everything.” He pauses. “Like I know this––I know that you like me,” he scoffs, “or at least you did. You’re so obvious. I see the way you look at me and talk to me––the way you get all flustered and fake-shy.” He proceeds to pitch up his voice and flail his arms to produce a wildly inaccurate imitation of me. In doing so, he releases me from his cage and I feel as if I can breathe a little again. “Oh me, oh my! Why, I am just a damsel in distress! Please, give me attention!”

     “I think I’m gonna go,” I say shakily, inching to the right and then backwards towards the safety of my front yard. My mannerism is slow and intentional, as if I was confronted by a rabid animal.

     But before I can get very far, he grabs my arm.

     “Leaving so soon? But the fun just started! I was gonna tell you that I don’t fucking like you. You’re nineteen! You’re a kid. You’re weird. You reek of desperation! And you talk like you know what life is, but you don’t even know your face from your ass! You’ve never lived! You don’t know what life is! You’re a fucking child for God’s sake!” His eyes scan downwards and back up. I hunch, suddenly feeling naked. “I mean, your body definitely isn’t shaped like a child’s,” he chuckles dangerously. “I’ll give you this much––you’re hot––but that’s about it. The most I’d do is fuck you.”

     I feel vomit rise in the back of my throat. This is too much.

     “Just stop!” I scream, a single teardrop falling from my left eye, I feel it mingle with the slobber that’s still left over on my face. I twist and rip my wrist from his grasp.

     “Fine!” he roars, tossing his head back and slamming the last half of his beer. He crushes the can in his palm, throws it in the back of his truck, and opens the door.

     “You’re gonna drive?” I shriek, walking towards him now instead of away. “Are you crazy?”

     He chuckles as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “I do this all the time.”

     “You’re fucked up! You could kill someone! You could kill yourself!”

     He laughs in the most mocking, fiendish tone. “Yeah, and?”

     With that, he slams the door of his silver Chevy Silverado, backs out, and speeds off to God knows where.

[ambitiousgurl1]

Can you die of anxiety?

Maybe you've heard others tell you to stop being so anxious or worried. This kind of remark only adds to the overwhelming feeling you already have. Only people who have had an anxiety attack can understand how intense the panic is. Anxiety can be so physically violent that you suddenly find yourself paralyzed. How can anxiety be so strong and frightening?

As human beings, we are unique in our ability to be afraid of fear itself. Animals can also be frightened, but they are only frightened when they are faced with real things, like a bear for example. They do not have the ability, unlike us, to feel fear at the mere thought of that bear. So for us humans, this anxiety is often associated with what our heads tell us about all kinds of situations. These bear stories cause our heads to build a cage in which we take refuge to protect ourselves from this threatening animal. Our head can stop us from doing many things that might be important to us.

Learn more about it today.

Take a moment to observe that the bars of the cage that imprison you are often just "blah blah blah" that gets in the way of what matters to you: I can't do it, I can't do it, it's not normal to feel this way, I'm going to die if it doesn't stop... When we let anxiety stop us, life becomes blander and loses its lustre.

Thanks to our intelligence, we can not only send rockets into space, but also feel sensations in our bodies similar to what we would feel if there was actually a rabid bear in the room. Make no mistake. Experiencing an anxiety attack is as relaxing as being locked in a room with a rabid grizzly bear. Of course, if you're suffering from anxiety, you already know that.

Once again, our intelligence is playing tricks on us. Anyone can see that there are no bears in the room. Others won't understand what you're feeling or why you're acting in a panic. What's more, your head may reprimand and blame you for feeling so anxious when no grizzly bears are present.

First of all, rest assured, we understand! Anxiety is a completely frightening thing. Although it can vary in intensity, it is surely one of the worst experiences a human being can have. The feeling of being misunderstood and judged when it gets its claws into us makes it worse. Quite often it is our own heads that will add to it. A few seconds after the anxious feelings appear in your body, your head will tell you: "This is stupid, there is no reason to be afraid or anxious, you must be weak or deficient to feel this way". All kinds of degrading and humiliating words go through your head when you already feel horrible about yourself!

But that's not all. Even worse, your head will give you lots of reasons not to do what you would like to do, like putting you in a cage to "protect" yourself from the bear of your anxiety.

Are you starting to feel a little stuck and a little bad when you read this article?

Sorry, don't give up, there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

Lucky for you, the bear of your anxiety isn't going to eat you alive. There is an alternative solution. The secret is this: you can learn how to tame this bear and even become its friend!

Of course, this won't happen in a day. This new way of dealing with what you feel when your head tells you these threatening bear stories is not going to get rid of the discomfort that comes with these attacks. You will continue to shake at times. What you can do, however, is learn to observe your anxiety as you would observe an animal to tame. Instead of running away from it, freezing it, or trying to fight it, you can reach out one hand to the bear of your anxiety and the other hand to that part of you that is shaking. This way, the three of you can leave together in the direction of what matters to you.

You may already be able to see your disagreeing, blabbering head, convincing you to stay in a cage until you can get the bear out of your thoughts that make you feel so bad. Is this really the kind of life you dream of? If there was another way to free yourself WITH this anxiety by making room for it when it comes up: "Here! My friend the anxiety is back! How about we go for a walk together and see some friends?"

But why make room for her anxiety?

When we take the time to slow down a bit, we can see that the anxiety is back!

Check this out page

[tanzrielle]

Xerxes paced back and forth in the bar that had since been abandoned by those he had met with earlier. He paced like a caged, bloodthirsty animal waiting to swipe through the bars at the next thing that moved.

He was livid.

He needed to do something.

No.

He needed to wait. But he knew the kinds of things Victoria must be feeling right now. Maybe even worse. To be tortured and....’Rehabilitated’ by your own family, people you love, must hurt worse than any wound.

And it angered him. He was ordered not to act on his own. To wait.

It made him sick.

All it took to reduce him to a screaming, weeping mess was a week. A week at a Twilight camp that was then burned down. He was not the same person he was when first captured.

He feared the same would happen to Victoria.

Remembering the things he went through brought a feeling of sickness over him. The feeling brought him back to reality and he finally took a seat at the bar. Soft footsteps approaching from behind made him seethe anew.

He recognized Aliverre’s footsteps. And he knew what was coming, too. A lecture. A look of disappointment. He heard him stop at the table behind him. The silence that followed was deafening.

“Haven’t seen you around in a while.” Xerxes said, choking down his aggression.

“Same to you.” Aliverre said, sitting at the table.

Aliverre looked tired. His hair, usually nicely kept, was a disaster and his robes were stained with dried blood. He looked over at Xerxes with mild irritation. “Heard you got promoted. Congratulations.” He said.

“Thanks.” Xerxes replied flatly.

That’s right, he was an Overseer now. He had....Authority. Responsibility. The weight of his decision to accept the rank made him feel sick with anxiety. He needed to shape up now. He couldn’t keep acting the way he was.

But how was he supposed to just sit here and let this all happen? He told those men, the ones Victoria brought with her, to stay in one piece. One of them mentioned a wife. How was he supposed to sit here and do nothing? They were all dead now.

He gripped the edge of the stone counter and didn’t stop applying force until he heard the stone crack.

Something dark was rising inside of him again. Deep, burning hatred. A hatred that fueled the sha that still resided within him. He hadn’t been able to get it out. Maybe he was afraid to take it out. Surely it would manifest into a gruesome, powerful monster at this point.

“I’m going to cut to the chase.” Aliverre said, looking at him directly. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m going to tell you to calm down.” He added sharply.

“How the fuck do you know what I’m thinking? You weren’t even there. Where have you been, anyways?” Xerxes snapped, turning to look at him. “Sure coulda used a healer of your skill tonight.” He hissed with the tilt of his head. Aliverre always jabbed at him like this, so he figured he should return the favor.

The look that Aliverre gave him....Almost didn’t fit on his face. It almost looked like it belonged on his own instead. It was dark, angry, and sharp.

“I’ve been on Kul’tiras and Zandalar, helping the war effort. I’m still a member of the Alliance military, you know. Can’t exactly shirk those duties.” Aliverre responded flatly.

“Oh, so wasting your time.” Xerxes replied. He held back a smirk as he saw Aliverre’s eye twitch. It felt so good to get under his skin for once.

“I’ve saved plenty of lives. I don’t consider that wasted time.”

“Yeah, but you’re like....Never around. Would anyone miss you if you never came back?”

Xerxes let himself smile softly as Aliverre rose from his seat and walked over to him. His auburn haired counterpart gripped the back of his chair.

“Yeah. I know at least one person would miss me if I died. And for them, I keep fighting.” Aliverre said. “You? What even are your goals, Xerxes? My goal is to save lives. Is yours to become a monster?”

A gray mist escaped Xerxes’ mouth as he stood from his chair to look Aliverre in the eyes. Almost...Instinctively, his hand wrapped around Aliverre’s throat. Aliverre didn’t move. He continued glaring straight into Xerxes’ eyes.

“It’s kind of funny how we’re the same person, yet nothing alike. If anything, you’re the embodiment of everything I ever feared I’d become.” Aliverre said. “Do you like being such an erratic lunatic?”

“Do you like being an inch away from dying?” Xerxes hissed. “You’re a mockery of everything I’ve become.”

“Good. Then I’ll mock you until you realize what a childish, violent, hate fueled, void addled lunatic you are and pull yourself together. YOU are the only one impressed with yourself. Nobody takes you seriously because you act like an idiot ALL THE TIME.” Aliverre snapped.

“Careful, you’re so delicate I might accidentally crush your windpipe.”

“I’ll say it as many times as I want. You are a childish, violent, hate fueled, void addled lunatic. You have yet to prove me wrong. Let’s not leave out impulsive, either. I came here because I KNEW you’d try to do something reckless after that mission.”

“Yeah, and? Why do you care?”

“Because I don’t want you to be the next threat the Collective has to kill because you got caught and broke.”

Something else snapped inside Xerxes. It made him grip Aliverre even tighter, visibly unsettling the priest. He grabbed Xerxes’ wrist.

“I will not BREAK. Even with all I’ve been through, I haven’t broken. I’m still me. I am unbreakable.” Xerxes growled.

“That’s a lie and you know it. You are who you are because you BROKE.”

“I DIDN’T BREAK.”

“YES YOU DID! IF YOU DIDN’T BREAK, YOU WOULDN’T BE LIKE THIS. YOU’D BE MORE AT PEACE WITH YOURSELF, XERXES.”

“I’M PERFECTLY AT PEACE WITH MYSELF.” Xerxes roared, tightening his grip and making Aliverre struggle to break free.

“Y-you broke...A-and that’s alright...! Nobody is  unbreakable, Xerxes....” Aliverre managed, digging his nails into Xerxes’ skin. “ Y-you just need a little help...”

“I don’t need help. ESPECIALLY from you.” Xerxes growled.

“Y-you do need help...B-before somebody breaks you again because you think you’re unbreakable.” Aliverre whispered.

Xerxes growled and shoved him away. Aliverre stumbled back, landing on his rear and gripping his throat, gasping for air.

“I didn’t break. No matter how much torture and torment I have been through, I didn’t break. I just chose a more offensive path to walk because I was tired of being HURT.”

“And how far have you come?” Aliverre said.

“Far enough to be able to dish out the same pain that was done to me.”

“Mentally.”

Xerxes remained quiet, unsure of how to answer. Of course he’d grown mentally. Right?

“ You’re the same as you were back then, just angrier and full of hatred. If I took those two emotions away, you’d be just like you used to be.” Aliverre said, sitting up.straight.

“You’re wrong.” Xerxes snapped.

“I don’t think so.”

Xerxes growled. In another movement that almost felt....Not his own, he stepped forward and kicked his leg high, nailing Aliverre in the face and breaking his nose. Aliverre yelped in pain as he scooted backwards, gripping his nose.

Xerxes only stared. He didn’t mean to do that, did he?

“See what I mean?” Aliverre said. “Angry, hate filled and impulsive.”

Xerxes only continued to stare. He couldn’t reply.  Aliverre was exactly right. He reached a hand out tentatively, only for it to be harshly smacked away.

“Don’t touch me.” Aliverre hissed as a gentle golden light filled in the hand on his nose.“You’re becoming like an animal, Xerxes. A rabid animal.”

Xerxes didn’t respond still. He only hastily made his way to the door.

“Where are you going?” Aliverre asked as he healed his nose.

“Somewhere private. Maybe...Maybe I need....to reset.” Xerxes said, racing down the hall.

Aliverre frowned. Well, that didn’t sound good. He wondered if he should chase after him. Perhaps not, he knew it would just end the same way it always did. He continued to sit on the floor, mulling over the things he had said.

Xerxes really brought the worst out of him, didn’t he?

[moonjeweled]

˜”*°•. &. @ididsayit​

                  She seethed like a cornered beast, hazel eyes alight with WILDFIRE as she snapped at her captors. The world had been silent far too long, Ezra felt she should  have seen the coming storm miles off. Yet she had grown COMFORTABLE in their solitude, accustomed to the vying hands and gaping maws of the dead, forgetting the real atrocities that prowled the earth in packs. It was not the DEAD that ought to be feared, but the  L I V I N G.  Those with spirits still in tact were filled her with more trepidation than any other creature in their midst. Angels and demons alike could not shake her with the vigor that humanity could.  She had played right into their filthy hands, putting she and her nephew at risk. And for what?  

With her back to the cool wall of the truck, she is grabbed by two pairs of rough hands and hauled out into the open. Blake was extracted with far more ELEGANCE than she herself was afforded, a fact the girl ought to be grateful for. Her gaze never left the toddler as he is carried several feet in front of her, his tiny face peering over his captors shoulder to look down at his Aunt with a SMILE. The boy was too good for this world, too  s w e e t  to have to suffer through the horrors they did. She could only hope if they were to be killed for THEFT, that it would be quick and kind. This new and terrible world was neither swift nor benevolent, though. 

The tight grip on too thin biceps was BRUISING as she was dragged towards a heavy steel doors. Such was her preoccupation that she barely had time to take in the vast concrete building before her. Even the hisses and growls of walkers were lost in the haze of ADRENALINE as she watched her nephew disappear into the gloom. Her heart hammered painfully in the cage of her ribs, a rabid animal fighting in vain to free itself from its ivory prison. If anything were to happen to him, she would never forgive herself. The very thought of harm befalling him makes her stomach roll violently in her gut, darkness creeping around the edges of her vision.

❝ ––––––––––  I wasn’t doing anything wrong, let us go. . .  ❞   She tries to sound brave, fights to banish the high pitch of anxiety that laced her voice. The FEAR lodges in her throat like a burr when they come to a halt before a terribly imposing man. He stands amidst a sea of faces, his expression unfathomable as she is placed before him like a spoil of war. Ezra spares him only the slightest of glances before she fixates on the boy, now squirming uncomfortably several yards away.   ❝ It’s not like your fucking NAME was on any of that shit okay. I won’t apologize for YOUR mistake.  ❞