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sysmedsaresexist · 3 years

Note

(Thank you)

1. Can you be a system with absolutely no idea what caused you to split? Or to not be aware of your trama at all?

I’ve only very recently come to terms with the fact that I have trauma and haven’t done any work on it yet. I don’t have an event I can point to and go “this traumatized me.”

2. What does it feel like to have an alter front?

3. Are systems usually aware they’re a system before they’re diagnosed?

4. Do alters always know what they look like beforehand? Previously I thought alters knew everything about themselves but one of the answers I got mentioned hosts sometimes helping to figure out names.

I'm curious what kind of answers you've gotten to these so far that made you seek us out, of all people, lol

1. Can you be a system with absolutely no idea what caused you to split? Or to not be aware of your trama at all?

Absolutely, both of these scenarios are not only possible, but completely normal. We're going to switch these around and talk about them in the opposite order, starting with, "not aware of trauma at all". The purpose of a system is to hide trauma. When you're young and going through traumatic situations, and you dissociate, what usually happens is one of two things. Either the child mentally goes away (dissociates, imagining being in a different situation, ignoring what's happening to them in the moment), or they imagine actually being someone else ("this isn't happening to me, it's happening to someone else, I'm (fuck it, uh) Zoro, and I, Zoro, can handle this"). Both of these scenarios lay the groundwork for the creation of a system, and both cases lead to the loss of memory of traumatic events when a child experiences that extreme level of dissociation over prolonged periods.

What this means is, there is no one event that creates a system. It's event, after event, after event, until the child can no longer form a cohesive sense of self. They've become too reliant on dissociation as a coping mechanism, these dissociated parts have taken on a life of their own, and a child's identity has become so fractured and they're so confused that they can't tell who or what they are, and the memories of why are scattered between these parts.

It's not as easy as pointing to an event and saying, "That was it. That was what happened, that's what did this to me-- to us."

This sort of plays in to the next point of, "why did a specific alter split." And this can apply to childhood, later, hell, today, ten years ago, fifteen years from now. It's not always as easy as pointing to a specific event for each alter, either. Some alters take months and years after an event to come forward and make themselves known. This can make pinning down their "origin" almost impossible. What made them could have happened a long time ago. Sometimes it's not a specific event, but a combination of several events, just like in childhood. Are your parents always fighting? Maybe, by the tenth time they're blowing up at each other and you're curled up in your room trying to ignore it, a part finally splits to help you handle that stress. It wasn't specifically the tenth fight-- it was the combination of ALL of the fights.

2. What does it feel like to have an alter front?

This depends. I'm old. I've experienced a lot of different feelings when someone else fronts. When I was kid, it sometimes felt like I was asleep. No memories of it, just blissful darkness, no real time loss, things would go dark for what felt like ten minutes, and then I'd be back, several hours later, barely even realizing I had missed an entire day. I also had pretty bad maladaptive daydreaming, and sometimes I would go into my daydreams while another alter took over. I just thought this was normal. I was just REALLY good at multi-tasking, you know?

When I got older, and I learned more about what was happening, sometimes it would feel like a battle to the death-- two of us fighting desperately for front. Sometimes it honestly felt like a punch to the head-- a knock out when I lost, unpleasant darkness, fear, anxiety, what was I going to come back to? Other times, when I won, I was left with a massive headache and exhausted. Sometimes I welcomed the break, and over time, it became easier. It became like watching things happen through a foggy window. Sometimes I wanted to do something, and I couldn't, and sometimes I felt helpless and lost. As communication got better, I could see more clearly, I could ask for things to happen, I could occasionally... steal a moment, use a hand, set something straight on the counter that was bothering me.

When an alter fronts, it can feel like a lot of things, depending on the situation, depending on communication levels. There's no "one way" or "right way".

3. Are systems usually aware they’re a system before they’re diagnosed?

I would say, in the age of the internet, it's more likely than not that someone is aware they're potentially a system, than it is for them to be completely unaware at the time of diagnosis. Before the internet, before you could just google symptoms, a lot of people weren't aware prior to diagnosis. Even these days, it's not unheard of for someone to only find out around the time of diagnosis, because you don't always realize you're losing time, or have amnesia. Your alters aren't always so completely different that the people around you notice and point it out. The entire point of this disorder is for it to be unnoticeable. It really just depends on the person, their exposure to information about the disorders, and how bad their dissociation is. Some know, some don't. Some go seeking therapy for help with other issues and eventually it just comes out over time that you have something else going on. Sometimes you suspect, and you go to therapy specifically for it. It's different for everyone.

Not at all. It's actually really common for alters to be... essentially blank slates in the beginning. Let's look at the example above, of the child dissociating out of a bad situation. If they're going away into their daydreams, the body is essentially left unattended. Any alter that forms in that moment could considered to be "blank" at the start. In the other scenario, you know who Zoro is, what they look like, what they like and dislike, what their history is. It doesn't even need to be a character you know of, maybe you, like me, had MaDD, and you'd become one of your characters, your OCs. I had one.

She was strong and had superpowers and was beautiful and confident-- and that was one of my first alters. I imagined being her often enough that I could eventually take the other route, disappear into my mind while she handled it herself (this was totally normal multi-tasking, apparently). She knew who and what she was right off the bat. What she looked like, her history, her personality. In the first scenario, that alter may or may not come up with that information on their own. They may remain blank until communication is good, and then they might start to grow, maybe you do help them find a name, maybe they find it years later on their own. Again, there's no "one way". It depends on the circumstances.

You sent a second ask with some more questions, and I think this leads into the next one.

Is it normal for an alter to feel more comfortable in the body than the original host?

Like, you look in a mirror and you think “yeah this is [alter name]” Not really as a negative or positive feeling, just a neutral and true one. Being trans (or mistaking the presence of a different gender alter [the alter in question] for it?) might also effect this.

This can happen, yes! In the case of my OC/alter, of course she looked like me. She was everything I wanted to be when I was a child. She can look in the mirror and say, yup, definitely me. This is what I've always looked like, and I'm perfection.

I have another alter that just... isn't bothered by appearance. He looks in the mirror and it's like, "yup, I guess so, cool -finger guns-"

There's a lot of reasons some alters might be more comfortable in the body than others, and they're all totally normal.

And finally. The last question:

What is a tupla?

This is, surprisingly, a very loaded question.

First, right off the bat, the use of the term tulpa is cultural appropriation. I don't claim to be an expert, but to put it simply. The actual practice of tulpamancy is nothing, NOTHING, like what it's being used for in system circles. Here's a really, REALLY good post on how it's been twisted from the original practice and westernized.

The more accepted terms in system circles are willogenic, parogenic, and thoughtforms. These are "headmates" that are intentionally created. They're imaginary friends brought to life through meditation and practice. Some systems claim to be DID/OSDD and say they've intentionally created some alters, making them "mixed origin" (it's more likely that someone has convinced themselves that it was intentional and their choice in an attempt to feel a sense of control over their situation). Some endogenic systems claim to have intentionally created their entire system (which, because on the levels of dissociation needed to create alters, I don't believe is possible without a traumatic origin).

I hope this all helps, I hope it all made sense, if you have more questions, let me know!

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love-we-write · 4 years

Text

Eccedentesiast

Character: RichyxMC (ambiguous platonic or romantic) Genre: Hurt/Comfort? Friendship/Romance? Unbeta-ed mess is for certain Words: 4,188 Summary: Richy is used to being known to be able to bring a little bit of comical sunshine to everybody’s gloom. He’s just not used to letting anyone know that he’s burning behind that light. But then, you appeared in his life. Potential T/W: mentions of panic attacks A/N: Done in conjunction with the Duskwood Secret Santa event~! Dear @anatomical-myocardium, Merry Christmas to you~! Sorry this took so long to post, I swear my laptop crashes on me at the most inconvenient time sometimes. I hope I did this justice as a gift to you, and I hope you like it, just as I absolutely love your gift to me~! Have a safe and happy Christmas~! ❤️ ❤️

And with a renewed vow to write anything and everything that I want to write without minding if it’s a game, or an anime, or an anime game, or Kpop, here we go~! ❤️ ❤️

------------------------------------

Richy is most known by his friends and all the Duskwood residents for his carefree nature, and he is very much aware of this.

With his small group of friends, he has been the joker of the group longer than memory can serve, always light-hearted with that small touch of dry humor to help liven up the mood. From their weekly battle of Doodle Friends to their catch up session at Aurora’s, all seven of them look to Richy to brighten their days with his quick-witted comebacks and his lame jokes that gets even Lily - ever the serious one - to chuckle.

At his job, his bright personality makes him one of the select few who could talk to Alfie without unnerving the boy, and from greeting old ladies who pass by his shop to chatting away with his customers while he repairs their cars, everyone does not have qualms to admit that Richy’s easy-going nature is his most admirable trait, a warm relaxing ray of sunshine that comes out and give others a bit of cheer on their gloomy days.

Richy knows that his ability to not take things too seriously gives comfort to his friends.

Richy knows this, knows it in the way Jessy thanks him for being there for her when she is frustrated with how Dan is treating her affections, knows it in the way Thomas looks at him silently yet gratefully when he brought them to Aurora’s and filled them with a copious amount of beers and stupid jokes for a self-proclaimed “pity party” after Thomas’ fight with Hannah.

He knows it during the wake of Hannah’s absence when Thomas is on the verge of breaking down, and when Jessy fought with Cleo over how to handle the investigation, Lilly had reached out to him in the middle of the night, quiet words of “I feel like you’re the only one keeping this group together,” mumbled into the phone in between sniffles.

Richy knows he is most known for his easy-going personality, and he is used to it.

He is also used to that horrible feeling of uselessness constantly haunting him in the deep dark solace of his mind. That sinking in his stomach, the heaviness settling in his core as he contemplates whether he has anything worthwhile at all anything good to offer to this world, the constant feeling that he doesn’t have anything at all. It is a dark void spanning the crevasse of his mind that comes up in his solitude, whispering that he is not good enough, that he does not deserve grief and his fear is only going to burden his loved ones.

Because who is he to voice out his sadness and anguish when everybody else has so much on their plate already? Who is he to want to cry at Jessy to look at him, just LOOK AT HIM WHO HAS BEEN THERE FOR YOU when she is heartbroken herself. What right does he have to voice out his grief, his guilt at being the first one to come to Hannah’s house but still unable to save her anyway? What right does he have to say these things, when he only had lost a friend while Thomas lost a girlfriend and Lilly a sister?

What right does he have?

So, Richy does what he does best. He smiles. He jokes. And he hides. He stopped trying to figure out the line inside him where his smile ends and his fear starts. To him, they all bleed together.

Richy is used to being known to be able to bring a little bit of comical sunshine to everybody’s gloom. He’s just not used to letting anyone know that he’s burning behind the light.

------------------------------------

But then, you appeared in his life. You with your contagious kindness, you who are the one person who does not have any personal stakes with Hannah in this investigation but still decided to help out of the sheer good in your heart.

Richy sometimes thought that you were highly naive when you said that them getting your number and bringing you in this group must have meant that there is something that you could do instead of just seeing it as it is; an ominous invitation from an unknown hacker. However, that thought of your naivete is blown out of the water when he witnessed your bright-eyed curiosity and your sharp perception.

‘You like Jessy, don’t you?’ you had texted him out of the blue during one of your conversations when during the first few days after you appeared in their lives.

Richy swore he almost dropped his phone in his coffee when he read your text. No one has ever picked up on his one-sided affections towards Jessy, not even their group, not even Jessy herself who has been his close friend.

He has always been wary of you when Thomas first invited you in. A stranger whose number was given to them by another stranger seemed to Richy like a well-timed disaster waiting to explode in their faces. Richy liked to think of himself as neutral when it comes to matters of your involvement; skeptical enough to not be desperate as Thomas but to the point of hostility that Lilly has shown.

But with your eagle-eyed intuition, Richy realized he had to be extra careful with himself around you.

‘Uh, gotta go. Coffee’s about ready and I need that caffeine injection for my sanity, in case some more shit happens around here, haha,’ he had typed quickly, adding in several emojis in succession for some good measure. He puts the phone face down almost immediately, as if that would help distract him from your reply, and busies himself with work.

‘That’s okay. Coffee sounds like a great idea. The next time you want to subtly avoid having uncomfortable conversations about yourself, I have a list of ideas :D,’ was your reply to him when he checked his phone during his break.

Mirth bubbles up in Richy, a feeling of familiarity and comfort fizzing up in him like downing cold soda on a hot summer day. Richy chuckles towards his phone, seeing as you really did provide him with a list of excuses to make to get out of conversation, each item sillier than the previous one.

Your entrance into his and the way Richy felt you seeing through to him feels like a breath of fresh air.

------------------------------------

‘Richy, hi.’

Richy smiles, looking at his phone vibrated on the countertop as he is pouring his third cup of coffee for the day. Seems like the weekend is as good as any for him to gather his thoughts to himself, to compartmentalize his feelings away from the crowd, but the texts from you over the days is a welcome distraction.

From asking him about Jennifer Manson, to asking him about the phone call he made on the day of Hannah’s disappearance, to random conversation about your favorite movies or music, messages from you have become something he looks forward to daily. He found himself slowly thinking more and more of you; whether you are okay, what you have been doing among other things

‘Now, what more information does my lady seek from me?’ he types quickly, anticipating as the three dots beside your name blinks back at him.

‘Good sir, is it such a crime if I just want to inquire about your day? :(’

Richy would be lying if he said that his heart did not skip a few beats over those words.

‘Our previous conversations would indicate that you always would have things to ask me after you know about how my day went, so out you go. :D’

It feels nice to see you playing along with his jokes.

‘Cleo told me you fought with your dad?’

Ah.

Not information about Hannah’s disappearance then. Which, to him, is much much easier to divulge.

‘That girl is going to get into trouble one day over how much she’s eavesdropping.’

‘I know. But more importantly, are you okay?’

Are you okay? Wow, Richy thinks as he stares at his idle phone. A simple question, but look at how he is struggling to answer. So he quickly typed in.

‘I’m okay, don’t worry, haha. Listen, the cat outside my apartment is literally meowing my window panes down, I better go check up on it before it eats itself,’ Richy began typing his response, as if him staring down the digitized letters will give him some form of epiphany over what the best course of action is.

Excuse #12 from that ridiculous list that you gave him from weeks ago. From feeding non-existent stray cats outside his house to a car needing their tires changed, it quickly became an inside understanding between the two of you that this is a signal that he does not want to talk about it.

But, inside, he wants to talk about it. Wants to talk to you about how this fight is a series of continuous disagreements between him and his father over how to run the family’s garage. Wants to talk about how this garage is not what he envisioned doing in his adult year, that he has no interest whatsoever in running the family’s business. How he had wanted to be a photographer, but was forced to run the garage by his dad to continue the family business.

And how each time his father berates him over the losses their garage suffered due to the new competing garage in town, he feels a slight vendetta to bring up that he is never interested in what happens in this garage but is only doing it for his father.

He has long perfected the art of hiding anything of him that isn’t polished and brightened, so when you picked it up immediately, he felt flustered. Flustered because he doesn’t know what to do when faced with the idea of someone perceptive as you catching his vulnerabilities that he is ashamed of. But, also flustered with the fact that he feels a small sense of comfort that someone took time to notice the small things about him, and that deep inside, he feels some small part of him wanting to reach back out.

For now, he just added a bunch of cheerful emojis for good measure and hits send.

He wants to talk about it. He wants to.

‘You know, I don’t expect you to exhaust that list so quickly. I would have thought it’d be good for at least 2-3 months.’ came your reply.

‘I worry about you, Richy.’

------------------------------------

And it is true, you are worried for him. It has been close to three weeks since you first got added into this strange group, and if truth be told, you would never have thought that you’d be as invested as you are now. You could not deny that Jessy and Richy were two of the friends you never thought that you would care for as much as you did. You know that Jake had warned you over the group, and you ARE a bit more wary of some more than others, but you did not expect your trust to go wholeheartedly to this small trio that you have formed with Jessy and Richy.

Jessy is the sweetest girl you have ever met in the world, always kind. She has this effect around people that made them feel cared for, and you are thankful how she had welcomed you and helped you out when everyone else seems to think you are the kidnapper.She wears her heart on a sleeve, and she trusts easily, but she means well. And Richy…

Richy is an enigma. On surface level, it seems that he is a bright ray of sunshine, all lighthearted jokes and wit, a perfect comedic complement to Jessy’s more emotional tendencies, but you notice the things that made Richy much more complex than he lets on.

You see his calm and composed nature when he is the one to suggest the group to think more critically in the case of your appearance and Hannah’s disappearance, how he calmed everyone down and brought their spirits up. But you also see his aversion to talking about how he himself feels.

Even though he does not show it, you know the incident with Hannah affected him just as much as it had affected everybody else. You see the sprinkle of emotions he has shown, from Jessy who told you how quiet he had been on the day his garage was spray painted with the sign of the raven, to his deprecating jokes about himself when you asked about the phone call he had made to Hannah on the day of her disappearance.

You see that sliver of fear, that glimpse of guilt over those short moments, but come any closer and you could miss it with how subtly and skillfully he averts to more cheerful topics.

But that’s the thing. You worry for him. Jessy goes to the both of you for comfort while Dan goes to Jessy. Lilly has her family, Cleo goes to Thomas and Thomas’s grief is acknowledged and heard by all of them.

But who listens to Richy? Who gives Richy their shoulder for him to grief? Who lift up his spirits the way he does to you? For now, all you can do is put your phone close to your ear, Richy’s number dialing in the background.

‘I worry about you, Richy.’

‘It gets better, I promise you. You don’t have to be alone. I’m here for you,’ you added under your previous text. It goes unanswered and your calls only gets redirected to voicemail. So all you can do is hold your phone close to you, placing your lips on its receiver, only able to hope that it goes to him, that his cheeks or his forehead feels the warmth as a sign that you are here for him.

Miles away, in Duskwood, Richy only stares in his phone longingly, wanting to call you.

‘I’m here for you.’ your text that had him feeling hopeful, comforted and flustered him all the same.

It has been a long time since someone sees through him so transparently, heck, the void in him has bled together with his façade so much that even he himself cannot see through the layers of sunshine to where his dark insecurities start. He has crafted so many walls, perfected so many smiles that it even fooled Jessy, the person most close to him here in Duskwood. Perhaps at some point, maybe he even fooled himself.

And yet, here you are. Effortlessly breaking through those walls like it’s paper, unblinded by the fake shine he puts on, and sees the darkness in him for what it is. He has to laugh at that as he leaned his forehead on his phone, somehow feeling a sense of comfort just in doing that. What have you done to him?

Perhaps one day he can begin to talk about it.

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That day came sooner that he thought it would be. That night in December, it snowed heavily in Duskwood. Angry snow fell down in a furious blizzard, gusts of wind wailing outside in anguish, doors and window panes shaking almost in fear. Sometimes, the wailing picks up speed and bangs on the window with a scream.

Inside, Richy is just as furious, just as anguished as the blizzard outside. The man without a face seems hell-bent in getting them to stop finding Hannah and to obtain your location. Richy would bend over backwards and go to hell twice before letting your location fall in its hands. And with the search not showing any signs of stopping, so did the threats to them.

Today, it took the threat to another level when it involved their families as well. Richy had woken up with a call from his father. He had expected the call to be his father picking up another fight with him, but the urgency in his father’s voice and the manic sobbing of his mother in the background struck a cold chord in him.

It turned out that his family house has been vandalized with the signs of the raven, only this time it is worse than the one did in the garage. The windows were splashed with red paint, with papers jammed in their mailbox full of threatening letters of ‘give me her’ and ‘Richy, you’re next’. It took him a good two hours to scrub the windows clean, and then another hour to comfort his mother that this is just a prank pulled by some reckless vandals, to clean up the papers from the mailbox and throw them in the trash.

But, deep inside he knows it. This is not a prank. This is a threat to him. To them.

Duskwood is a small town. People will talk and come tomorrow, his friends will find out. He needs time. He needs time to sort out his thoughts. Time to properly compartmentalize.

He needs time to sort out through his guilt of not being able to protect his family from being terrorized from the man without a face. There is the fury with the fact that it has been established that the man without a face is someone within their circle, given how much they know about your presence.

He needs time.

There is the fear that you, being the lynch pin to all that the man without a face wanted from them, will be burdened more. He needs time to sort through the fear that he could not protect you, and even though it is for the best interest of your safety that none of them knows where you are, you are still all alone having to pick up after these seven dysfunctional people and no one to protect you.

Then, there is the confusion, the stress, the angry sadness that this is a game that he has to continue to play with his friends. The betrayal that one of them, one of his close friends is responsible for this, that they could have the balls to laugh with him, smile with him and turn around and do this to him.

He needs time to sort through this anger and he doesn’t have the courage to face them and continue playing this game tomorrow, not when all he wanted to do is lash out at each one of them and threaten them and ohgodheneedstimeheneedstime--

In the solace of his room in his family home, Richy feels his thoughts become as white as the blizzard of snow outside. He hears his breath quickens, a voiceless wail stuck in his throat and he feels the shivers in his spine like the doors trembling in front of the wind.

Heneedstimeohgodpleasegivehimabitoftime----

And like a lifeline, his phone besides him rang and vibrated and he clutched it to him like a lifeline. Like a miracle in December, he sees that it’s your name. Somewhere in his blank white thoughts, he hears a small chuckle and how impeccable your timing is.

He answers and your voice in his ears sounded like a buoy thrown to him that is flailing about.

“Richy, I had a bad feeling about something. Is everyone okay?” and Richy hears himself laugh at that, a horrible mixture of a broken laugh and a hiccup and a helpless wail, all mixed up to become a horrible wounded noise.

Over on your side of the phone, your heart picked up pace when you heard that choked laughter from Richy. It is horrible and it is scary and you would never want to hear it from anyone again, least of all not Richy. He is having a panic attack.

“Richy, are you okay?! Richy, listen to me. Breathe with me, sweetheart. Breathe in, breathe out,” deep inside you tried to stay calm because that is what he needs, but even you feel like being on the verge of tears listening to this man - who has cheered you up so much - break down in front of you.

After he seemed to have calmed down, you tried again.

“Richy, what’s wrong? Please talk to me. You deserve to not be alone in this Richy. I see you. I see you smiling to get everyone to smile. You listened to me and you lifted up my mood when Jessy was attacked, and when I received threats over Lilly’s video. Let me do the same to you, yeah? Tell me what’s wrong?”

And to Richy, who has clutched onto your voice like a lifeline, who wants to share everything with you, just burst like a dam. Everything that he has kept secret from his friends, the sadness behind his smile, everything that he has even kept from himself and just swept under the rug and pushed into a closet at the back of his mind. Everything burst right there in front of you, from his guilt to not being able to stop Hannah’s kidnapping and Jessy’s attack, to him feeling unworthy of being sad compared to others, to his fear when he saw the sign of the raven in his garage and now on his home, his fury at knowing one of his friends are doing this, to his fear for Jessy, his fear for you.

He hated everything. He hated himself.

You told him that he is strong, that you admired him so much, but he needs to see that he deserves to be comforted just as much as he has comforted everyone else.

In that snowstorm-clad night, the winds wept and wept, but beneath its howl, you can hear the intermittent wail of a broken man as Richy cried, and cried, and cried.

As he lets out everything, the blank white fog of his mind begins to clear and gain color. It started from the reds of fury, to the blacks of fear and the blues of guilt, but then your voice came in, and slowly the pinks of comfort, the yellows of hope and the purples of peace began melting through.

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[EPILOGUE]

Both you and Richy sat over the phone for over 3 hours just talking about nothing and everything after his outburst.

He seems to have gained his color back, his cheerful self almost back as he cracked his lame stories about gangster seagulls eating his sandwich once in his travels. Richy feels like this time, his color - albeit still a little faded - is much more genuine than the blacks filtered from a rose-colored glass that he has shown before. Your laughter as you listen to his story and object to its credibility, slowly made those faded colors in his mind more vibrant.

“Thank you for listening to me, for um… taking care of me,” he begins a bit meekly after he finishes his story. He’s not so used to being listened to, not at this vulnerable a level and definitely he is not used to being taken care of.

“You did the same to me when Jessy was attacked. And you would have done the same for me again, I’m sure of it,” your voice sounded like a smile would, and God, would he give up everything to see that smile in person. He laughs to himself internally. How has this person made him so whipped for her in such a manner?

“I’m planning on going to Duskwood soon,” you had said out of the blue, bringing him back from his reverie.

“Absolutely not. In case you forgot my magnificent show of tears just now, the man without a face is threatening us to get to you. You coming here is the absolute worst thing to do,” Richy snorted, a mock indignant and wounded tone from him that made you chuckle.

“Well, how bad can it be? If we keep my arrival a secret from the rest of them, and spend the days, just you, me and Jessy, it wouldn’t hurt, would it? Someone needs to go there and give you a hug and take care of you,” you had replied back shortly, almost giving no thought to what you had said.

“Oh my, my lady, are you flirting with me?” Richy’s exaggerated gasp brought you back to reality, and his implication had your heart skipping beats.

“Well I mean… um…” you stuttered, and Richy swore your hesitance and stuttering made his heart soar just a little bit more in hope. But pursuing it is for another time.

“W-Well, someone needs to stop you from being such an eccedentesiast!” you had blurted out, extremely grateful that the distance makes it unable for him to see your bright red hot face.

His laughter after that sounds like the most genuine you have heard from him so far, and he might have said something along the lines of “nooo use small words, your idiot here doesn’t understand what that means,” but you couldn’t remember clearly. All you remembered was you thinking that you would give almost anything to protect that genuine tinkling laughter of his.

#duskwood #duskwood game #duskwood richy #duskwood mc

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kitkatopinions · 3 years

Note

I’m probably over thinking/over complicating things but Ironwood and Penny have been really bothering me. It because prior to the moment that destroyed Penny’s arc the show and Ruby were really pushing that Penny not matter her body was human and that’s a very positive I like that especially when it comes to characters of Penny’s nature.

So my problem kicks in when I think of Ironwood. Namely this part in his song:

“What if it's true as they say

That I don't have a heart

That I'm more a machine than a man?”

Like wtf. I mean I “get it” especially with that dumbass line of Winter. But when it’s talked about Ironwood it was always in reference to the fact that his body is half robotic and there for we are meant to see the correlation between his body and his character.?

Put next to Penny’s message that really bothers me. Even more so since Penny gets a “reward” of becoming human, but the writers push that Ironwood sacrificing his arm to stop Watts and replacing it (a medical decision that could be debated given that he wanted to be up and able immediately to handle things not to mention that fact that nerves and muscle are severely fucked up) with a new (uncharacteristically uncovered) prosthetic means that he’s moving away from humanity. This thought has been driving nuts for a week.

I don’t think you’re overthinking at all. The writers have been pretty blatant about what they think of disabled people.

On the topic of James, 1. They wrote their triple amputee character to be coded as losing his humanity. This is suspect from the get go, but writers imo need to be especially careful and sensitive when they display things like villains with prosthetics. CRWBY is not careful and sensitive. 2. They specifically connected the loss of his limb to the loss of his humanity outside of the show, and as you said, his new prosthetic is uncharacteristically uncovered as well, and there were some pointed shots showcasing his arm and emphasizing it before showing Ironwood doing something wrong as well as a shot that particularly bothered me of them having James fall to Winter when his aura broke and then them immediately flashing to a fallen, broken robotic soldier. Tying the loss of someone’s humanity to them losing a limb / gaining a prosthetic in any way is wrong imo. There are better ways to display someone’s loss of humanity than villainizing the loss of his arm, and I don’t care what justifications people have for ‘they just meant to say that he was too impatient to-’ Idc. Tying the loss of humanity to the gaining of a prosthetic is wrong. 3. They never once treated Ironwood’s clear PTSD, history of mental health problems, and trauma with any sympathy, instead spending their time ragging on him for not wanting to feel his pain anymore and condemning him for... Trying to control his emotions. 4. CRWBY also gave him a semblance and explained how it worked by saying he hyper focused, talking about how James’ passive semblance that he can’t control forces him to focus on one single goal and fixate. I’m not disabled, but I do hyper fixate. It’s not something I can control, and to see it used as a justification for evil (in one of my favorite characters in the series who reminded me of my father lol) and being treated as something bad... It doesn’t feel good. I can’t imagine how other people must feel who are much more affected by this than I am. 5. As you say, the writers go out of their way to reference his metal body as being more ‘machine than man’ and make lines about him being heartless. And yeah, I get that he’s an allegory for the ‘Tin Man’ from Wizard of Oz but ffs the Tin Man had always had a heart and I honestly thought that was what they were going for in V3 with Qrow commenting that sometimes he thought James didn’t have a heart and the audience seeing Ironwood’s actions as questionable, only for the entire show to tell us repeatedly that he actually is a caring and good person who’s willing to destroy all the forces he was proud to show off if it means saving lives and was actually pretty freaking blameless in the Fall of Beacon and was super kind to the kids and when the chips were down, Qrow and Glynda both absolutely knew without even questioning that James would never ever willingly hurt the world or fully betray them and had absolutely no hand in the Beacon attack. Like, I’m sorry, but between Penny and Ironwood, season eight is the season of taking well done character allusions and throwing them out the window for the exact opposite moral done incredibly poorly. And anyway, getting off of that rant, making a ‘more machine than man’ sentiment tied around a triple amputee character is incredibly harmful and hurtful to people with disabilities and only propagates the real world stereotypes against people like James.

So, yes, their treatment of Ironwood, his mental health, and specifically his disabilities was so badly done, harmful, incredibly insensitive, and frankly, appalling that it came from grown adult writers in 2019-2021! But, as you point out, it’s not just Ironwood. And here’s where things really get bad for CRWBY. Because Ironwood alone is enough for me to say they were ableist - unintentionally or otherwise - and ought to apologize for the hurt they’ve caused their fans. But when you get into the rest of their treatment of characters with metal prosthetics or non-flesh elements to their body, it becomes a pattern.

Penny’s entire body is removed from her on threat of death, with the justification that it’s hurting her and that her body is just a machine and not part of who she is, contradicting Penny’s earlier themes of self-acceptance and validating her humanity in the body she already had. She then dies by assisted suicide in a way that feels unneeded, after having asked to be killed earlier in the narrative. So many people have talked about how destructive her story became in V8 and how it personally hurt them, especially non-binary people, trans people, autistic people, or disabled people who saw themselves in Penny or saw in her arc something that they could relate to, only to have Penny’s differences stripped away from her, having her conform to normal body standards and have her previous body type invalidated by her friends, and then they had her killed via assisted suicide in an unbelievable way, insisting as well that she never made a choice before she was a flesh-person and couldn’t feel things right. It’s all horribly done, but it’s important to remember that while Ironwood is accused of losing his humanity as he loses a third limb and gets a third prosthetic, Penny’s earlier validation is taken away and is instead only granted and she is only justified as a person when she loses all her ‘nuts and bolts’ and becomes a flesh person. And then she’s killed anyway.

Yang’s prosthetic is the least ill handled, but it is still dismissed as ‘just extra’ despite her former fairly strong arc of coming to terms with her disability and making it a part of her. She casually justifies what’s happening with Penny despite Penny not being in a position of adequate consent. Yang’s trauma and PTSD also vanished when Adam died at the end of season six and in my opinion, that situation was handled very badly.

Maria and Pietro, two other disabled characters, disappeared, left when Amity fell and were not even mentioned iirc since. Not even when Penny is awake, not even when they’re evacuating, not even when Penny is choosing to die. She never brings up her father. And Ruby’s supposed ‘mentor’ who never had an actual narrative role that couldn’t have been filled by Qrow and has had nothing to do since season six even past that is also forgotten out in the tundra and not mentioned again.

The writers go out of their way to have Winter say that because she was just following orders (a statement that contradicts her previous character imo) and pushing down her emotions, she was the real machine, whereas Penny had been human underneath her apparently easily tossed aside and destructive previous metal body. And I don’t know if this means anything, but in that scene where she and Penny meet when Penny is dying and transferring the maiden powers to Winter, Winter is in her V7 character design, instead of wearing her assistive brace. Like I said, I don’t know if I’m reading into that, but with everything else, it feels like an iffy choice.

So yeah. In the past season CRWBY specifically cultivated a pattern of disrespect, dismissal, and villainization of any non-flesh attributes in my opinion. It seems pretty intentional and clear to me, but I’m willing to accept that maybe this was just a wildly bad uneducated mistake. Here’s the thing about that, though, after the Faunus/Racism allegory, the CRWBY writers should’ve learned their lesson and not touched on any real world topics that they weren’t willing to do the research on and treat with the sensitivity and care and respect the topics needed. Their Faunus/Racism allegory was harmful and hurtful and frankly could’ve sunk them in the water, they should’ve learned to put much more care and effort into their work or stayed the hell away from anything that could further spread the negative stereotypes surrounding real world people. But they didn’t learn their lesson and they’ve continued to push harmful narratives with no awareness or sensitivity. I don’t think you’re over-reacting at all, I think this is something that - intentionally written or otherwise - the writers should be called out on, or they’re just going to continue writing harmful narratives.

Also, I am not disabled, many of my opinions on the treatment of these characters comes from posts I’ve seen from many disabled or neurodivergent RWBY fans (or former RWBY fans,) or other people more affected by these narratives - minus the thing I said about Winter appearing without her brace when she talks to Penny, as it was something I just noticed while typing out this post. Since I’m not disabled, I’m not the best person to talk about these things, so if I got anything wrong in this, anyone more affected, please know you can let me know and I can edit and fix.

#rwde #rwby bashing #anti rwby #anti crwby #anti MKEK #rwby hate #if anyone comes in the comments invalidating or justifying I'll block #pro james ironwood #pro Ironwood #ironwood defense

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raven-moon33 · 4 years

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@dorkshadows @earl-of-221b @melonmass @antidotefortheawkward-art @videogamelover99 (I’m tagging a bunch of people in case Tumblr eats my post again.)

Hello everyone! Happy #jttwfestival2020! I’m so excited to be participating in this event, and am so thrilled at all the new content we’re already getting. Here’s my fill for the prompt Day 3: Role Switch!

I will be cross-posting this on AO3 as well, so feel free to leave a kudos or comment there if you happen to swing by.

Basically, Golden Cicada/Sanzang is the super powerful protector of the group while the other four are severely weakened from their various positions before the journey started and can’t protect themselves all that well on the road.

Some notes on this AU thingum:

- Golden Cicada is asked by Guanyin to help with the journey. He agrees and takes the name Sanzang as his human alias and to hide his true identity from demons who might cause them trouble. (He’s referred to as both Sanzang and Golden Cicada in the story, so let me know if that gets to be too confusing.)

- He wears two golden bracelets that limit his powers so that he can stay on the mortal plane in a semi-human form for as long as the journey will take, although the strain of having his powers limited in such a way is sometimes quite tiring and even painful. (He’s still more than powerful enough to protect the group however, so don’t y’all worry).

- Wukong, Bajie, Wujing, and Bailong are all well aware of who their protector is, but they’re not aware of the whole bracelet/limited powers situation. (At least, as far as Sanzang knows).

Anyways, now that we’re done with all that, on with the prompt fill! I hope you all enjoy! :)

Sanzang was deeply regretting his decision to accompany the pilgrims on their journey. Although the four other members of their group were each powerful in their own ways (especially the monkey, good heavens) they still needed him to guard their journey onwards.

In order for the four celestials-turned-demons to redeem themselves and potentially achieve enlightenment, it was vital they had a guardian overseeing their journey, ensuring they remained on the righteous path, and protecting them from the many dangers their road took them towards.

Perhaps if they were taking this journey earlier-

before Bailong was weakened by decades cut off from the sea-

before Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing lost most of their celestial might from the years of being slowly corrupted from their own demonic behavior and the consumption of human flesh-

before Sun Wukong was trapped under a mountain for five hundred years, once one of the most powerful creatures in existence, withering like a lotus flower locked away from the sun until he became a mere echo of his former self-

perhaps then they would not have needed a protector from the hordes of demons and mortals who sought to end their journey before they could complete it for one reason or another.

But they were not. This was now, and the things of the past could not be changed, only dealt with. So they continued on, however reluctant they might’ve been to do so.

Although the presence of a guardian for the pilgrims was clearly necessary, it most certainly didn’t need to be Golden Cicada himself. The only reason he volunteered to be the guardian of the scripture pilgrims at all was because Bodhisattva Guanyin herself asked it of him, and he never could find it in himself to say no to her. So he took the name Sanzang for his temporary human form and released Wukong from the mountain, beginning their journey west.

So now he was here, less than a year on the road with four demons who clearly didn’t want to be on this journey at all, trying desperately to prevent Wukong from killing. Again.

“Wukong! Stop!” He raised his hand to intercept the golden cudgel, only just stopping it from caving in the cowering bandit’s head. If Wukong was at his full power, the cudgel likely would’ve destroyed Sanzang’s hand (if not more) for the trouble, but as it was the hit left not much more than a stinging sensation reverberating up his arm, easily ignored.

Wukong’s eyes blazed with frustration (whether from Sanzang’s interference or from his own inability to power through that interference as he once might have, Sanzang couldn’t be sure) but his mouth was still tilted in an easy grin and his posture remained casual.

“What is it, little bug? I was just going to give him a tap, a tap! I swear!”

Sanzang couldn’t quite hold back his scoff. “You and I both well know that a ‘tap’ from you is enough to kill an entire army, let alone a single man. I thought you agreed that you wouldn’t kill anymore humans, especially not while on this journey?”

“If they can’t handle someone fighting back, then these bandits have no business trying to steal from people on the road in the first place.” Wukong’s grin became a little more feral when his eyes shifted to the bandit still cowering behind Sanzang. “Or is it alright that they’ve been going after traveling families and elderly folk?” His voice deepened a little into the demonic tone he only got when he was truly angry. “Children?”

“Of course it’s not alright.” Sanzang said with a soft sigh, his grip on the golden cudgel tightening a little to get Wukong’s eyes back on him. “And you know that’s not what I’m saying.” The silence between them grew into a large, tense thing, Wukong’s eyes blazing with the fire of his fury, singing with the memory of his days of havoc, and for a moment Sanzang wondered if they were going to fight once again, like they hadn’t since the very early days.

Back then, Wukong was still so wound tight with frustration at the situation- being freed from the mountain only to be trapped on a journey he wanted no part of, Sanzang having to rescue him from demons so lesser Wukong once probably wouldn’t have even noticed them amongst his horde of monkeys and demons, not even being able to fly on his cloud to make the journey easier or shorter at all, weakened as he was by the weight of Five Finger Mountain- that he’d more often than not lash out at Sanzang over everything, physically and verbally slashing at him with every method available until he either tired himself out, they became distracted by something else, or they managed to reach an uneasy compromise built up of tense silence and avoided glances.

It got better with the addition of the others to their group, levying the tension and anger somewhat with the presence of others who likely better understood and who could commiserate with Wukong’s frustration, but still sometimes there would be an aborted swing of his staff, a grinding of the teeth as he seemed to resist the temptation to bite at Sanzang’s outstretched hand.

But it was getting better, slow as the progress might be. Recently, Wukong even let Sanzang bandage some of his wounds after a particularly rough encounter with a mountain demon, the first time he’d accepted such help from anyone in the year they’d been traveling together.

Sanzang was surprised by how deeply he hoped they wouldn’t slide back into those early days.

It was not only because the constant war of wills had been exhausting, but because he genuinely hoped they could become something approaching friends before the end of their journey together. Sanzang had already become fond of the four demons he watched over, troublesome as they could be at times, but the other three took their cues from the Monkey King. So long as Wukong and Sanzang remained at odds, the others kept their distance from him, figuratively if not literally. (They did share a campfire more often than not, after all.)

And besides that, physical altercations with Wukong were always draining, more than nearly anything else on their journey.

He wasn’t sure if it was because Wukong was still just that powerful (weakened as he might be, it would still be suicide for most to challenge him) or if it was because Sanzang refused to use more than defensive tactics against him when they did fight (regardless of their personal issues, Wukong was still his charge, and he would never knowingly or willingly bring or allow harm to any under his protection), but whatever it was, fights with Wukong could leave him weakened enough to warrant a brief visit to Bodhisattva Guanyin to regain his strength, and he hated leaving the group even for handfuls of minutes, talented as they were at getting themselves into trouble even when he was there.

But luckily, Wukong didn’t seem to want a fight either. With a brief glance at the golden bands wrapped firmly around Sanzang’s wrists, the anger seemed to leech out of the monkey completely. (Not for the first time, Sanzang wondered if Wukong knew more about the bracelets than he was letting on, but now wasn’t the time to question him about it.)

Wukong rolled his eyes and took a step back, tugging his staff out of Sanzang’s grasp. He twirled it until the golden cudgel rested across his shoulders, both arms hanging off it casually.

“Right right, ‘doing wrong unto those who have wronged will not undo their wrongs, only add to your own’, and all that. You need to get some new sayings, little bug, if even those of us who aren’t listening have them memorized.” He walked off before Sanzang could retort, disappearing through the trees and returning to the road the bandits attacked them on. Sighing, out of frustration or relief or maybe even both, Sanzang turned back to the bandit still frozen to the ground behind him. As soon as he saw Sanzang’s eyes on him, the bandit hurried into a kowtow, bowing over and over again as he muttered a shaky litany of ‘sorry’, over and over again, interspersed occasionally with ‘thank you’ and ‘please spare me’.

Abruptly feeling very tired, Sanzang knelt down in front of the bandit, placing a gentle hand on the back of his head as he bent down to stop the frantic movements. The bandit froze and fell quiet instantly, face nearly pressed against the dirt despite the feather-light touch Sanzang had on him.

Sometimes, when he was feeling a little too tired or stressed or frustrated to completely hide the parts of himself the bands couldn’t quite suppress (or when he simply chose to stop hiding himself), everything around him could feel the heavy weight of his presence in the air. The insects in the trees would go silent, the plants in the forest would still their slow growth, and all mortal creatures would stop and tremble and hide in a desperate bid to avoid being seen by whatever now crouched among them, the entire world holding its breath as if waiting for the strike of lightning or the crash of an avalanche to swallow it whole. But, luckily for the bandit bowing beneath him, Golden Cicada was not cruel.

“You have lived a hard life, Chenglei,” the bandit flinched when Golden Cicada used his name, but otherwise didn’t move or make a sound, “but you know in your heart that it does not justify your actions now.” Golden Cicada gentled his tone, feeling the loss and grief twisting the man’s heart, feeling the beginnings of a demon’s bitterness rooted there in the ashes of love and gentleness.

(Loss wrought such devastation on a soul, and there was so much of it in the world; was there truly any wonder as to why so many demons wandered the world?)

“You have lost much, but you know those you’ve lost would be ashamed to see what you have become without them. Do you truly seek to dishonor their memory?”

“No.” The man sobbed out, shaking as his tears stained the dirt beneath them.

“Then go,” Golden Cicada said, standing up and stepping back, “and do better. Live the way they would’ve wanted you to.” The bandit didn’t waste another moment, scrambling up from the dirt and escaping into the forest, running as far and as fast from the road (and from Golden Cicada) as he could. With a small wave of his fingers, a cicada sprung from a nearby leaf and buzzed hurriedly after the man. Golden Cicada had given the bandit a chance, a choice, and it was up to him what he did with it.

But whether he chose to turn from the dark path he walked or continued along it despite Golden Cicada’s interference, he would be sure to face the appropriate consequences; Golden Cicada’s messenger would make sure of that.

The bandit now long gone, Golden Cicada sat down in the shade of a large oak tree, relaxing into the familiar lotus position. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and he drew himself back into himself. The heavy presence of the air eased away until it was locked completely behind golden bands and a human facade once more.

After a brief moment of silence in the newly lightened forest air, the insects began to cautiously chirp and chitter once again, birds hopping nervously onto new branches and singing soft tunes to one another, the trees groaning as they carefully continued their slow growth.

Sanzang released his breath in a long sigh, eyeing the cuffs around his wrists. They were mostly unremarkable looking, plain and nondescript even with their golden appearance, but that rarely meant much when it came to celestial tools.

They were given to him by Bodhisattva Guanyin back when he first agreed to help with the journey, and if it weren’t for the bracelets he wouldn’t be able to accompany the pilgrims at all, especially not for as long as the journey was likely to take. He recognized the necessity of wearing them, yet still he couldn’t help but loathe them at times. They locked away the majority of his powers, the majority of himself, shrinking him into something small and muted enough to exist on the mortal plane in a form he could pass off as human when he needed to, while still giving him enough power to help the pilgrims when they needed him.

The bracelets tethered him to the world in a way he hadn’t been bound for almost as long as he could remember, and although he could technically take them off whenever he desired, they still felt like chains trapping him, keeping him away from the sky and the freedom he’d enjoyed for an eternity (yet still for not long enough).

The heaviness of his own body startled him at times, his bones filled with mortar and his blood as viscous as honey, and he thought often about how he could understand at least some of Wukong’s frustrations. To be a creature of the sky suddenly bound to the unforgiving grip of the earth was a unique kind of torment not easily likened to any other.

He could take off the bands whenever he wanted, free himself and stop feeling like he was too big for his own skin, form itching with the need to be drifting amongst the stars and being the stars and forming the stars and dying with the stars all at once, but he also couldn’t take them off.

As Bodhisattva Guanyin warned him the single time he removed them, (back when a surprisingly powerful demon had his charges captured and was going to kill them, actually going to kill them, and Sanzang in his neutered form might not have been able to save them in time but Golden Cicada in his full glory most certainly could) the bracelets could only be removed and replaced a limited number of times.

Rebinding his power weakened the bracelets significantly, powerful as they were otherwise, and eventually his own form would be too much for the bracelets to contain. If the bracelets broke before the journey was over, there was no telling what would become of the pilgrims left without the guardian and guide they needed, and he was determined to see this journey through to the end for them.

(Come to think of it, Wukong hadn’t picked a fight with him since the time he briefly took them off. Wukong hadn’t been there when they were put back on as far as Sanzang knew, couldn’t have seen how excruciating it had been to lock himself away again after that brief taste of full freedom, but again he wondered if Wukong had managed to glean some understanding of what they were during that incident. Sanzang would have to question him about it soon, for his own peace of mind if nothing else. Something about the thought of any of his charges knowing, but especially Wukong, made something unpleasant shiver under his skin. He hoped none of them would ever know.)

It had only been a year, but already his investment in the pilgrims’ fates had gone from being for Bodhisattva Guanyin’s sake only to being entirely about his hope to see them succeed.

He had become so fond of them even in such a short time, and although he missed his old life amongst the celestials without these bracelets leashing the very essence of him, he found he dearly wished for his charges to succeed and achieve enlightenment themselves far more, even if they themselves didn’t seem to care much about it, judging by how often they complained and conspired against him when they thought he couldn’t hear. (The fact that none of them ever made a serious attempt to abandon the journey was often the only kernel of hope he had as the nights grew longer and the road stretched ever on.)

All these swirling thoughts of his were interrupted by something soft being stroked across his face.

Although he couldn’t see what caused it, he’d spent enough time around Bodhisattva Guanyin to recognize the feeling of a willow branch on his skin. She remained invisible, and although he could see her if he summoned his power once more (straining the magic of the bracelets binding him) he knew she would’ve shown herself if she wanted to be seen.

He recognized her visit for what it was (a gentle reprimand), so he closed his eyes and folded his body into the lotus position once again. The minutes passed peacefully between them, her silent presence as comforting as it always was, warm and gentle as spring rain, and they needed no words between them.

He breathed in, felt the knot of anger and anxiety and frustration and panic coiling in his chest, building from the time he’d last given himself to properly meditate, and he breathed it out.

With each breath he felt himself relaxing more and more, the tight clutch of fear easing until it disappeared entirely. Soon he was empty, mind calm and quiet like it hadn’t been for a good many nights, and he felt as much like himself as he could, bound to the earth as he was.

There was one more feather-light touch to his head (chastising, yet fond) and he could almost hear her saying you must take better care of yourself Golden Cicada; if you yourself are not at peace, then how can you help them find their own? before her presence faded and was gone completely. When he opened his eyes, all that remained as proof of her being there was a small lotus leaf filled with crystal clear water.

Smiling at this generous gift, he picked up the leaf and took a small sip. He drank barely enough to be able to taste it, yet still the subsequent warmth and strength suffusing his body was immediate. (He didn’t realize how weak and tired he’d been feeling recently, not until energy lit him up once more).

With care, he expertly twisted the edges of the leaf together until it closed up, protecting the water inside so he could safely store it in one of the hidden pockets in his robe. He would use it in their stew that night, as he knew they would be facing danger again soon and wanted his charges to have as much strength as they could before that happened. With one last look at his surroundings, Sanzang stood up, brushed himself off, and moved to return to the road where his charges were (hopefully) waiting for him.

When he returned to the site of the bandit attack, what he saw both surprised and warmed him.

The bandits hadn’t really been aiming for their group when they attacked, as their sights were focused more on the wagon of a traveling family who’d been on the same road. Although the combined efforts of Bajie, Wujing, and Bailong were enough to scare away the rest of the bandits while Sanzang prevented Wukong from killing the man he’d chased into the forest, it appeared the family and the wagon hadn’t managed to escape entirely unscathed.

The cart had somehow been flipped onto its side, flinging all of its contents into the grass beside the road, and while the horse pulling the wagon didn’t seem to be harmed, it had gotten loose and was now running down the road at a panicked gallop. The eldest of the group (likely the father of one of the parents), appeared to have broken his leg after falling from the wagon, and the two young children, a boy and a girl surely not more than five years old, were crying from their place stuck in a tree, where they’d gone to hide while the bandits fought the pilgrims.

But it was not all this that made Sanzang suddenly feel so warm and fond.

It was the sight of Wujing carefully lifting and righting the cart onto the road as Bajie helped the father of the group pick up the family’s scattered supplies.

It was Bailong quickly shifting into the horse form he generally seemed to prefer on the road to chase after the frightened mare, calming it down and leading it back to the family before it got too far to catch.

It was Wukong soothing the scared children, carefully lifting them out of the tree and returning them to the ground, letting them cling to him until their shaking stopped and patiently calming them down so their mother could tend to their injured grandfather.

A small smile painting his features, pride in his charges glowing brightly in his chest, Sanzang quickly strode over to help the mother set the elderly man’s leg.

Perhaps there’s hope for this journey after all. He thought to himself.

Somehow, somewhere, he felt like Bodhisattva Guanyin was laughing.

(A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! Let me know what you think and once again, happy #jttwfestival2020!)

#jttwfestival2020 #jttw #journey to the west #Tang Sanzang #golden cicada #sun wukong #sha wujing #zhu bajie #bailong #white dragon horse #Bodhisattva Guanyin #*scuttles into the room out of breath and slams story down onto the table*#sorry I'm late everybody!#holiday season has been a word I'm not allowed to say in front of the children #hopefully I'll be able to get at least a few more of these prompts filled even with the holidays breathing down my neck #someone send help ;;#hopefully my post will actually show up in the tags this time #fingers crossed lmao #but AGH I'm so excited for this and it's only day three

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divineluce · 4 years

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Trying Not To Pillow Talk|| Nadia & Luce

Location: The Vural Residence

Tagging: @humanmoodring

Timing: May 17th, 2020

Details: Nadia and Luce are just v soft (even if Luce ain’t about it).

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Luce slid back up to the head of the bed to lie next to Nadia, a self-satisfied grin plastered on her face. She lay on her stomach, watching the other woman intently. “How you feeling there, hm?” She asked, no small amount of teasing in her voice as she propped herself up on one of the pillows. She really appreciated that Nadia was the type to be aware of volume control-- Luce had lost count of how many of her hookups had nearly been sabotaged because of Bea pounding her fist against their shared wall-- but, it also meant there was less vocal feedback in the moment. That said, she was pretty confident in her abilities. Running a hand through her mussed up hair, Luce scooted away slightly from Nadia, giving her space in bed. She knew she ran warm and hardly any of the people she’d hooked up with in the past were into her space-heater like temperatures. Which worked, honestly, it saved her from dealing with people who wanted to cuddle.

Taking a moment to get her breathing back to where she wanted it, Nadia turned her head a bit to look at Luce. Eyes halfway closed, cheeks flushed, Nadia felt just about as relaxed and good as she’d felt in, well, in a very long time. She raised an eyebrow, though, and allowed a cheeky grin to spread over her face. “Probably about as good as you do,” she said, more than just a little confident in herself, especially now that she was aware she was actually feeling other people’s emotions. Was it cheating? Maybe a little bit, but it’s not really cheating if it’s for the other person’s benefit, she believed. It’d served her well back in college, before the blackouts had gotten too bad, and it’d served her well now. Thinking back on college, on the kind of person she’d been then, she couldn’t help but feel just a melancholy, even in the afterglow. All of her last few hookups had been because she just wanted to feel something, anything but the everpresent hole that she’d felt when she’d lost her friend. And now, she couldn’t help but feel like this was just a bit similar. Except she knew Luce, had been around her enough to find her genuinely attractive. And she didn’t feel like this was anything serious for the other woman, either. Still. She felt a bit like a wound had opened, really, one she didn’t like to think about. But it was there. Like a few tears prickly at the corners of her eyes, traitors. She raised up on her good elbow a bit, tried to blink them away. Turned to Luce, gave her a bit of a smile. “How do you feel?”

Pleased with herself at Nadia's words, Luce looked like a cat that had gotten the cream. In a very literal way, she supposed, the stupid joke making her grin even more. She was damn good in bed and she knew it-- but, it was always nice to hear it expressed. Rubbing the back of her neck, still thinking about the way the other woman and pushed her in just the right ways, Luce nodded. “I can’t disagree with you there.” She said, her response deliberately underplaying how very much into this whole situation she was. Eyes trained on Nadia, she took in the other woman’s soft skin, the curve of jaw, the line of her neck. Gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. She’d figured that Nadia would be just as beautiful in bed as she was normally, but up close? Whole nother ball game. As she stared at her, Luce’s grin faltered a bit at the way that she saw her eyelashes flutter. Uh, was something wrong? “Me? Oh, I’m great. Fantastic, one could say.” She said with an off hand gesture. Eyebrows arching slightly, she weighed her options. On the one hand, she could keep her mouth shut and just chill and enjoy the post-sex haze that settled between them. On the other hand, she could be nosey. Fuck. “You sure you’re good?” Luce asked.

Though the other woman tried to play it a bit coy with her response, Nadia still allowed her smile to widen a bit, grow more genuine. It was easy to play it cool with your words; emotions were a bit harder to hide. Not that she minded, particularly. It was nice to enjoy and be affected by someone else’s emotions for once. It was rarely enjoyable, out in public. But here, with Luce, in her bed, it was pleasant. Something nice to latch onto. She wondered, briefly, how long she could get away with staying and just… being. Usually, she got out as quickly as possible after hookups, as soon as she could stumble out the door, really, be that immediately after or the next morning. But… they knew each other, and neither of them were drunk. This wasn’t particularly random; in fact, they’d planned it. There was nothing random about this at all. Nadia didn’t actually know what that meant and, for the first time that night, was feeling a bit unsure. She was happy that Luce was happy, but everything else. She let out a slight laugh. Fuck, she needed to learn to get ahold of her own emotions. “I’m, well, I mean, it’s been awhile since I’ve done this. Just a bit… introspective I guess.” God, that sounded incredibly unsexy.

Gaze still focused on the woman in her bed, Luce shifted slightly under the rumpled sheets that covered them. It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable or anything-- she’d asked the question, she’d opened up whatever can of worms was coming. But, for all her bravado and her posturing, there was a small seed of doubt in the back of her mind. Yeah, she was good in bed, yeah she’d gotten what she’d wanted out of this. But, she didn’t like using people without them getting something back in return. Maybe that was the result of a magical up-bringing, her fixation on give and take, and equivalent exchange. Either way, when Nadia mentioned that it’d been a while, she felt more than a little bit guilty. Pushing those thoughts aside, she nodded, an easy grin still on her face. “Well, you could have fooled me.” She teased, pausing for a moment. Ugh. She should just take the statement at face value, just let it slide. Maybe distract Nadia with the opportunity for a second round before politely telling her she could totally spend the night, with the heavy implication that she wanted anything but that. But… she wasn’t going to do that. “What’s going on in your head?”

Luce’s guilt and discomfort was a bit bitter in the back of Nadia’s mind. Nothing overpowering, but it was there. She didn’t like it, felt a bit bad for causing it. And, at the end of the day, she had caused it, even if she’d caused much more pleasant things earlier. She should’ve just waited and escaped when the time got right. Not said anything, kept better control over her emotions. After all, she was an empath, whatever the hell that meant. It should’ve meant that she had a handle on her own emotional turmoil, since she had to deal with everyone else’s. But that didn’t seem to be the case. Fine. Sure. She’d live with it. She let herself enjoy Luce’s teasing, however briefly. “Thank you. I mean, some things you don’t forget, you know? No matter how long it’s been.” Nadia gave the other woman a grin, almost a smirk. It disappeared, though, slowly, before Nadia furrowed her brow, just a bit. She opened her mouth, closed it, and evaluated things. This was an incredibly inopportune time to be asking that question, mostly because it felt harder for her to lie about the answer in the moment. “Heavy question,” she murmured. Could they just stay like this? She wondered. Luce was warm; it’d be easy for her to just doze off, just briefly, even with all the thoughts swirling around in her head. She bit the inside of her cheek. “A lot. Mostly good things, about you and this, of course.” She gave another small smile. “But other things, too.”

“Mhm, you know, maybe there’s some truth to me being called the town bicycle.” Luce joked. “You might take a break, but you never forget how to ride.” She said with a lazy wink. But, the easy joking tone slipped away, replaced by a pause and indecision. As she watched Nadia collect her thoughts, Luce began to idly trace shapes on the sheets with her fingertips. Circles turned into eyes, then a long stroke against the sheet became the side of a face, and Luce realized she was tracing an image of Nadia into the space between them. Smoothing the wrinkles in the fabric away with her palm, she tilted her head. “Well, I’m glad that I’m in the good things category. But… seems like you’ve got a lot on your mind. You can talk about it, you know. I’m a good listener.” She had to be, what with her job. And besides, she found herself wanting to know what was going on in that head. Nadia was a bit of a mystery to her, one that she was interested in unravelling, in all senses of the word.

Despite herself, Nadia let out a laugh. Unable to really hold herself up much longer on one elbow, she laid back on the bed and looked at Luce. She was serious about this, about wanting to listen to what Nadia had to say. It wasn’t a new, crazy thing, not like it was when she first came to White Crest and genuinely wanted to listen to her, know her. It still surprised her, though, every time. She picked at the bandage on her arm, knowing she’d be picking at the stitches if it wasn’t covered up. She needed something to preoccupy her, for just a moment, while she gathered her thoughts. “You were definitely in the good category,” she said. Nadia ran a hand over her face. She bit her lip. “I’m not sure what to talk about, or where to begin, or even what you’d want to hear before it becomes oversharing.” She smiled wryly. “I’ve been trying to learn not to do that.” Especially since she’d outed herself as possessed to Alain over the internet.

“Trust me, I know a thing or two about oversharing. People say stuff they’d never tell anyone on my chair all the time. As long as you don’t tell me about the time you and some college buddies went on a massive bender and then you woke up a week later with a picture of Puff the Magic Dragon tattooed on your ass, we’re good. Which,” Luce glanced pointedly at Nadia’s hip, covered by the sheets, “I think I can already confirm that you don’t have that particular story.” She said with a grin that slowly shifted to a more serious expression. As much as she would like to continue to lighten the mood with stupid stories from the shop, she did want to know what all was going on in there. “But, seriously. Hit me with your best shot.” She nodded, “And, hey. If I think you’re crossing a line, I’ll tell you. I’m not about listening to shit that I shouldn’t hear.”

“Puff the Magic Dragon, huh?” Nadia shook her head, though she was laughing. She sighed, though, figuring she should just… start talking. “Like I said, it’s been awhile. College, really, is the last time I remember.” She wouldn’t really know, though, where her body had been and what it’d been doing when she wasn’t in control. “I wasn’t in that great of a place, then. I told you, a bit, I think, about my friend that moved out.” Everything was coming out so haltingly, the words both carefully thought out and stuck in the back of her throat. She didn’t know how to talk about this, about Brooke and her leaving and how all of it made her feel. “I was… devastated, perhaps, is a good word. Incredibly upset. I’m terrible with emotions, my own, at least. I didn’t-- I was sad and tired of being sad, so I was trying to not be like that. And I ended up… I’m afraid I was using other people to not feel that way. And then things got worse, and, well, here we are.” She gave a shaky smile. Her eyes widened, just a bit. “Not that I’m-- I mean to say, I’m not, you know, using you for anything. I mean, we planned this, it was incredibly thought out, I wouldn’t-- I think of you as a friend, you know? This, I mean, this was just an added benefit.”

“You better believe it.” Luce said, making a face at the memory of the nasty ass-- literally-- tattoo that she’d had to work on. As much as she loved her job, there were some things she never wanted to do again. Ass tattoo cover ups? Big ol’ fucking nope. Listening to Nadia intently, she could hear the sadness in her words. As if what she was actually wasn’t already sad enough, she could hear the waver in her voice, the pauses that lingered as she tried to figure out how to put her feelings to words. Shifting closer to Nadia, Luce took the woman’s hand and began to trace shapes with her fingertip on her palm. She didn’t like talking about emotional shit-- about herself or about other people’s baggage. Physical stuff was easier, more straight forward. And some people liked the physical comfort. Maybe Nadia did too, who knows. It was worth a shot. “It sucks. To be in a situation like that.” She said finally, though she really had no basis for the statement. She’d never felt abandoned like that-- she was always the one who’d left. “But sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do to keep your head above water, right?” With a grin, Luce met Nadia’s eyes, “Trust me. I know you’re not using me. Friends with benefits is exactly what I’m looking for.”

It was easy for Nadia to relax under Luce’s touch. Melt, really; the other woman was so warm, like sunshine and summer months, laying out in the backyard with a book. It’d probably get too warm, eventually, but Nadia’d never been good at gauging that kind of thing. She always went too close the the warmth, the heat, like a moth drawn into a bug zapper. That didn’t stop her, though, from getting a bit closer to Luce, as close as she dared. She was always cold. Always. It felt nice to be warm. “It wasn’t-- I mean I didn’t-- Never really figured out how to deal with it, I guess. Then or now.” She laughed a little, wetly. She damned her tears. “I don’t know if I was keeping my head above water or helping hold it under. I don’t know. I was fucking drowning for years. Just a fucking mess of it. Don’t even remember it.” It was as close to the truth as Nadia attempted to get right now, know if she pushed herself too far, all of it would come spilling out in a horrible, ugly way, and she could tell that this wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world to Luce. As it was, this was fine. It was safe. It was good. She let herself trace the tattoos on Luce’s hand, marveling at the beautiful patterns and attentions to detail. It was incredible that the other woman had designed them herself. “Good. I can-- This is good.”

Feeling the way the woman drew closer to her, Luce resisted the urge to stiffen slightly. She hated cuddling, hated the intimacy of feeling another’s heart beating against her own, of hearing their slow and steady breaths coming in. Sex? There was nothing intimate about mindless sex, it was all about sensation and pleasure. Shit like this is what made her shy away from anyone who ever wanted to get to know her. But, here she was, letting it happen. As Nadia continued to speak, Luce glanced up from the mindless shapes she’d drawn on her hand and was startled to see the tears in her eyes. Oh fuck. “Mmm.” Luce hummed noncommittally, to disguise both her discomfort and the unsettling concern that was growing in the pit of her stomach. “Sometimes it’s better not to remember shit. Gives you the ability to move forward with things, live your life without being tethered to the past.” She said, holding her hands still to allow Nadia to trace the dark lines of her tattoos. She wished that she could forget some of the things she’d heard growing up. Nothing big, nothing dramatic, nothing like that. She’d just forget some of the family shit… some of the baggage. Luce raised an eyebrow at Nadia’s less than certain response. “You sure? You don’t need to say yes. I’m cool with this being a one time thing.”

It was so strange, to Nadia, to feel the things that people were hiding. It was sweet that Luce was attempting to hide her feelings, even if it didn’t always work. At least Nadia could pick out what it was about. When people used to try and mask things, hide feelings from her, she’d always been confused and embittered. Why couldn’t everyone just wear their emotions on their sleeves so that everyone was in on the secrets with her? Everyone but her, of course. She couldn’t… It was so hard to be open, when everything was always so open for her. How do you keep all the grief around you from affecting you? You bottle up your own. How do you keep your parents sadness and disappointment from overwhelming you? You lash out at it with anger. You keep everything close to your chest, so close. You’re not even playing cards anymore, are you, Nadia? Was it still a poker face if she kept it up when the game’s over? Covering it all up with sarcasm and humor, that made it okay, right? And as for the things that can’t be remembered… “Maybe it is for the best,” she murmured. She didn’t want to know what her ghost had been doing, anyway. “And I’m sure. I mean, if you’re sure. I don’t want to come off as, I mean, I’m not clingy.” Her jaw twitched a bit at the word. She hated being called clingy. She wasn’t. She hadn’t been when her boyfriend had broken up with her at the start of sophomore year of college, claiming that to be the reason why. She hadn’t been when Brooke left just a note and she’d spent days trying to call or text or anything. She wasn’t clingy. Clingy was the last thing she’d ever hoped to be again.

In the silence, Luce could practically hear the gears turning in the other woman’s head. There was a whole lot going on behind Nadia’s light eyes and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all. But, at the other woman’s quiet admission, Luce couldn’t help but wonder if she’d said something wrong. She wasn’t good at this kinda talking shit, she’d never been good at it. Dumb comments and dick jokes and mindless, easy flirting was what she excelled at. Stuff like that was easy, simple. She presented a side of herself that others could either take or leave, and it made sifting through the people who stayed easier. But this? This whole… comforting others with words, helping them through things? Not her thing. Never had been, never would be. As she watched Nadia’s face, she noticed the slight clench in the woman’s jaw at the word. Clingy. A slight chill ran down her spine-- how many times had she thrown that word around to other girls? She knew what it meant to call someone clingy and demanding. It was a shitty nail in the coffin move, that ended things in an instant. And it seemed like Nadia knew that too, just from the other end of the conversation. “Believe me, I’m sure. And I don’t think you’re clingy.” She said, running her finger tips up Nadia’s arm to reassure her.

Relaxing a bit more at Luce’s words and touch, Nadia let her eyes slip close. She smiled, just a bit. “Right, okay then. Good.” There was a bit of relief that came along with the words. And she could do this, she figured, keep herself in check, not become attached or anything like that. Usually, Nadia considered herself monogamous. As in, mono, singular, alone. Or, occasionally, a one time thing, no strings, no names, no phone calls. But this… she could do this. If it let her relax and got rid of some of her ever present stress, she could. And Luce was certainly a wonderful person to do it with. Before she could think too much, get lost in her head, Nadia rolled over so that she was on top of Luce. Her arm hurt a bit, but she wasn’t complaining. Even if she pulled a stitch or two, it was probably worth it. She gave a smirk. “Good?”

As Nadia shifted so that she was positioned over her, Luce’s smile returned, her eyes darkening with lust. Better. This was better. No talking, no feelings, no questions, and no need to answer. No trying to juggle someone else’s emotions and worry about how she might fuck it up. Or having to worry about them asking questions of their own, questions she didn’t want to answer. Looping her arms around Nadia, her fingers running up against the woman’s bare back, Luce nodded. “Oh, this is more than good.” She said before pulling her down to capture her lips in a heated kiss. This was easy, this was simple, and it had no strings attached. Just how she wanted it. And, hopefully, just how Nadia intended to keep things too. But, as the woman moved above her, the warmth of their bodies pressed against each other, all those thoughts were banished from her mind.

#p: nadia diaz #p: tntpt #wickedswriting

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skyprincesscommander · 5 years

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A Heart in Crisis - Part 3

Happy New Year! I’m starting 2020 by posting the final installment to my small trilogy spanning Crisis (Part 1, Part 2), which, like the others, can be read as a stand-alone.

Summary: The multiverse is about to end, but with Kara dead, Lena had already lost everything. The silver lining? It was only up from here.

Earth one was the last remaining outpost in the entire multiverse. If they failed to defend it, life itself was over.

The stakes of losing the multiverse were enough to keep Lena moving, but they just didn’t seem significant when she’d lost the one person who made it mean something. Any action she took seemed more like computer programming rather than a natural survival instinct. How else was she meant to feel when everyone she worked with was surrounded by the people they loved, sharing comforting touches and speeches of hope?

It felt like the world was mocking her.

She tried her best to not think about it, but not thinking about Kara was like not breathing. If there was a hug, she heard Kara telling her she wasn’t weak. She couldn’t look at Superman for a longer duration than two seconds, lest the symbol on his chest strip her of all the hope she had left. Even eating...the simple act of consuming food brought a sickness to her stomach that stripped her of all appetite, because all she could think of were donuts and potstickers and late-night dinners from a different lifetime.

There simply was nothing on earth that could make up for the fact that Kara was gone.

Instead of reality, she tried to think of possibility. How many Kara’s had already died? What had they been like? Maybe another Lena had found that Kara and said all the words that were locked in a box. Maybe in another universe, she’d done it right. Or maybe another Lena hadn’t been such a mess in the first place and they’d found each other sans all the drama.

And yet, if there was any rhyme at all to the multiverse, Lena knew those Kara’s would have sacrificed themselves all the same.

It was hard to hope when they’d already lost so much. Despondency was the norm for all those who knew the odds. The rest were either in denial or too busy to obsess over statistics.

Eventually, the fight came to all of them (even to those without superpowers or an inherent skill in archery). As the last earth standing, there was nothing left to lose. They’d found a way to halt the anti-matter-wave, but the Anti-Monitor’s shadow demons were minutes away from destroying their device. Lena stood with the rest of the heroes as the last line of defense with a ray gun in hand. For once, she wished she spent less time fencing and more time at the shooting range.

When the roof began to collapse, Lena knew her end was near.

A strange peace fell over her. All her burdens felt the nearing of total release like a great tidal wave was towering over her, ready to wash it all away. It was not what she expected her last moments to feel like.

Lena closed her eyes as the roof engulfed her vision, but not out of fear. It just wasn’t the last image she wanted to see.

No. The last thing she wanted to remember was blue eyes, and a joyous laugh full of love. Kara Danvers standing on the balcony, aware of nothing in the world but Lena, and Lena aware of nothing but Kara in return. She allowed the warmth to spread through her, conjuring Kara’s laughter and voice into her ears. The sound got louder and louder, like an echo coming closer. Her name was whispered, no, called. And when it had been called for the third time, Lena finally realized the impact she was expecting hadn’t arrived, and that her name sounded like more than just a dream.

Lena opened her eyes.

Either heaven was real and someone had gotten the verdict wrong, or Lena was having serious last-minute hallucinations.

Because there knelt Kara, burdened by an entire concrete ceiling on her shoulders, grinning down at Lena with a smile so wide that it reached the very corners of Lena’s vision.

Lena may have rubbed her eyes if every limb in her body didn’t feel rooted to the ground. Oxygen stood still in her chest as she stared into those blue eyes, unwilling to even blink lest that beautiful color disappeared.

“Kara?”

Kara’s joyous, celebratory laughter sounded more beautiful than her imagination could ever have comprehended.

Sometimes, heaven can wait, because dreams need to be lived on earth.

***

Kara had to leave, of course. They were still in the midst of a battle with reunions on the backburner, but that reunion was all the occupied Lena’s thoughts. She hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to, or even touch the girl of steel (falling ceilings and a universe to save and all that). But there wasn’t a shadow demon, superhero, or even a goddamn God that could stop her from living to see that moment.

Losing didn’t even seem like a possibility anymore.

Kara was alive. That was the only truth that mattered, and that was all Lena needed to know that winning was a mathematical certainty.

Still, their victory couldn’t come fast enough. There was a superhero she needed to feel in her arms again, the multiverse be damned.

***

The battle had been won for a matter of seconds before Kara flew to Lena. When she arrived, Lena was waiting for her, standing alone amongst a crowd of people who were embracing in relief, joy, and triumph.

Yet none of the celebrations could have matched the elation both women felt. It like there was a secret in the room, one shared between their eyes from across the space, and no one could ever share it with them.

After being able to look at Kara long enough to convince herself once again that it all was real, Lena sprinted toward the Kryptonian. She barely moved her leg a second time before Kara disappeared before her eyes.

Lena didn’t even have time to feel disappointment. She was wrapped up in strong arms, toes lifted off the ground in an embrace that robbed her of air. It didn’t take long to realize that her toes weren’t airborne because she had been lifted. It was because they were flying.

Just barely, but Kara was either too happy to care or completely unaware of their elevation. It didn’t matter. She knew Kara wouldn’t let go either way.

Kara was in her arms. Kara was real. Kara was crying. Lena moved her arms up and down her back and over her shoulders. She squeezed Kara so hard that she may have caused herself pain if pain was even a feeling she was even capable of feeling it at that moment. She pressed her cheek and Kara’s, allowing their tears to mix. As something else real to share, something alive, it only made her feel happier.

They floated like that for what felt like a lifetime before Kara finally became self-aware and returned them to the ground. Nothing had ever been more physically challenging than unwrapping herself from Kara, but the Super took pity on Lena and kept hold her hands (though Kara had likely done it for her own benefit as well).

While looking into those shining blue eyes, Lena’s breath became trapped in her chest. She felt bloated there, like there was something that needed releasing. Like all her boxes had risen up from deep inside.

When Kara opened her mouth to speak, Lena knew exactly which box she had to open.

“I love you,” Lena blurted.

Kara froze, dumbfounded, but Lena rambled on ejecting each word as it shot up to her mouth, unwilling to allow her mind to interrupt. “It was the last thing I thought when you left and I should have said it. There are things that matter and things that don’t and loving you has been the only thing that mattered to me for years. I don’t know or care what happens after this but you just have to know--”

“Lena--”

“--that I love you and I am so sorry for how I reacted and for everything I’ve--”

“Lena!” Kara clutched the sides of her shoulders. She smiled, eyes swimming with adoration. Lena could have lost herself in them forever. “I love you too.”

Lena released a laugh (though it could have been a sob, she wasn’t sure). Kara’s hand moved from Lena’s shoulder to behind her neck, but the pressure was unnecessary. Lena was already tipping her chin upwards, searching for Kara’s lips.

The kiss was passionate; unyielding. After living for days in a universe without Kara, each press was like a plea from Lena for her to never leave again, for the kiss to never end. It was an attempt to immortalize a very feeling - it’s taste, the sound of Kara’s gasps, the feeling of their connected bodies, and the burning in Lena’s very veins. Even though so much was happening around them, they might as well have been standing alone on the moon.

They only parted for oxygen, and even then they pushed the limits. Panting, but still wearing smiles, they pressed their heads together.

Kara stroked the side of Lena’s face. “I know we have things to talk about--”

“We will talk about them--”

“--and pain to move past--”

“We will move past it--”

“--but no matter how long or how much work it takes, I will fight for you.” Kara searched her eyes, imploringly, but didn’t move her head back. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes, Kara. I do.”

Lena kissed Kara once more, and another twenty times after.

Of all the victories they’d achieved, this one surely tasted the sweetest.

***

For the rest of the day, their hands were glued together. Time seemed as much a friend now as it was an enemy, and they didn’t want to waste a single second of it.

But the universe was a cruel beast, and the monitor came with one final message.

“For balance in the universe to be maintained, chaos must be controlled, and order must be restored. I will leave the seven paragons unaffected, but all else must forget any knowledge of this Crisis.”

Before anyone can even process his meaning, before Kara and Lena can even look at one another, the monitor claps his hands.

***

Lena was in her apartment when Kara arrived. Her laptop was on, a scotch swirling in her hand. The landing on her balcony was unceremonious, and Kara did not wait for permission to enter. When she accidentally broke the door handle, Lena jumped from the couch, her scotch spilling all over the rug.

At first, Lena thought Supergirl might barrel straight into her, but the closer she came, the more she slowed down, until she completely stopped, barely five feet away, wearing a look of dread.

“No…” she mumbled. “You don’t remember.”

Lena, completely bewildered, crossed her arms. “Um...get out of my apartment.”

“Lena…”

Lena waited for her to continue, but Kara’s face betrayed that she had no idea what to say next. She looked lost, the tears in her eyes the only thing that seemed to know where they belonged.

“What’s...what’s the last thing you remember...about us?”

Lena scoffed. “Your super-hearing not working, Supergirl? Leave.”

“Please, I need to know!”

“And all I need is a life without you in it.”

A switch flipped in the alien’s eyes. The tears seemed to shrink back from where they came, an assured certainty springing forward to replace them. It wasn’t the reaction Lena had intended to elicit.

“I know that’s not true.”

“You don’t know any--”

“I know it,” Kara said with absolute conviction. It bothered Lena to no end, but Kara didn’t allow her to voice it. “And I’ll prove it to you. I’ll spend every day convincing you that I love you.”

A gasp passed Lena’s lips, but she hid it within a deep breathe as quickly as possible.

Not quick enough.

Kara took one more daring step forward. “I won’t ask if you believe me, we both know the answer to that. But I’m not going to stop until I do. I’m going to fight for you.”

Lena gulped. “So arrogantly persistent.” She tried to make her voice sound annoyed, but it sounded like a piece of glass one vibration away from shattering.

“I made a promise to someone. I’m going to keep it.”

With that, she was gone, though Lena did not miss her final smile.

When Lena dreamt that night, she dreamt of a falling ceiling and declarations of love.

She tried to erase those memories with a strong cup of coffee, but she couldn’t help feeling that her heart knew something she didn’t and that it was only sharing that secret with Kara. Thanks for reading! I wrote this as a version of what I would write as a Crisis story, keeping in mind that the show still has half a season to get through. I’m someone who wants the Supercorp angst to last till seasons end (but no longer, at least not the same angst, cause I’m an angst addict), so that’s why this fic has ended the way it did, rather than with a purely happy ending rather than just implied.

#supercorp #supercorp fanfic #my fanfic #kara danvers #lena luthor #if anyone ever wants to chat all things supergirl come say hi!#supergirl fanfic #supergirl

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aire101 · 4 years

Text

Ferrum Chapter 2

Here’s chapter two, and my apologies for how closely part of it follows Episode 1 of SAO. After this the story probably won’t follow much of the shown canon at all, though I will probably bring in SAO characters for the boys to interact with eventually. But in SAO everyone has the same starting point. But with the world being as complex as it is, I doubt I’ll ever really need to follow episode events or dialogue this closely again. Though I might get the boys involved in the Level 1 boss battle, we’ll see.

Also, please excuse any incorrect computer/programming/gaming jargon. I’m doing the best I can. T_T

------------------

Peter was a masochist. That was really the only explanation for his current situation. The person had even offered to go their own way before Peter had opened his big mouth and tied them together for the next few hours.

Peter knew it wasn’t really Mr. Stark, he did. But the avatar looked exactly like the Tony Stark that Peter remembered— before the space starvation and the new stress lines of living in a post-apocalyptic earth. And he sounded just like him. He had the same weird humor that fluctuated wildly between arrogance and self-deprecation. He got Peter’s stupid science jokes and the laugh he gave when Peter growled out “FINISH HIM” during a fight with a boar was painfully familiar. Several times he had to stop himself from calling out the wrong name, and each time left him feeling like he was repeatedly prodding a gaping chasm of a wound.

“You ok, Ki— uh, sorry… Tor?”

And then there was that. All in all, it was a perfect recipe for emotional disaster.

“Yeah, sorry… my mind wandered off a bit there.”

“In the middle of a pvp and monster spawn zone might not be the best place for that you know. How does this game even handle respawns?” asked Ferrum, striking down another boar with a swift horizontal strike. It taken a bit of trial and error for them to get the hang of activating the sword skills, but once it had clicked they had made quick work of the low level spawns in the area.

“You know, for someone who managed to snag a limited release of this game you know surprisingly little about it,” responded Peter.

“Yes, I known, I’m an enigma. Humor me and explain please.”

“We’re supposed to respawn in the nearest town I think. Given the bugs we’ve seen so far though I’m not sure I’d want to test that at the moment. Might be one way to initiate a logout though?” said Peter.

“I’d rather not risk it, and I’d suggest you do the same until we hear from an actual GM,” said Ferrum, sheathing his sword. “That being said, we’ve been out here several hours now, wanna head back into town and see if anyone has heard anything?”

“Sure,” said Peter, also putting away his weapon. They stood in the middle of a clearing with expansive views. Most of the beasts in this area hadn’t been ones to initiate conflict, and they would have plenty of forewarning if anything headed in their direction. So for a moment Peter allowed himself to just relax and take a proper look around the area, marveling at the beauty and complexity of the world Argus had built. Off in the distance he could see hills disappear into the haze of the the horizon and cities raised atop impossible pillars. In a field not too far from them there were a couple other players likewise looking out, taking in the beauty of the glistening waterfalls and towns painted in oranges and reds as sunset came over Aincrad.

“I have to give them credit. When I first heard about their plans for this game I was a bit dubious on whether they would actually be able to deliver on the promise. Concept art looks great, but actually being able to code a full sensory experience into an application? And create an entire open world with that data? I mean, I had thought about the concept before, but the technology needed to do it always made me a bit uneasy… It would be way to easy for someone to use it in ways it shouldn’t be,” said Ferrum.

“What changed your mind then? I mean, since you’re here now?” asked Peter.

��…I don’t know,” muttered Ferrum, sounding distinctly unsettled with the admission.

Peter opened his mouth with a joke on the tip of his tongue, something to lighten the suddenly uneasy mood—

When the deep toll of a bell rang out from the Town of Beginnings, rolling through the air with the tone of a death knell.

“Huh, wonder if they’re finally about to make an announcement?” said Peter. “I’m surprised it took so—”

Suddenly a white light enveloped him. In those seconds he felt nothing, completely stripped of sensory. Just as he felt himself starting to panic, the light released him and was gone as quickly as it had came. He found himself and Ferrum once again standing in the center of the plaza of the Town of Beginnings. All around them seemingly every one of the 10,000 players were similarly being teleported into the square.

“What the hell?” said Ferrum.

“I don’t know. Pretty sure they should be able to make announcements across the whole game regardless of player location. Maybe its an opening event? Would explain the theatrics of it,” said Peter.

The whole square was a buzz with nervous confusion as people tried to figure out what was going on, then Peter heard someone call out above the crowd, “Up there!”

Peter looked up, and above the square there flashed a single red polygon with the word WARNING.

The sky turned red as more and more polygons spawned proclaiming ‘WARNING’ and ‘SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT.’

Peter wanted to think that maybe they had found the bug. Maybe they were announcing a fix or instructions for the players…

But even without his spidey sense, something felt wrong.

Then the sky began to bleed.

“What is that?” asked a player to the side in horrified awe as the blood-like liquid began to coalesce into a more solid state. Within moments it formed into a hooded figure wearing familiar blood red robes with gold trim.

A Game Master— likely an a real one this time.

The crowd of players all began to mutter speculations about the figure or the possibility of an event.

“I have bad feeling about all this.”

Peter jumped. He had forgotten about Ferrum at his side. He looked over at the older looking man, taking in the tight lines around his mouth, his eyes darting around the area taking everything in, but not straying too long way from the god-like figure of the GM in front of them.

Peter wished he could reassure the man like he had earlier in the day, but Peter was suddenly very aware that in this world he was no different than anyone else. Just as vulnerable, just as powerless… What had originally been a main draw for him was now a very real weakness.

“It would be way to easy for someone to use it in ways it shouldn’t be…”

They were absolutely at the mercy of this monolithic system…

“Attention Players… Welcome to my world. My name is Kayaba Akihiko. As of this moment, I am the sole person who can control this world.”

And whoever controlled it.

“Son of a bitch,” muttered Ferrum, a look of horror on his face.

“I’m sure you’ve already noticed that the logout button is missing from the main menu,” Kayaba continued. “But this is not a defect in the game.”

A shiver traveled up Peter’s spine. A stone of cold fear formed in his stomach. Surely not… surely someone along the way would have noticed something so horrendous in the code…

“I repeat— this is not a defect in the game. It is a feature of Sword Art Online.”

“But how… how can he keep us here? Surely someone on the outside can still get us out?” asked Peter.

“It’s the hardware, Kid. He’s fucked with the user client hardware that everyone’s brains are wired into,” growled Ferrum.

“You cannot log out of SAO yourselves. And no one on the outside can shut down or remove the NerveGear. Should this be attempted, the transmitter inside the NerveGear will emit a powerful microwave, destroying your brain and thus ending your life,” said Kayaba.

Immediately Peter ran through all the specs on the hardware he was privy to during his time as Tony’s intern, and came to the same conclusion Ferrum already had— this mad man was not lying. He had disabled the safety mechanism that would keep certain powerful data bursts from frying someone’s brain.

Data bursts such as an autosave or a death respawn.

“Unfortunately, several players’ friends and families have ignored this warning, and have attempted to remove the NerveGear. As a result, two hundred and thirteen players are gone forever, from both Aincrad and the real world.”

“Two hundred and thirteen…”

Peter turned around to see Ferrum looking on with eyes wide, his right hand grasping his left wrist as his left hand gave small spasms.

That motion was intimately familiar. The similarity was uncanny…

“As you can see, news organizations across the world are reporting all of this, including the deaths.” Multiple program windows opened, most featuring various news channels running live, corroborating what Kayaba was explaining. “Thus, you can assume that the danger of a NerveGear being removed is now minimal. I hope you will relax and attempt to clear the game.

But I want you to remember this clearly. There is no longer any method to revive someone within the game. If your HP drops to zero, your avatar will be forever lost. And simultaneously, the NerveGear will destroy your brain.”

So he was right— it was both the autosave and respawn functions that had been weaponized in the headset. The more he thought about it, the more angry he became. The man had taken glorious innovations in technology—some of it pioneered by Mr. Stark himself—and twisted it into a personal hell for all these people, some of them undoubtedly children. As if the world hadn’t been dealing with enough tragedy over the last few years. He wanted nothing more than to punch Kayaba directly in the face with every pound of his spider strength.

But he couldn’t do that. In this world, he was just like everyone else.

With great power comes great responsibility… but without that power, was that responsibility still his?

“There is only one means of escape. To complete the game,” Kayaba said, bringing up a digital layout of the floors of Aincrad. “You are presently on the lowest floor of Aincrad, Floor 1. If you make your way through the dungeon and defeat the Floor Boss, you may advance to the next level. Defeat the final boss on Floor 100, and you will clear the game.”

The crowd, which up till now had been mostly muted in shock, finally began to shout and rumble in confusion and denial. And from the sound of things, this monologue was just about to wrap up. When it did, all hell was going to break loose.

He had some choices to make, and fast.

“Finally, I’ve added a present from me to your item storage. Please see for yourselves.”

Shit. What now?

Peter swiped down to access his storage, feeling distinctly as if he were walking into a trap. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ferrum doing so as well.

An item labeled ‘Mirror’ had been placed in his inventory.

“I’m guessing this mirror is the ‘gift,’ though now I’m wondering if he programmed the auto-drop or did it himself, and if he’s aware of my… status,” whispered Ferrum.

That’s right. Ferrum was a GM, however that had happened.

“Do you think you could—”

But he didn’t get to finish his question, as at that moment everyone in the plaza began to shout as they were all consumed once again by white light.

When it receded, everyone had changed.

Some looked younger, most looked older. Quite a few people around him looked to have changed genders completely. Peter glanced back down at the mirror in his to see his Thor-like appearance gone completely, and instead his true face reflected back at him.

So that was the purpose of the all too thorough calibration he and Ned had gone through.

“Kid,” said a shocked voice at his side.

Peter turned around towards Ferrum, wondering who had been behind the meticulous avatar of Mr. Stark…

Only to see that Ferrum was completely unchanged. Perhaps being a GM had made him impervious to the magic of the mirror?

“Underoos… what are you doing here, kid?!”

With those heartbroken words, Peter’s carefully constructed walls came crashing down.

. . . . .

Peter couldn’t think. He certainly couldn’t speak.

He could vaguely tell that Kayaba had continued with his closing speech, but he couldn’t tell you what he had said.

All he could process was Mr. Stark’s face in front of him, and the name that only he had ever uttered to him.

It was impossible. He had seen the body—the horrific scorching where the universal energies had burned through him, the life support system shutting off, the brightness leaving behind a cold husk in a metal suit—

Peter’s whole body flinched when he felt that familiar hand rest on his shoulder.

“Kid! Are you with me? We need to get out of here.”

In the time Peter had spaced out Kayaba had disappeared, and now the whole crowd was devolving into a panic. People were screaming in terror and rage, several had broken down into sobbing messes on the ground.

He wanted to do something— anything to make this better. Tell people that it was ok, they would figure this out.

But more than that, he wanted someone else to tell him that as well.

Finally he brought himself to focus on what Mr. Stark was saying.

“What do you mean we have to go— where else is there to go?” asked Peter. “We can’t leave the game, we’ve tried—”

“Not the game, we need to get out of town.”

“What— why—”

“We can talk more later, follow me,” Mr. Stark said before running down a nearby alley.

After a few minutes they stopped, and Mr. Stark started flicking through his user interface.

“This is a fantasy RPG… you can’t tell me there are no helmets…”

After scrolling for a while, he tapped an item on the list and spawned a basic metal helmet and quickly placed it on is head, before continuing to run out of town.

“Mr. Stark! Wait!” cried Peter.

“Don’t shout that kid, otherwise the helmet is pointless!” Mr. Stark called back.

“Ferrum… why are we heading out of town? Its about to be dark and the only safe zone we know is here!” shouted Peter.

“The people back there are panicking, Peter. It won’t be much longer before they start turning on each other, looking for someone to take it out on. Between my face and the fact that some saw me in GM robes earlier I don’t want to chance hanging around for someone to put the pieces together. Not to mention this area’s resources are going to be swamped before we know it. Resource management is built in to the Cardinal system to maintain balance and encourage player movement and activity. There won’t be enough to go around.”

“But if we die on the road the resources we need won’t really matter!” yelled Peter, pulling to a stop. “There’s only so much they can do to us in town, it’s a No PVP area. Lets just find an inn on the outskirts of town and spend the night. We need a better plan than just running out of the safe zone at twilight.”

Mr. Stark had pulled to a stop when Peter had, obviously unwilling to leave him behind. He looked down the alley, obviously wanting to continue on, but after a moment his shoulders dropped in an obvious show of concession.

“Fine, lets go to the outer ring and find a place,” said Mr. Stark.

As he turned and started walking away, Peter allowed himself a moment to take in the familiar gait, the way Mr. Stark always walked with his back straight and his head held high, as if he were always prepared to walk onto a red carpet, even in his most destroyed workshop clothes.

He could recognize every familiar mannerism from their hours pouring over suit tech and web formulas. In retrospect, perhaps that as much as his face was why he had latched onto the man to begin with.

But the billion dollar question still remained… how?

Hopefully once they found a room to bunk in, he could work out what the hell was going on… preferably before he had a complete emotional breakdown.

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idealnreal · 4 years

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I would love a meta on a timeline of takuto’s mental state

meta / who ever you are nonnie you have my love forever

I solemnly swear i will not make this a thousand words long crap it is. But yes, lets do this.

1) Childhood to his teen-years

Being quite a sensitive child, Takuto was hyper aware of the emotions running through the house in his early childhood. He still remembers being quite stressed and upset whenever he heard his parents voices being raised. A part of him also understood that he should not expect his father to come back, and he understood enough to feel upset. At school, he was easily overwhelmed in busy and noisy classrooms -- and will often withdraw or to sit on his own. However, for the most part, he was fine with making friends, and did make a few. He also quickly bonded with his step-father, who did get him a cat for a present -- and the combination of both helped him manage his social anxiety.

In middle school, his family moved into another town, and though he experienced a lot of initial stress -- middle school was where he met Shibu and Rumi. And with them, he began to become alot more social and able to manage his anxiety and emotions. He joined school activities, went bouldering with his friends and seniors. He did have his share of taking on more than he could handle, as he was often who his classmates would go to talk to -- and for help. There were several times where he would mistake the experiences and feelings of another for his own. And would come home terribly upset. He also became more aware of the wider world through both fiction and non fiction, and the news. It was probably in high school when he began feeling anxious of the state of the world -- and his place in it.

2) University

He remembers his time at university as the happiest of his years. With Rumi and Shibu -- and his new found direction in life -- for the most part he felt completely in control. Sure, there were long nights, short tempers, impossible deadlines and exams-- it never caused him any anxiety that he couldn’t handle. His social circle is limited to Rumi’s and Shibu’s friends, as well as the people he climbs with -- and he never felt the need to have anymore than those. Towards the end of medical school is when he first discovered cognitive pscience and began to research it -- which would become his purpose and joy.

Perhaps the most difficult portion of this stage of his life was his psychiatric residency. He had become painfully aware over how responsible he was over someone’s happiness -- even their lives. This stress made it difficult for him to block himself from over-empathising with his patients again. And he suffered emotional burn-outs and depressive episodes regularly for years -- straining most of his relationships. Which made him all the happier and prouder when he completed his residency, completed several papers on cognitive pscience, was licensed -- and most importantly, when Rumi agreed to marry him.

3) Prior and after the Incident

He began experiencing migraines several months before the incident-- which he thinks could be the effect of staring at his research too long and working late into the night. But despite this, his hope was higher than ever-- as he felt that his life and his future had fallen into place. He was over the moon at the idea that he will marry Rumi -- and though finances were tight, he was sure that his research would one day be able to earn him a decent salary to make their lives comfortable. But his life would never be that simple.

The months that followed the Incident were characterised by periods of intense depression, broken by a handful of days of manic overworking on his research. It is also after the Incident when he began experiencing dissociative/ depersonalisation episodes due to his trauma and survivor’s guilt. He also regularly gets auditory hallucinations, while the migraines also seemed to intensify. However, he feared admitting to anyone that he was suffering from these conditions -- much less seek treatment. He was terrified that it will be used to discredit his research and push him further out of the academic funding circle. Besides, he needed to keep sane for Rumi. He needed to stay strong for her. This is also the point where his distortion begins to manifest.

His first awakening to Azathoth and the subsequent ‘loss’ of Rumi, revealed his path forward. He knew what he had to do, how to do it and why he must see it through. This singular and clear vision began driving him forward on working on his research, despite various failings and attempts to shut his work down. While the migraines and hallucinations have stopped, he still experiences dissociative episodes, as well as very lucid nightmares due to his link with Azathoth -- even if it was under-developed at the time.

4) Years prior to the start of the game and prior to the third semester

He has pushed away almost everyone in his life in the years prior to the game, his friends and his family-- a result of his unresolved survivor’s guilt and paranoia. He continues with his research and working at a few private practices over the years to help heal people, and to gather data to test his theories.

And while he suffers from various setbacks to his mental health, he has been able to methodically manage his anxiety, emotional burn out, and his dissociative episodes. He still refuses to admit it to others or to seek treatment -- and he convinces himself that as long as his episodes don’t get too out of hand, and that he’s still able to work on his research, it’s fine.

Any small happiness he has felt during this period would soon be quenched by compulsive suspicion and guilt. Perhaps any true feelings of joy he felt were all related to advances of his research -- spotting the phantom thieves returning from the Metaverse, and Joker helping him realise that he could integrate the collective unconscious into his theories.

To make clear, despite his attempt to keep people away -- he cares deeply about every single person he meets, and every single patient or student he takes on. He is genuine in everything he does for them, and he would be the first to go above and beyond to cheer them up or to help them. He shares their joys, as well as their burdens, and these people drive him onwards.

6) Third semester

His full awakening to Azathoth was a cathartic experience. For years, he had worked on studying the cognitive world, formulated theories of how it can be used in therapy and gathered proof that it can be used to heal. And if his first awakening granted him the key, now, he was shown the lock and the door. While his heart was distorted with his messiah complex long before this event, it has now been given validation and supercharged. Now Takuto had been chosen to give the world and all humanity the peace and happiness it deserves.

His full awakening also fully merged his mind and self with Azathoth, and as a result, I think he has gained all the maddening knowledge of the world between realities, and of all realities and of all worlds. And by taking root in Mementos, he also began experiencing all of people’s fears, pains, and memories. Now, knowing and feeling all of humanity’s agony -- whatever doubt he had was gone, replaced only by the singular conviction that what he must do was the right thing.

And this was also the same time his survivor’s guilt twisted into deep self-loathing. When before he would dissociate from a room full of happy people, now, he was convinced that there was no place for him in this perfect and ideal world that he was creating. He would take all of humanity’s burdens and sins -- he would sacrifice his own life and existence-- if it meant their salvation. There was no going back.

7) Post royal (True Ending)

Atlus: Ta-Da! he’s fine, happy taxi driver man! Me: Uhm, Doubt.

While the change of heart definitely caused his messiah complex madness to disappear -- it left a gaping void of his unresolved trauma, survivor’s guilt and an intense anxiety about his purpose in life and place in the world. He now doesnt trust himself to help or heal anyone -- the only real thing he had about him ‘self’ and his identity. And now -- he has experienced that perfect reality and tormented with the knowledge that he had failed to uphold it, and that if the world was suffering now, it was his fault. The world was back to being the terrifying, chaotic, meaningless place it always was -- and there was nothing he can do about it.

As a result, for the months that followed his defeat -- he would have crippling depression and intense dissociative/derealisation episodes. His would also experience auditory and visual hallucinations -- which, together with everything else, usually resulted in some degree of self-harm.

Yes, I do think he will eventually admit and ask for help from Shibu and his own family-- and he will find some way to pick up the pieces and pull himself back togethe, and that he’ll seek out Rumi and work through their trauma together. But it will be an incredible struggle. There is a happy ending for him -- it just might take a couple more years. And some goddamned therapy.

#(( ppl in this club really enabling my brain rot huh #trauma tw #dissociation tw #self harm tw #c: the self #f: notes #Anonymous

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snowbellewells · 5 years

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Face to Face in the Broad Daylight: Chapter Three

(I meant to get this newest chapter posted yesterday, but didn’t quite make it! At least I am still managing to average a chapter a week, but not always landing on the same day! I hope you will enjoy it all the same...)

Once again, thanks a million to the brilliant @branlovestowrite for the gorgeous story banner that I just love adding to my work. And thanks to @cssns for organizing such a fun event to participate in!!

~ chapter three: the pieces come together

The light of a new morning had just begun to peek over the horizon in Storybrooke, fresh and clear, as it always did, regardless of whatever chaos and strife had come the day before. One could almost believe the morning dew and the sun’s first rays would wash away any damage that lingered on the ground below and illuminate the calm of early dawn. Of course, human beings who lived in the magical mash-up of fairy tale heroes and villains knew better than such a fancifully idyllic notion, but it was a lovely thought, if nothing else.

One such person who knew all too well the caprices and vagaries of fate and how quickly events could turn, altering one’s whole life, stood sentinel on the hilly rise overlooking the sleepy New England town. His large, shaggy lupine body was alert but at peace as he gazed out over the strange little haven he had sworn to himself to protect as both man and beast. It was a soothing, picturesque view, and Graham enjoyed seeing it as the rising sun’s first rays and bursts of color decorated the landscape stretched out before his eyes. One genuinely could almost forget for a moment the place’s convoluted history and fraught present, and think it was just some tiny, charmed hamlet, quiet as it was so early and with so few yet awake and about.

The brisk morning air ruffled his thick russet coat, stirring the deep mahogany fur and pleasantly tickling along his skin. It was an invigorating sensation after his long gallop through the misty, grey pre-dawn, and Graham savored the freedom he felt these precious few hours he stole away each morning to run, wild and unhindered. He’d spent so long not free to do so…

Quickly shaking his rangy form, just as a dog might after an unwanted bath, Graham ordered his thoughts away from the dank, suffocating stone walls of the Evil Queen’s castle fortress long ago in another realm, and also away from the coldly austere walls of a dark, inescapable bedroom in the mayoral mansion. That was over, in the past, and though the fear and impressions still sometimes swept in, closing his throat and tightening his chest, the memories were easier to fight off as a wolf, more quickly tamped down once they surfaced. The trauma would never fully disappear, the canine huff that escaped his muzzle the best way to express that displeasure at present, but it was over. He was no longer caged, and these morning runs helped to remind him of that.

Just before he turned to head back down the ridge, home to his cottage and the amazing woman sleeping there who also helped him heal in more ways than he could say, movement at the lake shore caught his preternaturally sharp eye. He froze, motionless, zeroing in on the flicker of interest which had drawn his attention.

There was someone walking down there, it took him only seconds to deduce, but why? There was nothing to do this early in the morning to interest the average person. Not that he wanted to be overly suspicious; it was a public space and anyone was more than welcome to walk along by the water. However, most folks who made use of the lake were in boats or fishing, enjoying the water and not self-conscious of avoiding notice. That was not the case of the form he had just noticed, a niggling unease disturbing his mind as the unknown stranger slunk silently along the lake’s edge, nearing the trees at the far side of the water and a large rock standing nearby, glancing over one shoulder often and obviously hoping to remain unseen.

His large ears flattened along his head, crouching on all fours, belly to the rocky ground, sensing he didn’t want the secretive being cloaked in deep blue to look up and catch him observing either. He couldn’t look away though; not knowing who this person was - a cloaked woman, he became more certain as he continued to watch - what she wanted, and most importantly, if she had something to do with the attack on Granny. A low, warning growl rumbled in his throat, almost without his conscious realization.

Frighteningly, however, the figure below snapped to attention as if the canine sound of displeasure had been heard; though that should have been impossible. Graham knew he couldn’t be seen, but felt himself holding his breath as the strange woman was clearly studying her surroundings. Then, to his utter disbelief, even with all the fairy tale characters come to life, the curses and magic he had seen in the last year, his eyes widened further still at the vision before him. As if having satisfied herself that she was indeed alone, the woman held her outstretched arm over the placid lake before her. The surface began to bubble and stir, and slowly some rather large, darkly gleaming cylindrical shape surfaced from within the depths, rising into the air and floating to the hand which had emerged from the voluminous sleeves of the stranger’s cloak and waited open to catch it. Graham’s astonishment was only heightened as the unknown woman tucked the object within the folds of her clothing, turned toward the surrounding forest, and seemed to vanish into the trees.

~~***~~***~~

Having the early shift at the station had never been Emma Swan’s favorite thing; mornings in Storybrooke were often either dully quiet or filled with the sort of petty, piddling complaints that she had little patience for. When she pulled first shift alone early on in her career as deputy, if had often been quite the battle not to drift off to sleep again at her desk unless she’d had a good three cups of coffee. However, now that she often worked mornings with Killian, Emma had come to enjoy the time - even if they were wordlessly filling out paperwork, it was peaceful and pleasant simply being in his company.

Bringing the Storybrooke Police Department mug she was using up to her lips, Emma tried to surreptitiously study the man in question as he dusted and swept out the two rarely used (other than by Leroy as an occasional drunk tank) holding cells, muttering to himself about ‘no substandard conditions on his watch’ and ‘slovenly drunken bloody dwarves’. He shook his head with clear disbelieving irritation - as if his obsessively clean and tidy habits were the norm rather than a rarity - carrying on in a way that made her quite sure he thought no one was paying any attention. She was, on the contrary, quite riveted in fact as she watched her lover work, his movements graceful even with actions as mundane as replacing clean sheets and pillowcases - which he had washed, she was sure - and making up the two cots with military neatness and precision. He leaned over a bit further to tuck the bedding in around a far mattress corner, and she flushed to realize she had actually traced her tongue across her lower lip hungrily at the sight of his pirate booty on display before her, encased in tight denim.

Standing, she made certain to place the mug quietly down on her desk surface and stealthily crossed the room to the cell he still occupied, fiddling with the window latch or some other detail not to his liking. With a naughty smirk already curving her lips, and pleased with herself for getting the drop on a pirate (and wolf), Emma swung the door shut on Killian while his back was still turned, letting the clang of it latching alert him to the situation for her. Her hands still rested on the bars, and she waited curiously to see how he would respond.

Killian startled her though by crossing the floor of the cell in a flash - almost the blink of an eye - so quickly that it made her breath catch raggedly in her throat. She jerked back reflexively, but was stopped by his hand and hook, resting on and pressing down atop her hands on the bars. He leaned in close to leer at her dangerously, a low-burning fire in his blue eyes before murmuring in a deep lilt, “Careful there, Lass. You’ll catch a bigger predator than you’re prepared to handle.”

Emma regained her composure quickly, not to be outdone. “We’ll see about that, Captain,” she practically taunted audaciously. “You’re the one in a cage.”

He merely waggled an eyebrow at her statement, seeing the truth in it though he didn’t seem at all troubled by the realization. Her pirate merely nodded in feigned thoughtfulness as he took a careful step back. Emma’s body screamed out a silent protest at the loss of his proximity, even as she struggled to seem as cool and unfazed as he. “If you say so, Emma,” Killian husked, his voice rasping enough to allow Emma momentary awareness that he wasn’t as unaffected as he seemed, gloating not withstanding, but then his low, rumbling voice added salaciously, “However, I doubt that I will remain entrapped for long. You see, Love, your body is giving you away…” his eyes swept up her form all the way from her booted toes to her messy ponytail in a way that heated her skin palpably. He brought his tongue out to swipe across his lower lip in a positively obscene gesture that made her tremble even more than he had already seen, at the very reminder of just what that tongue could do - and how it felt- running along her flesh. “You want me badly enough that it’s only a matter of time before you open this door to get in here with me.”

She wanted to kick herself, cursing silently in her head all the while, that her voice did indeed quaver in reaction even as she tossed back sassily, “You’re awfully sure of yourself there, sailor. Think you’ll be quite as cocky after spending the night on one of those cots?”

To her immense satisfaction, Killian’s mouth did drop open for a moment before he regained his composure, tilted his head to the side slightly, and this time, added in the ridiculous puppy eyes along with his comeback. “Now Lass, we both know you aren’t going to leave me here, are you? After all, you would be depriving yourself as much as me.”

“Hmmm…” Emma stalled, softly humming under her breath, turning back toward her desk as she did so, and making a show of taking her time to rifle through several items before finding the one she sought and turning back around to face him. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” she finally argued slyly, holding up the handcuffs she had located and letting them dangle from her finger in plain sight. “I’m beginning to think some restraint might do that ego of yours good.”

The rough vibrations of his deep chuckle felt as though they traveled across the floor and up into the souls of her feet they affected Emma so strongly. A pulse of want strummed directly through her core, and she knew the flush of it must be echoed on her face as Killian nodded in acknowledgement of it and a devious twinkle lit his eyes. “Why, Swan,” he replied innocently, “you’ve never complained of my cockiness before.”

For some reason that ridiculously bad wordplay was what finally snapped the cord holding her back. Twisting her hand sideways with the flick of a wrist, Emma unlocked the cell door as easily as she had closed it, and sent it swinging back open hard enough to make it bang against the bars loudly. In the next instant, she was through the door and on her handsome wolf man, clutching the collar of his jacket in her fists desperately and leaning in to kiss him so fervently she nearly knocked their noses together.

She felt as much as heard the huff of air that escaped him, caught off guard by the strength of her onslaught, and though his lips, teeth and tongue quickly caught up to the fierce vigor of her kiss, he did stumble back a few steps, sending them both sprawling onto the cot he had just made with a squeal of rusty springs.

Not that such a tumble stopped them for long. Emma ran a hand back through Killian’s dark hair greedily, unable to help but touch it, scrubbing her nails along his scalp back to the nape of his neck, where she pulled at the strands to tilt his head at the angle she desired, eliciting a heedless growl from his throat. While her forcefulness had him distracted, her other hand trailed down his arm to his wrist. With a chortle of victorious glee, she quickly pulled back just enough in his lap to snap the cuff closed around his wrist and then the metal frame of the cot.

Killian, who hadn’t been idle, the curve of his hook having trailed up her side beneath her shirt with shivering, deliciously cool precision and had been tracing along the underside of her breast, froze at the metallic click, arrested in mid-caress and then pressing his scruffy face to her shoulder, where he bit down lightly and then murmured, “Oh, you’re going to pay for that…”

She quirked a brow in question at his futile threat, knowing both that she had the upper hand, and that he wasn’t all that upset with the turn of events. “Am ?” she countered, looking at him with as devious an expression as she could muster before leaning forward to capture his lips again, whispering a mumbled, “We’ll see about that,” against his mouth.

His hooked arm had just urged her down further over him, tangling them together and pressing them even closer, despite the metallic jangle of the cuff on his other arm as he forgot its trapped position and began to bring it up to encircle her as well. They were well on their way to fully undressing one another - both jackets shed, the rest of Killian’s shirt unbuttoned so her greedy hands could run through the coarse hair on his chest and stomach, and Emma’s blouse nearly slashed down the front by a desperately tormented hook - when the sound of the station’s main entrance flying out to smack against the wall and the pounding of hurried footsteps sent them jerking upright, wide-eyed and panting, and caught red-handed. Call it the curse of small town life, but everyone around them seemed determined to help block their amorous interludes. Emma tried to run a shaky hand over her badly mussed hair before Graham rounded the corner into view.

He spared them only a quick, exasperated look before shaking his head and lamenting, “The cells, guys? Again? Really?” much to Emma’s sheepish apologies and Killian’s flushed embarrassment, before moving on, knowing that what he had seen was more important than lecturing his deputies on workplace protocol and boundaries. “I saw someone out by the lake shore early this morning - definitely secretive and certainly magical…” He began to fill in the details and it didn’t take long for them to agree that he might well have found the person who had accosted Granny Lucas - and could be colluding with Gold. The thing they needed to know now was why? And how to stop her before anyone else was harmed.

~~***~~***~~

While Graham was getting the Savior and his fellow wolf up to speed on all that he had heard and seen that morning, the object of his discourse was gliding silently, as surreptitious and unnoticed as a shadow down a nearby alley in the town, coming to a stop by the back entrance of Gold’s pawn shop. Not bothering to knock on the door or call out to announce herself, instead the still-shrouded figure, none other than Morgana, the healer and sorceress from Camelot of old, simply waved her hand before the door latch and with a deft twist of her wrist, unlocked the door and caused it to swing open without ever physically touching it.

Without even a moment’s hesitation, Morgana slipped through the narrow opening, bringing the door shut behind her, and made her way as assured and confident as if she had visited or seen it all there before, to the heavy drapery hanging between the back and front parts of the shop. As she brushed through the divider, Rumplestiltskin stood at the wide glass counter to her left, as though he had simply been awaiting her appearance, utterly calm and unruffled.

“There you are, Madame le Fey,” he spoke quietly, turning to meet her with a deferential nod and the correct reverence in his voice, but a glimmer in his eye that showed he was still not as obsequious as it might seem. “I had hoped you weren’t planning to disappoint me.”

The hood was lifted from her head by pale, graceful hands, revealing long, shining hair so dark it nearly gleamed purple, black as a raven’s wing. The ancient sorceress’ eyes crackled with a malevolent fire the equal of Gold’s as she scoffed angrily at his words. “Hardly” she dismissed with a harsh retort. But then, as if knowing the wily pawnbroker, villain in his own right, well enough to be aware he would not simply take her word as sufficient answer, Morgana reached within the draped folds of her cloak, her hand emerging with the same metallically sparkling cylinder Graham had seen her raise from the lake.

All nonchalance shattered, the Dark One’s complete focus and attention was centered on the offering she held out before him, knowing what it was she possessed and long past any semblance of pretending she would not get her due for an item he wanted so desperately. “The Sorceror’s Hat,” Rumplestiltskin hissed on an awed breath, beginning to reach out toward the powerful talisman almost within his grasp, before pulling himself back and upright - under control - again.

“Indeed, it is, Dark One,” Morgana nearly purred in her rich, hypnotic voice, “as promised.”

He did give her a genuine nod and slight bow of impressed acknowledgement then. How she had acquired the hat mattered not to him; in fact, whether it had been her or anyone else bringing it to him would have made little difference. All that was of consequence was possessing the hat at last. And cleaving himself from control of the dagger - without losing his power. Then the Savior’s pitiful orders to protect those who had taken what belonged to him would be useless against him, and he could take back mastery of their shoddy little town, and on to the whole realm without magic to challenge him - as it should have always been. “You have done well, Dearie,” he complimented in a voice as pleasant and grateful as he could muster. Again, almost as if without his own conscious thought, Rumplestiltskin found his hands reaching out for the cylinder containing his prize.

Morgana, however, was not one to be trifled with, carefully gathering her find back against her body. “Ah ah ah, Dark One,” she warned in a quietly commanding sing-song, not so very unlike his own. “Not so fast. First, I require assurance that you will hold up your part of our deal.”

Exasperated, Rumplestiltskin’s response was impatient, hurried, not particularly inspiring confidence. “Yes, yes, of course.”

Tilting her head to study the imp facing her briefly, as if unable to resist prodding him just a bit, much like one had to imagine he had done to her at some point in the past, the fey woman added, “After all...was it not you who taught me, all those ages ago, that magic always comes with a price?”

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @spartanguard @laschatzi @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @linda8084 @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm @hollyethecurious @gingerchangeling @blackwidownat2814 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @therooksshiningknight @resident-of-storybrooke @branlovestowrite @scientificapricot @let-it-raines

#cssns 19 #cs au ff #cs werewolf mc #ouat mc ff #graham x belle #face to face in the broad daylight #chapter three

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eremiss · 5 years

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Bits and Pieces: Status Ailment

Prompt #4 of this post

One moment the Coerthan thug was in front of her, hurling something at the ground. And the next Gwen was being assaulted by a cloud of thick, acrid smoke that coated her face and clung to her skin.

Strange heat bloomed in her eyes as Gwen coughed and blinked furiously, throwing her free hand over her mouth to try and filter the smoke. She backpedaled, barely able to discern the shape of her opponent somewhere ahead.

The heat in her eyes abruptly shifted into painful stinging, like a limb regaining feeling after falling asleep. She hissed through her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut against her better judgement. Tears welled and overflowed, cutting cool paths down her cheeks. Her backpedaling became staggering, her sword arm wavering as she tried to reflexively cough and cry the smoke out of her system.

Her foot caught on a jut of rock and she stumbled, snapping her eyes open and flailing her arms to save--

Gwen couldn’t see the ground. She couldn’t see anything. The world was flat, featureless black.

Her mind yelled that she was falling, she felt her balance shifting, but nothing seemed to be moving.

Something hard and rugged crashed into her temple, sending pain jolting through her skull and white specks flickering in the blackness of her vision. The same rugged surface hit her shoulder, then her hip.

The ground.

Thancred’s voice shouted, “Gwen!”

Dazed, she wasn’t sure if her furiously stinging eyes were open or closed. She blinked hard, and then again. They were open, squinted against the pain, and the world was utterly dark. She gormlessly wondered who turned off the sun.

Rushing footsteps behind her were abruptly interrupted by clashing metal, followed by a flurry of curses.

Her thoughts snapped into place again. Fighting. The duskwight. Smoke bomb. Get up!

A fresh surge of adrenaline muted her confusion and gave her heart the energy to leap into her throat. She realized her hands were empty, her saber knocked from her grasp when she hit the ground. She flailed one hand in the darkness, praying her weapon hadn’t skittered too far away, and furiously rubbed and scraped at her eyes with the other.

Her searching hand collided with a piece of metal wrapped in leather. She snatched her blade up, clutching the handle so tightly her fingers hurt.

She felt nothing on her face but skin and tears, smothering the hope that her blindness was caused by something she could wipe away.

Gwen’s mind was moving a malm a second, head pounding in time with her racing heart as she jumped to her feet. Her balance was tenuous without anything to orient it but the feeling of the ground under her feet. She made a frustrated sound as she steadied herself and turned to properly face the sounds of combat. Her arms snapped instinctively to the right position as she raised her saber, muscle memory proving to be perfectly functional without sight.

All of the rubbing and blinking had done nothing to alter the empty darkness in front of her eyes, and she couldn’t see even a vague hint of what was causing all the noise. She only knew she was holding her sword properly because of which end felt heaviest in her hand..

If she wanted to do more than stand there she’d have to make due with careful listening and what she could remember about her surroundings.

Focus.

Gwen could hear two sets of feet shuffling, metal clashing and sounds of exertion and pain somewhere a handful of yalms ahead of her. Trying to create a mental image of the area proved more difficult than she’d hoped, owing to how little thought she’d spared her surroundings while she could see them. That error in judgment left her fumbling for details, the image that coalesced in her head coming out hazy and continuously changing as she second- and third-guessed details.

The footsteps and clashing metal stopped. There was a low groan.

Something hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Gwen stiffened. The fight was presumably done, but who was the winner?

Thancred’s voice called out in the sudden silence. “Gwen, are you alright?”

Relief was paltry and brief. Was he hurt? She still couldn’t see.

Gwen strained her eyes, trying to force some semblance of imagery out of the empty darkness. The effort made her head throb. “I’m-- I-- What happened?”

“A smoke bomb,” his voice was moving around and she belatedly turned her head to follow it, “A cheap trick if ever there was one.”

The smoke bomb. Normally they were meant only as a distraction, but this one had been augmented with alchemy. Not exactly unheard of, but she’d never experienced it before.

Her eyes had stopped stinging at some point, and now they were strangely warm and fuzzy. The skin all around her eyes was tight and irritated like an itchy sunburn. The darkness hadn’t lessened.

The fighting was done, at least, if Thancred’s casual tone and the general silence were anything to go by.

Without the distraction of combat, the daunting task of trying to deal with her blindness had her full attention.

Her voice was higher than normal when she spoke, “I-I can’t see! Are you alright?”

“Please, these ruffia--” Thancred cut off with a strange sound, “You can’t see?”

Gwen made a frustrated, unhelpful sound and told herself to calm down. It was difficult, as sudden blindness was proving quite distressing, and having no cure for such an ailment made it even moreso. She lifted her hands to try rubbing the darkness away again, her arms trembling with the sudden lack of adrenaline.

She paused halfway, rolling her wrist to angle her blade away and avoid any sort of tragic acc--

Metal hit stone and her saber trembled in her hand. She recoiled with an undignified squeak, jerking her blade away from whatever it had struck. She wobbled when she came to a stop, balance now a conscious struggle rather than simple instinct.

She pressed her mouth into a thin line, very aware of how ridiculous and skittish she looked. Embarrassment and mounting frustration had her shoulders hiking higher and her muscles tense.

Thancred made a concerned sound to the left of where she was facing. “Easy, dove,” he said, taking on a calming tone, “the fighting is done, you can relax.”

She responded with a self-conscious cringe and a grumble of annoyance, “I’ll hold off on that until I know what’s happened to my eyes, I think.”

His tone dried a little, “How terribly pragmatic.”

Thancred’s footsteps were unusually audible when he started moving towards her, and Gwen tried to use the sound to properly face him. She wondered if there was some truth to that ‘lose one sense and the others become stronger’ saying.

A beat later she considered that he was purposefully stepping more heavily because he didn’t want to startle her and get stabbed.

The sword in her hand didn’t give her the same sense of comfort and security it normally did, mostly due to how useless it felt. She could swing it, but she had no way to ensure she hit her target.

There were few things she hated more than feeling helpless, and she felt precisely that.

For what it was worth, it seemed Thancred didn’t intend to try and make light of her jumpiness.

“Twelve take that duskwight and his stupid…” she muttered, adjusting her feet and her balance.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Thancred’s voice was right in front of her, his footsteps coming to a halt. “But, given he’s dead, there’s not much vengeance to extract. Tell me what you can, or can’t, see.”

She made a vague, frustrated gesture with her arms, “Nothing, just darkness. It was something in that smoke bomb.”

Hands touched her arms and the sudden contact sent a jolt of surprise through her. “An alchemical affliction, then.” Thancred’s voice was distinctly unhappy. “Mayhap they weren’t so run-of-the-mill after all.”

Gwen left her sword at her side and carefully raised her free hand again, bumping his arm along the way. Her frown deepened.

“Hm…” He was quiet for a moment, probably watching her rub and scratch at her eyes, “And aside from your vision? Are you well?”

“My eyes are itching like mad,” she said. Frustration with her situation and anger at that bloody thug and his alchemical bomb was starting to eclipse her concern about her blindness. It also brought her headache more sharply into focus. “And my head hurts.”

Thancred hummed, hands tightening on her arms. “That tends to happen when one is so forcefully acquainted with the ground.”

Gwen pouted.

His hands disappeared. One was suddenly on hers. Her heart twitched again. “No more of that, hm? The last thing you need is to make it worse,” he said, stopping her effort to scratch the annoying itch.

She made a noncommittal sound in reply. It hadn’t been helping too much, anyway.

His other touched her sword hand, fingers shifting around and sliding under hers to release her grip. “And, not that I don’t have the utmost faith in you, dove, but I think it best you leave the sword waving to me for the time being. I’d like my remaining eye to stay where it is, if it’s all the same to you.”

Gwen huffed, lifting her chin a little to frown towards his face. She was in no mood for teasing.

But, fretting and bristles aside, he wasn’t wrong. Blindly waving her sword around (literally) made her a danger to herself and him as much as anything else. Trying to sheathe it herself was probably risky, too.

Gwen was keenly aware of the moment Thancred’s hands, and her sword, disappeared.

All of a sudden she was left relying entirely on her hearing again.

Anxiety coiled sharply around her chest, tightening further when she flexed her empty fingers. Her thoughts tangled together, knotting around sharp uneasiness and frustration.

The stability of Thancred’s touch had been more grounding than she’d realized, and without it she felt acutely, uncomfortably isolated.

Which was ridiculous. She knew it was. She knew that. Thancred was right there, less than a fulm in front of her face...give or take a few ilms. She was anything but alone.

But she couldn’t see that, and it had far more of an effect on her than she thought it would.

She moved her eyes left and right, straining despite the way it aggravated her headache. Nothing but darkness.

Thancred was still there. There was no way in all seven hells he’d leave her stumbling around on her own. He’d protect her if any threats decided to rear their ugly heads, and he wouldn’t begrudge her for it, either.

Thinking about it, he probably wouldn’t get more than a fulm away from her until she could see again, no matter how long that might take. The thought gave her a bit of relief, a thread of ease weaving through and loosening the knots in her head.

Gwen cautiously reached out with both hands, listening to the ambiance of nature and Thancred’s breathing. Her fingers collided with him mere seconds later, and the little surge of surprise at the sudden impact was smothered with a wave of relief. She curled her fingers into his shirt, immediately regaining that sense of stability she’d lost.

When her exhale rushed out of her she realized she’d been holding her breath.

“Worried I’d try to sneak away? You wound me, dove,” Thancred teased, nudging her arm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The red that came to her cheeks had more to do with exasperation and self-consciousness than anything else. “No, no, I was just--”

Gwen felt a tug at her belt and stiffened. She heard the scrape and click of a sheathing blade, and then a familiar weight was hanging off her hip. She huffed.

Twelve she was jumpy.

Being a little thrown was one thing, but feeling so overwhelmed? Surely the Warrior of Light could muddle through like she always did?

To be fair losing one of her senses, specifically the one she most relied on, was a perfectly reasonable excuse to throw composure to the wind for a little while. And to be an unhelpful mess, besides.

.She wondered how long she could be stuck like this, aware that inflicted ailments could last anywhere from minutes to bells to days. Twelve, please not days.

Thancred’s hands rested on hers and squeezed.

“I hate this,” she said, as though it weren’t apparent.

He hummed an agreement.

“Everything is so off,” she went on, trying again to will her sight back. “I know you’re right there, but I can’t see you and it’s so--”

“Aggravating? Disorienting? Miserable?” he suggested.

Gwen shuffled his shirt between her fingers, absorbing the warmth of his hands, “To put it simply.”

Dirt and gravel crunched near her feet and one of his hands disappeared. He mumbled, “Head.”

Head?

His missing hand rested gently on the side of her head.

The warning hadn’t quite hit the mark, but the effort and consideration behind it stirred a warm, fond feeling. The coils around her chest loosened a little.

Thancred tilted her head back to better examine her eyes and Gwen obliged without protest. She concentrated on blinking less.

He made a thoughtful sound, tilting her head a little to one side. Despite the warmth of the sun on her face she didn’t need to squint or shade her eyes. Light seemed to hold no sway over her when she couldn’t see it.

Thancred abruptly sighed, relieved, and his breath feathered over her face. “For a bit of good news, your eyes don’t appear damaged. I should think this blindness isn’t permanent.”

Gwen stiffened. Permanent?

Of course that was a possibility. Medicine and healing magic had their limits.

Her panicky thoughts hadn’t even gotten that far, too hamstrung with anxiety to look at anything past that exact moment.

She made a strangled sound.

“Not permanent, I said,” he repeated, drumming his fingers on her head. “Y’shtola will have you back in proper Eikon-slaying, griffin-wrangling condition in no time, we need only return to Mor Dhona.”

Gwen decided against informing him of her short-sighted thought process. Instead she took the reassurance she was offered and smiled a little, “I wonder what she’ll have to say about how it happened.”

“You should brace for some chastisement about recklessness, I think.” One finger ghosted over the place her headache had been emanating from, “And she’ll get rid of this, too.”

Gwen wondered if Y’shtola would still get that signature unamused expression of hers if the red mage specified that she’d tripped and hit her head after she’d been blinded.

Thancred’s chest pressed more firmly against her hands, and a nudge of his hand angled her head down slightly.

Gwen made a confused noise.

Thancred’s beard tickled the bridge of her nose half a second before his lips pressed against her forehead, gentle and sweet.

“I think I lost a year off my life when you said you couldn’t see,” Thancred mumbled fondly against her skin. “Terribly rude of you, you know.”

Gwen giggled, the tender gesture leaving her a little weak-kneed. She closed her eyes, the coils around her chest vanishing altogether, replaced with easy affection and the sense of security that had vanished when her sight did.

She grinned. “My deepest apologies.”

He lingered there and inhaled, pausing to hold that breath for several seconds before breathing a relieved sigh. “Hm. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were being insincere.”

Gwen wondered how worried he’d been, and how much her distress had gotten to him. He’d sounded concerned but composed, but he’d always been better at affecting calm he didn’t feel, particularly in his voice. He was also better at keeping a cool head under fire, but that didn’t always hold true when it came to those he cared for.

Gwen’s next exhale caused her to shrink an ilm, the ramrod set of her back finally loosening. The rest of her quickly followed suit.

She felt Thancred smile. “Feeling a little better, I see.” He planted another kiss on her forehead before leaning away,

Gwen hummed an affirmation, habitually lifting a hand to fiddle with her bangs. “Sorry for losing my head for a moment.”

He chuckled, “Apologizing for losing your composure when you were rendered blind. Yes, I’d say you’re feeling yourself again.”

Gwen could hear his teasing smile and conjure a perfect image of it in her mind’s eye. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Fear not, dove,” he continued blithely. “I shan’t tell a soul.”

He was smiling wider. Gwen could hear it. She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes a little more.

“I’m sure I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that,” he quipped, still audibly smiling.

“Of course not,” she scoffed. “Now, if you’re done teasing--”

“For the moment, I suppose.”

“--I’d like to be able to see again. Let’s get back to the Rising Stones?”

“A wonderful idea.” Thancred’s hand left her head, his fingers lighting on a thin chain around her neck a moment later. “But, in the interest of arriving some time before the season is out,” he tugged something free from her shirt and directed her hand to it, pressing a familiar metal cylinder into her palm, “what say we put your bird to work?”

-------------------------------

(((Eh? Is the page break not a thing anymore? Or am I derp? ......Don’t answer that.)))

Anyway, yeah! :D The prompt was “I can’t see anything!” and so I went with the Blind status effect. Have fun with the projection, Gwen /patpat

I was blindfolded for an escape room a while back and I was fucking useless. 0/10. If I was actually blind I’d probably die reaaaal quick.

#my writing #ffxiv #ffxiv writing #Guinevere Ashe #Thancred Waters #Gwencred #Yes Y'shtola makes that -_- face #but only for a second #when Gwen can see again she's very THE WORLD IS BRIGHT AF #this was rewritten like 5 times and got less salty every time lol #spelled ffxiv wrong in the tags like a proffessional #bits

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strictnoodle · 5 years

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Sanjivani 2

Now that the show has reached the 30th Episode mark; my overall impression about the characters and everything else. (wonder how much has changed and how much has stayed the same from my first post?)

**warning: long post + spoilers ahead!**

The Seniors:

Dr. Shashank Gupta An amazing father/mentor. He's too good at heart to the point he believes a hospital can run on goodwill alone bless his heart, no wonder Sanjivani is drowning in debt The way he seems so understanding to everyone else except his own daughter baffles me. I did not like it when he slapped her. Yeah she was a tad out of line, but he could’ve just opened his mouth and cleared the misunderstanding. With the way he was trying to shut her up, I'm pretty sure that was not the first time Anjali said that to his face; why not clear the misunderstanding? I refuse to believe he actually has romantic feelings for Juhi. Honestly, ousting Juhi from Sanjivani just because Rahul asked him to is the most redicules reason they could come up with.

Dr. Juhi Singh Still the badass COS that she is, deserves the position no questions asked. I love it every time she takes charge. Whether it’s handling Vardhan, Anjali or the junior residents, she’s doing an amazing job. I was hoping she doesn’t interfere with the father-daughter relationship, but then again I understand her desperation to clear things up. And boy, did she get more than what she bargained for. Seems Rahul and her are no longer together but reasons are still unclear. I’m not a fan of the ego clashes she’s having with Dr. Shashank. I get the emotional shock she’s in, but why can’t these characters just talk to each other?

Dr. Anjali Gupta ice baby, ice. Very ambitious. Would do anything to prove her self to her father even if it meant stabbing him in the back that luxury ward meeting? yikes. For her Juhi is an obstacle that’s always been between them, which is understandable as i’ve explained here. She firmly believes her dad is in love with Dr. Juhi and he has done absolutely nothing to clear it up. She craves her dad’s recognition so much she seems to be projecting it towards Vardhan? Anjali baby, no. She holds a soft spot for Dr. Sid and I really wish they’d explore more of this. I still want to see more layers of Anjali other than “the insecure daughter”.

Mr. Vardhan Makhija Still a douche. He’s the only character that speaks sense when it comes to how to run the hospital business wise. He’s been obsessed about the Luxury ward since the first episode I expected something other than a... beauty spa? who goes to a spa in the house of death and deceases? Psychopaths that’s who Seems like he’s using it as a cover to run some questionable/shady business Rahul is probably involved too. Can’t tell if he really has a thing for Anjali or he’s just manipulating her for his own means or both. I was honestly surprised he was worried about Sid seeing as he had no issues wishing death to Shashank? I can't with him.

The Juniors:

Dr. Siddhant Mathur A huge soft teddy bear. Very kind. Just when I started wondering why would they give him a playboy image, they shove a scene to remind me of his ways ugh, men are the worst! I love how he’s following Shashank’s footsteps with the mentoring. Very patient and understanding when dealing with people, especially with Ishani. Carries the weight of being an illegitimate over his head and he hides the pain really well. Still not a fan of his ways and can’t say I'm not glad they toned it down. I mean really punching that guy and taking his blood without consent? I’m pretty sure that falls under organ harvesting. Can't tell if he likes Ishani romantically or it’s because he’s just caring by nature, but he’s definitely attracted to her. I find it cute how bothered he is that she likes nothing about him. (Why did they change the actress who played his mom? And why was she hiding from Dr. Shashank? He better not be that idiot long lost father so help me god.)

Dr. Ishani Arora An Alien. An Alien from outer space who’s learning how to be human. jk, lol. or am I?. Socially awkward, doesn’t know proper human behavior and a diagnostic machine and thank god they toned that down. An emotional mess. Her germophobia stems from her background which she uses as a shield to keep people at a distance. Craves family and motherly love so much it honestly breaks my heart. Fiercely protective of those she calls her own slapping a guy twice her size for Asha? Absolutely fearless. An idiot, but fearless. Emotionally unstable; hence, the up and down behavior. Has been deprived of affection most of her life to the point she gets attached to anyone who shows her any form of affection. Can be self aware, as in did not hesitate to admit her mistake and apologize. A none believer and has issues with god. Life made her Cynical.

Sid/Ishani pairing I like the softness. I like how Sid respects her boundaries and tries not to touch her without permission. I liked the pace of their relationship but then the last two episodes happened and the level went from a soft 10 to a 100 in record speed, add the ‘L word’ they used for the promo and label me freaked tf out. I was very relieved when Ishani said “dost” in the episode even that was a bit of a stretch but i’ll take it. I’m hoping it’s just a developing of a crush thing and nothing else.

Dr Rishab Vaidya Such a horrible horrible person. If anyone deserves a slap from their parent, it’s this one. Watching his ass get handed to him by Ishani was the highlight of the week for me.

Dr. Asha Kanwar This girl grew on me so much. Very competitive and has a valid reason to be. She’s in a race against time and her family. Always has her friends’ back, be it Ishani or Neil or anyone. I’m hoping her competitive nature doesn’t land her in trouble one day. Desperate people almost always end up doing something foolish.

Dr. Aman Gehlot This guy is too laid back for a first year resident. Seems he went to Sanjivani to follow Asha. Very protective of her.

Dr. Rahil Shekhar My absolute favorite out of everyone! I love him so damn much. Such a sweet soft guy, would do anything for his friend. I love how he took charge being the Second Year Resident and guided the rest in the ‘rescue Sid emergency procedure’. The second son of the Mathur household. I would literally watch 20 full minutes of him just doing laundry Give me more of him!

Dr. Neil Lama Lau I still cannot wrap my head around how he managed to enter medical school when he faints at the sight of blood? Probably became a doctor for his dad.

Performance:

I didn't write anything much the first time because I wanted to give the actors a fair chance to settle into their character, and I supposed 30 episodes is more than enough time, no? I honestly have no complain from the senior cast. Rohit’s 3D glasses need to go tho, asap.

My main issue is/was with the junior cast, specifically Namit and Surbhi. Since we don’t see much of the others I'm not really bothered about them, Now:

Namit As much as he’s nailing the laidback carefree attitude, he’s really really bad in emotional/intense scenes. I swear that phone conversation with his mom on the bench gave me secondhand embarrassment and I hate secondhand embarrassment. Every time Sid cries, I'm reminded of that face babies make when they’re fed something sour you know, all crunched up and stuff?. What was that death bed scene? And what is the Director doing? Your actor does subtlety really well, use it. And writers work around your actor’s weaknesses and utilize his strength fgs.

Surbhi: Some scenes she’s a pro and the other scenes i’m watching an amateur leaving me a whiplashed. Ishqbaaaz was the first show I've seen her in never seen Qubool Hai and I’ve noticed then Surbhi is a director’s actor(?). This actor-director team need to set tf down so they can get their shit together and agree once and for all how they want to present this character. Volume wise, personally I don't fault her much because Surbhi’s voice tone is naturally loud. Having a loud family myself a best friend too, these people really don’t realize how loud they’re being unless someone points it out to them, in this case the Director. I’m just glad it toned down considerably from the first couple of weeks.

Anyways, both are getting a pass from me so far since I'm just watching the show for fun; hence i’m not that bothered. But acting wise, both really have a lot of work to do like, a lot a lot. The directors need to up their game as well, half the issues would probably be solved if there was proper guidance and a clear vision between Namit/Surbhi and the Direction team.

Editing & everything else:

Still all over the place. One minute the doctors are wearing gloves, the next it magically disappeared? There’s no consistency with the scenes most of the time. Thankfully they worked on the lighting. It is much better than the first couple of weeks where we could barely see anything.

Finally...

The overall plot started okay-ish toned down considerably from the melodrama of the first weeks but then it was Cliche City the last two episodes. I'm hoping they go back to their previous pace because I liked the overall mellowness of the show. I don’t like how they’ve cut down on the medical cases. I mean it is a medical show? Where the main set is a hospital? And all main characters are doctors? smh. I personally prefer one medical case running for the entire week. That way there will be no super speed diagnostic and no miracle one minute cure happening.

I still catch up with the show on the weekends as i’m not yet heavily invested in the show I could sign off any minute. What I do like most is the grey shades of the characters, They’re not easy to like and makes picking them apart quite fun.

#Sanjivani #Sanjivani 2 #tv: india #sn analysis

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pickyperkypenguin · 5 years

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Recently I remembered that Mabel podcast exists. As I had an upcoming journey, it seemed like a perfect occasion to renew my interest in it, and to get to know how the story of Anna Limon and Mabel unfolds.

(Disclaimer: I am writing all this after listening to twenty five episodes. I don’t exclude the possibility that I’d change my mind, had I listened to more, but for now this is what I think. Also, I had no idea I’ve had so much to say about Mabel podcast, so the length of this text is a surprise both for you and for me. tl;dr: I love the idea of this story, execution could be better.)

What I realised after listening to a couple of episodes after a long break (and the natural break in the narrative, at which point I initially finished), was that it’s, like, Really Bad. But, you know, sort of in a good way.

The general premise is something that a person ( I, the person. When I say we or a person I mean I, but it’s too late to care about my phrasing now) wishes badly to exist. Who doesn’t want a queered fairy tale, dramatic and tragic lesbian romance, the kind that somehow feels like in every single scene the heroes (heroines, in this case) are standing over the edge of a cliff, their ripped white shirts barely covering their chests, their bodies shivering from the wind, and somebody is about to kill or kiss the other person. You know, the romantic as in the historical period kind. Everything over the top, but better, because it’s not subtextually, but screamingly textually queer.

And it works at certain points, really – the queerness of the heroines queers the structure of the story, it plays on the archetypes and sort of fulfils the desire to appropriate them for the queer self for once. It’s a pleasant feeling.

The descriptions are flowy and opulent, the romance goes how certain type of straight romances would go – assuming that the listener will assume the same stuff about a queer couple, as about heterosexual one. And it provides the portrait of an unhinged, feral, burning and at times tender love I see so rarely in queer narratives, because it often would be considered “problematic” (again, it would not, was it a straight romance, but we do tend to have higher expectations for queer romances) or simply botched (it often is in straight romances). It’s the love that’s not really supposed to be nice, and that’s based on imagining and idealisation of the other person more than the reality of the connection (and it goes both ways, as we see after finally getting Mabel’s POV). It is indeed for the most of time disconnected, here by literally a wall between the worlds, but not as the finishing scene, but by the duration. The sun and moon type of romance (and the podcast seems self-aware of all that, I think the creators are delighting in the fact that they can construct it like this).

And I think that till a certain point it all sort of works out more or less, minus the details I’ll be complaining about. When it comes to the luscious descriptions creating the atmosphere of a fairy tale in vivid detail, they are really over the top, bordering on purple prose (or sometimes just plunging right into it). The repetitions and flowery adjectives have their own charm and work in small amounts. I thought – maybe it was not made for binge listening? But no, on the other hand the structure of plot is slow to unfold and convoluted enough, that were I listening to it week-by-week, I’d get nothing from it, really, and would probably be discouraged by the fact that it’s not as much that I don’t understand anything, but I can’t see the larger plot that’s supposed to be unfolding. It’s a mystery-based podcast at first, and I would probably forget what would be considered as base-level unusual in-world, and it would not make an effective impression on me with the increase of oddity.

Another explanation of the purple language – maybe it’s Anna Limon’s character? Maybe she is that kind of girl – after all, for what we know she might as well be going crazy in an old lady’s house, fixating on mysteries and family history that’s not hers for the lack of anything to do? The voicemail “letters” (for a lack of better word, but it has that feel of XIXth century love letters, you know) charm at first. Well, at least me. (Same went with Alice Isn’t Dead, with the main character constantly addressing her wife that she misses – that was I think the first time I encountered a wlw affection showed like this, and I liked the idea very much).

Unfortunately, the formula starts breaking when the first arc of the story ends, and we get to know Mabel’s point of view and Mabel’s character. Here the similarities of that language start grating: Mabel is a not-really-a-girl-what-does-human-mean-at-this-point who has been isolated for a long time in the Kingdom Under the Hill, where concepts work in a slightly different way than in the real world, and she could be this over the top just from the isolation and existing for a long time among this non-euclidean post-death plant-gymnastics.

Both Anna and Mabel could have their own reasons to be speaking like this (speaking! That also changes the feeling of it, it read distinctively different in text form). But when those reasons are so different from one another, and yet the language stays about the same, it’s just obvious that it’s the writing of the show, and unfortunately, as I said, in larger quantities, in it not being a distinctive characteristic but how the script is written, and also because it’s all spoken, it starts charming and ends up jarring. It’s becomes too over the top, if I can say it like that, and it doesn’t work as it should, also because – and here we come with another thing – it takes itself so. damn. seriously.

The Mabel podcast does not joke, but it contains a lot of unhinged, wild and hysterical laughing, giggling and sobbing. Maybe it’s the fault of the voice acting (and sorry if it’s rude, but I’m afraid I think the voice acting is really not good overall), but at a point it just started getting on my nerves. The show never stops to give itself a breather, but rides the high C all the time, and there is no rest. That cheapens, I’m afraid, the moments that are supposed to be impactful and end up less so, because they have no chance of shining brighter than the others, as everything tries to shine at once.

I also think that the voice acting itself is annoying me more than it should. I don’t really find the cadence of the voices pleasant – especially Mabel, who is unfinishing her sentences a lot but in a way that sounds artificial. It’s like amateur actors who know they are supposed to not finish a sentence, because it has been written in the script that another character will interrupt them. So, they go off from their way to facilitate that, and there is the minuscule but noticeable pause that just sounds stupid for the spectator. It’s even worse when there is no other character to interrupt, just one person abandoning a sentence – but they have long ago known they will abandon it in the first place, oh my god, it doesn’t make sense. Sorry, I think I really didn’t like Mabel’s way of talking.

I mean, at first it was sort of incredible – I remember the impact it made on me when I finally heard Mabel’s voice! And she was so angry! She was angry at Anna for switching places without asking her if she even wants that, and she didn’t fit in the real world acutely, and she has had a lot of pretensions and grievances. She was yelling a lot and hitting things. It was awesome. And then, sadly, it all lost the impact, because I then started noticing everything that I listed above and all this became just a baseline communication for her, and nothing had the time to reverberate. Her appearance was the best and the worst that could happen, because it could be executed so well, but instead has basically destroyed the formula of the show that seduced me in the first place.

And the formula was this – one sided relation from events we don’t know if they are actually happening, or if it’s a portrait of a person losing herself and going insane. The distortions instead of voices when the worlds were colliding and the other world and its inhabitants were communicating was absolutely selling that ambiguity. It was providing a certain foundation to Anna’s self-doubt if she isn’t going insane, and at the same time giving us the structure of the narrative that we’re familiar with, because we’ve been (I was, in Central Eastern Europe) raised on it. It was (and is, I stand by it) an amazing choice for showing an encounter with the Other, with strangeness that the modern world (and its recording devices) is not equipped to handle, and the heroes are barely able to as well. I do believe the only way to scare us at all in the XXI century and the time of incredibly realistic special effects is to leave us guessing, because only then we’ll be able to scare ourselves. The theatricality will work out where the gore fails, and here it worked spectacularly. I still don’t know who exactly was speaking in which moments, if the house was speaking at all, if it was maybe Luna Thorn or the King. Who the fuck knows, and what a delight it is.

But the story started to fall apart, as I said, when we finally had both girls actually talking to each other, and then them speaking of the other as if she was not theoretically right next to her. In the exact manner as when they were apart, divided by the veil between the real world and the fairy kingdom. The distance disappeared, we got both points of view, and that should be the moment of losing the gravity, and I think it would kind of saved the show. Unfortunately, I say as a mantra here, even though the attempts were made – bravo for Anna, expressing her desire for Mabel to just fucking talk to her like a normal person and to co-exist, be in the same spacetime. To which we got a counterargument that oh, of bloody course Anna wants normalcy because that’s her fetish, and Mabel is not normal because she’s barely human and did even Anna love her all this time, can she love her after confronting that otherness of Mabel? Aaand there it went. I mean, it does make narrative sense a lot, but it also prevents from riding out the narrative high C, and so we are still listening to an equivalent of ten hour version of the last phrase from the Phantom of the Opera theme song.

The romance starts showing its imperfections, and normally it would be good, because it would lead us to the protagonists deepening the connection, going from the abstract, ideative one, to one forged in the fire of just being in near proximity, and in situations where they are supposed to work out compromises to rely on each other, instead of making decisions for the other and expecting gratitude. At the point which I listened to last, they confronted that issue, but didn’t seem like it was going anywhere (yet?). Which leads me to a point, that I will probably listen to at least a couple more episodes, both because I sort of want to give it a chance and to know how it will unfold, and also because I have another upcoming journey and what you expect me to be doing on a train?

Yeah, that’s about that. Gods, what the hell, I had no idea I would write this much. There might be several grammatical mistakes in this meta, because I am not a native speaker and there is no way I am going to go over 2k of words that nobody may even read, and I should seriously be going back to what I should be doing instead of this. Though I admit, right now I will try to go to the gym, because I am highly caffeinated (have you noticed???) and I, like, cannot really do caffeine. At all. Why did I do that? Oh yeah, I had to because I was working on some stuff before. Oh gods, how will I even fall asleep today.

#mabel podcast #meta #to whomstever it may concern: i am so sorry i drank this yerba mate based drink i will be punished by my own system anyway

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phan-of-the-pen · 5 years

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I Dare To Stay: Chapter 20

we made it to 20 boys!! this one isn’t as sad, but it’s very bittersweet

Tags for chapter: angst, brief mentions of depression/mental health issues, minor fluff (it gets better at the end), lots of cursing, so many f bombs

Words for chapter: ~3 k

Fic Summary: Dan Howell is a barista working a shitty job, frequenting his shitty apartment, and living a shitty existence, hiding his asexuality and going for a PHD in self-depreciation and depression. Phil Lester is a part-time intern, part-time employee at a local weather station, trying to get experience in his field and make a name for himself, while juggling a second job at the nearby Tesco’s to give him some financial breathing room. Their paths were never supposed to meet, but what happens when they do anyways, one rainy day in Manchester?

(ao3!)

<– Previous chapter Next chapter -->

~~~~~~~~~~

Dan doesn't see Phil the first day he gets back from London.

In fact, Dan doesn't see Phil until the third day he's back in Manchester.

As damning as it might sound, not all of the blame was on Phil, but it was mostly all on Dan. Dan had taken three days to destruct during the week that Phil had been away, and all 72 hours were pure hell. And after Dan managed to pull himself from his sheets enough to try and be a person, Dan threw himself into his work. When he needed some sort of explanation for his behavior, he had used the flimsy excuse of needing to make up for the three work shifts he missed.

They had both asked after him during those three days where he disappeared with no explanation, and when Dan only returned horribly drawn into himself and not acting normal, they had grown even more concerned. Dan couldn't remember when he had last received so many texts in such a short time.

When Phil had initially gotten back it was late at night, and even though Dan had been awake when Phil had texted him, he hadn't responded. The next day Phil had called him, telling Dan that he had a loonngg shift at the weather station. However, he still wanted to try and see Dan because it had been ages since they had last had some down time together.

Dan had nearly bitten his tongue off to keep himself from dropping a damaging, smartass comment about how little he had seen of his boyfriend and that spending this much time apart was basically normal.

He knew that Phil was trying. He didn't deserve something like that.

It was Dan, however, to shut down the possibility of them meeting that day. Dan still wasn't feeling normal, and he knew that he looked like a hot, depressed mess. He not only didn't want Phil to see him like this, but he also didn't want to have to try and pretend. Dan knew that if they saw each other their time would be extremely limited between both of their work schedules that day, and Dan was well aware of how not okay he was. If he saw Phil he would act even less normal because of all of the reasons why Dan was hurting inside, and they didn't have the time right now to try and work through it all.

So even though it cut something inside of him to hear the fall of Phil's voice at Dan's rejection, Dan stood by his decision.

That shift seemed extra long, and it wasn't because Dan was working a double.

The next day Dan gave Phil a similar reason. The third one—the day they finally saw each other—was only the fateful day because Phil had shown up to Dan's door. Dan had opened it, not really knowing who would be behind the door, but he had been puzzled to find Phil standing there. He was a bit disheveled and his eyebrows drawn together in concern; the lines those eyebrows made only grew deeper the moment that Phil saw Dan.

When he saw Phil, a part of Dan that he wasn't proud of wanted to find any excuse he could to run or hide because he didn't feel anywhere close to being able to handle this. Instead, he only opened the door wide enough for Phil to pass through, and led him into the lounge where they stood, five feet apart physically and even more in every other way that mattered.

Dan resisted the urge to squirm as Phil raked his eyes over Dan's frame. Dan had no doubts that he noticed the rumpled clothes, messy hair, his slightly thinner frame from not properly eating, and the deep eye bags from a lack of sleep.

"Dan…" Phil breathed, like it was the only word he could manage.

"I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?"

"Pulling away from you when you got back. I know I shouldn't have shut you out like that, and I know you wanted to see me. I wanted to see you too, but just…"

"Just?" Phil asked after Dan trailed off and didn't continue his sentence.

"...not like this."

Phil's face softened, and he took a few steps forward to close the physical distance between them. He took Dan's hand into his after a moment.

"Dan, there won't ever be a time when I don't want to see you. And when you're in a bad place I only want to be here more to help you."

Dan looked down.

You say this now. You don't know how bad it gets.

"This has to do with you going M.I.A. last week, doesn't it? Dan," Phil said, his voice soft as can be, "what happened to you while I was gone? I want to help, but...but you need to let me in."

Two sides in a bitter war rapidly formed in Dan's head. One was melting at Phil's words and swelling with the notion that Phil cared about him this much. The other was taking advantage of Dan's post-depressive-episode emotional state and rising with a terrible anger at Phil trying to talk about letting people in. Dan wasn't proud at how fast that darker side of him took over.

"You can't really talk about letting people in when all you've been doing for the past month is shutting me out." Dan bit back before he could even try and control his words. His hand slipped out of Phil's, and the part of Dan that didn't want to get angry screamed that this was going to manifest into one of Dan's many regrets if Dan kept acting like an asshole.

Phil looked confused for half of a second, but his expression immediately became guilty.

"Dan, I know we haven't been spending a lot of time together lately, but it's just been work stuff, and I-"

"Oh, like how over a month ago whatever the hell you had on your phone was only a change in schedule? Yeah, no offense but I'm calling bullshit."

Dan had no idea where he was getting the anger or the energy for this. He had been so, so drained this whole week, and now his body decided to kick into high gear?

Phil's eyebrows crinkled once again, but this wasn't him being concerned. This was him stifling his anger. For some reason, that only made Dan madder.

"What are you talking about?"

Dan laughed. "What am I talking about? Do you remember that movie night we had, and I took care of our trash. When I came back in you were on your phone, reading something, but you were so upset. You looked like you were going to throw your phone—and I'm sorry I was concerned about you—but I asked you what was up, and you lied to me."

Phil huffed, and Dan watched agitation blossom in his eyes.

"What, should I come to you whenever I get any notification now? Dan, that's like, three red flags of what should not be in a relationship."

Dan ran his hands through his hair, groaning.

"No, I don't care what the hell you get on your phone. What I care about is that you fucking lied to my fucking face! That's the kind of shit my parents pulled all the damn time, and fuck, I can't stand when people fucking lie to me!"

"Is this why you look like you've been through the war? Have you been upset about this this whole time? I mean, Dan, I never meant-"

Dan knew that this anger was his hyperactive depression taking the wheel and trying it's hardest to fuck up anything good in his life, but he felt powerless to stop it. He was spitting out words faster than his brain could try and regulate them.

"Uh, yeah, I've been sitting here for the past month trying to figure out why the hell my boyfriend lied to me and feels that he can't fucking trust me, but if you think that it's the only reason that I look like fucking shit then you are sorely wrong." Dan took a step forward, some sort of dam inside of him having been smashed to smithereens. "I spent the the first two weeks of this year wondering why you were only pulling further and further away from me. I barely saw you, and when I did, it was for such a little amount of time. You dropped everything once your phone rang, but you didn't even bother to answer half of my texts."

Dan turned away and started to pace. He needed a way to get rid of all of this sudden energy that he had.

"I spent the whole week before you left slipping into depression, and slowly getting stuck inside my head." "You could have told me, I-"

"Don't even try and put this on me because you also could have done a lot too. And can you really blame me for thinking that you didn't want me to bother you? It's not like you seemed like you wanted anything to do with me."

Phil recoiled like he had been physically hit with Dan's words.

"And when you left, god, it was just in time for me to fall apart completely. I spent three fucking days in bed thinking about how lonely I am and how the only two people in this world that I care about are moving on without me and how I'm going to end up alone. And Phil that's not your fault, but the reason why I look like I've been through the war is because I fucking have been. You don't get to try and berate me for pushing you out when that's all you've been doing to me for the past fucking month."

Dan took a breath, clenching his fists and blew out the air in his lungs shakily.

God, I really need to calm the fuck down…

A minute passed in complete silence while Dan gathered himself and tried to dampen the flames of anger inside of him.

When he started talking again, his voice was at a normal volume.

"I've been hurting so bad. I know I could have told you, but you also could have noticed. I'm upset that you lied to me. I'm upset that you shut me out and flat out ignored me at times. I'm upset that you didn't feel like you could trust me. I know I should have told you sooner, but I didn't want to spoil the holidays, and then you slipped away from me so quickly. I haven't exactly had the chance, and I'm sorry I let it blow up to this. I'm really sorry I just like, screamed at you, but fuck, it felt good to let it all out."

Dan slumped against his couch. The anger that had engulfed him had been sudden and complete, and it was gone as fast as it had arrived.

It was quiet for a moment...five...ten…

"The station isn't getting enough views anymore, and they can't keep losing money. The owners are dissolving the company to cut their losses, and the last broadcast is at the end of the month. I knew the owners really well so they've endorsed me to a few other stations, but none of them would be based around here, and I'd have to move." Phil said, quietly, his gaze on his feet. "I've been trying all of the other local weather stations to try and get a job, but none of them are hiring, even after calling in some favors and dropping a few names. I didn't want to tell you until I knew what I was doing."

Dan's jaw dropped at the words, horror seeping into his bones.

"I…" Dan trailed off, not even knowing where to start. The attention to his phone, the never-ending phone calls, the constant long hours and appointments, they all fell into place and made much more sense than any half-baked explanation Dan had tried to come up with.

And god did Dan feel guilty. Phil had been dealing with all of this for so long, and he had undoubtedly been anxious and stressed over it, and what had Dan done? He had gotten worked up over the fact that he was missing a bit of attention, let it fuck with his head, and he had just fucking exploded at Phil for no good reason.

"I'm so fucking sorry," Dan breathed, and his voice sounded guilty, tight, and overwhelmed, "I didn't know, and I shouldn't have-"

"Exactly, Dan, that's exactly my point." Phil interrupted, tangling his fingers through Dan's. "I didn't tell you because I was scared and selfish and I didn't want to admit that something like this was happening. I didn't think about how this would affect you, and now that my head isn't up my own arse I'm sorry that I put you through that. I'm sorry I lied to you, and I'm sorry I kept pulling away from you." Phil laughed a little. "I was so worried about protecting you from the stress I was going through that I didn't even see how my actions were affecting you."

They both fell quiet, and that silent moment with nothing but Phil's thumb rolling over Dan's knuckles was exactly what Dan needed to collect himself.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you. I know I already said that, but even if you were a bit of a jerk you didn't deserve it."

"I kind of did."

"No, you really didn't. Normally I'm better at handling things like that, but I guess I'm worn pretty thin to the bone right now. It's no excuse, but…"

Phil squeezed his hand.

"It's alright. I promise I won't ever try and keep something like this from you. I learned my lesson, trust me."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"If the station is going under, why did they send you to that old guy? I would have thought that they would try and keep all the money they could."

"Normally, yeah. The owners and I know each other really well though. They're friends of my parents and I grew up around them. When it was clear that the station wasn't going to survive, they wanted to give me all they could for me to make it somewhere else as a meteorologist. So they convinced their old colleague to mentor me for a week."

Dan hummed in response, thinking. There was one other question he wanted to ask, but he was afraid of the answer.

He decided to ask it anyways.

Being afraid had been what had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

"Have you decided where you want to go yet?"

Phil sighed, his shoulders sagging under an invisible weight.

"No. The few places I was recommended to are too far for me to commute to, like I said, and I tried every local station I could."

"So what are you thinking of doing?"

Phil bit his lip.

"Nothing I guess. Keep trying, maybe hope that a local station gets an opening, but other than that...I don't think I can really do that much."

"Wait a minute, Phil, you're just giving up? You can't do that, meteorology is your dream! You have a freaking degree in it, you've worked so hard to get where you are, and you're just going to throw it out the window?"

"Don't you think I know that? I just…" Phil squeezed Dan's hand, and Dan's eye widened as he caught all of the words Phil was trying to convey to him without speaking.

"Phil, you can't give up on your dream just because of me."

"I wouldn't say I'm giving up on it, more like...pressing pause?"

"Phil."

"Okay, fine, you caught me, I'm not pursuing any of the other stations in the cities because I'd have to move away from you, and I don't think I could do that."

Dan pulled Phil down with him onto the couch. They instinctively curled around each other, each of their bodies bending in the direction of the other.

"You can't sacrifice your career for me. I won't let you."

Phil only continued to play with Dan's hand in his, not quite ignoring Dan's gaze, but not meeting it either.

"Phil."

He looked up, and Dan tried to smile to reassure him.

"Listen, if you want to pursue your dream of being a top meteorologist, then I'll stand by you, even if that means that you have to move across the country. You're special to me, Philip Lester, and I'm willing to sacrifice a little cuddle time to see you happy and doing what you love. Besides, we can always visit each other."

"Dan, we both know you can't really afford a lot of trips places, especially if they're far."

Dan shrugged.

"A few doubles never hurt anyone."

"Dan, you already work way too much, there's no way I'm letting you work more just for me."

"Shhh," Dan interrupted. The stress of trying to come up with the money to visit Phil regularly would bear down on him later, but Dan didn't want to think about it right now. Right now he was so, so fond of this man in front of him. This man who knew that something like this would stress Dan out of his mind, and tried—even if he went about it the wrong way—to relieve that stress.

Relationships needed effort from both sides to work, and sometimes that effort wasn't quite equal. Right now, Dan needed to put in a little more effort, and that was okay. He could do it. He wanted to do it. He wanted to fight for this beautiful, incredible, amazing thing in his life.

"We'll get through this, alright? You don't have to worry; I'm not going anywhere."

Phil's frame relaxed at Dan's words, and relief oozed from him. He let his hand cup Dan's head and gently pulled him into a kiss.

"Thank you."

#my fics #allyssaTM #dan howell #phil lester #phanfic #phan #phanfiction #au #minor fluff #angst #so much cursing oh my god #they're finally talking boys #also we made it to 20 chapters!#i dare you to stay #i dare you to stay: chapter 20 #idyts #chaptered

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anuj1985 · 2 years

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Why do people ghost you, and how to overcome ghosting?

Ghosting is a very common phenomenon these days. Most of us have experienced ghosting in our lives. It is especially true for cases when you are in the early stages of your relationship. In the dating world also it is quite common for people to ghost you at once. A friend of mine called me in despair. She was in the early stages of a relationship with another girl but then something weird happened. They met for initial few days and went to dinners and parties together. But then the other girl whom she liked stopped answering her phone, responding to her texts and answering her calls. She also unfriended her on social media. My friend was concerned if the other girl is in some form of trouble or if it was deliberate? And then one fine day, her new insta post cropped up having dinner with a new woman. It all then became clear. She was ghosted.

So why do people ghost you? Did you say something wrong and offend them, or they just are over you? The reasons could be many but ghosting causes a lot of harm to your mental well-being and may even make you resentful (read more about how to let go of resentment). Ghosting can be a painful experience and can break you. It hurts a lot and makes you feel disrespected. It hurts your self-esteem and confidence. Ghosting can also make you develop trust issues in your present relationships, as you are never sure when someone actually abandons you.

Ghosting is just not prevalent in our personal lives but also in our professional lives. I have been ghosted by recruiter after my interviews many times and still counting. It is called recruiter ghosting or professional ghosting.

Ghosting is worse than normal face to face dumping. When someone leaves you without explaining anything, you keep hanging in shock and want to know your answers just once. You want to achieve your closure but to no avail. So ghosting is cruel and can be a traumatic experience for many of us.

We often live in guilt and think over and again that we would have said something or done something that offended the other person, and they ghosted us. Bit it is seldom true. If someone wants to be with you, they will give you a fair chance to explain your stance. But when someone chooses to abandon you without any final goodbye and without any reason, it is not something that you have done wrong. It is something more than that and something to do with them.

So why do people ghost you? Here are the top five reasons:

They lack self-awareness: The people who ghost you are the ones who lack self-awareness. They do not know what they need from their own lives so they come in your life and then leave your life. They are not really sure what is it that makes them happy and how to form meaningful relationships. Here is how to deal with someone who lacks self-awareness!

Ghosting is easy in this world: We live in a world where ghosting is easy and online dating makes it easier to disappear. It means when we do not have common friends and common people, we have fewer stakes involved, and we can ghost anytime we want.

They are facing tough situations in life: When they are facing a tough situation in their lives, they want to focus on fixing themselves, and hence they want to cut off everyone who doesn't fit into their plan. So they just lock themselves up and save all their energies to rebuild themselves. For example, I had a person who ghosted me after her divorce. Later on, I found out that she was rebuilding herself and wanted her time off. So she abandoned everyone. Not because I did something wrong and offended her but because she was not ready to face me and her friends. Here are five steps for moving on after a divorce!

They are insecure and jealous of you: sometimes your friends ghost you surprisingly because they are insecure about themselves and are jealous of your success. And they can't handle all this as it is too much for them. So the easiest option is to ghost you when they can defeat you. Good for you and good for them too.

Sometimes people ghost you because they have lied to you initially. And now since you guys are really close, they fear that you will find the truth out and will reject them. So, to avoid such a thing happening and explaining everything, they resort to ghosting.

So these are the reasons why people ghost you. If you have more reasons to share about why people ghost you, do share the same in the comments section below.

Please share this article with your loved ones!

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tesseractj · 6 years

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The Truth, and too much of it

Here we go, Fanfic 1.

I got the prompt for this at http://imagine-loki.tumblr.com/post/153439568024/imagine-you-and-loki-are-members-of-the-avengers

Now, I am so new to all this and I probably need to learn tons more about Tumblr, presentation, etc. I also need a PC for this. Instead, I'll let it fly.

Summary: OC is a long time Avenger, gets kidnapped, gets drugged, gets rescued, and shares far more of her love life with Loki than she ever wanted to. Steve and Bruce want to hide, Tony wants to listen and Loki keeps prompting for more.

OC and basic universe is based on a much bigger fanfic I have been working on. Basically she's a shameless self-insert, Loki is doing better and is an Avenger, and everyone actually does live together when possible creating a nice family of happy Avengers. Definite references to smut, sex, kinks and NSFW stuff. Also minor references to a nebulous past trauma.

..................................................

The trick to this drug seemed to be to turn the stream of consciousness into a personally interesting rant. I was slowly driving my captors nuts with it.

They asked about Iron Man’s weaknesses and got a rant about Tony’s inability to receive a cup of cocoa when handed to him, or his habit of ordering dinner before anyone had decided what to eat or cook. The best info they gained was his favorite drinks and favorite swimsuit model. That rant lasted a good hour, broken by attempt to steer the information to their needs.

“Nooo, weaknesses in the his suit design!” “Like clothes? Nope, he’s got a great designer for clothes. Perfect designs.” They learned his strange clothing choices, designer apparel with $2,000 cufflinks, and then a great deal about Pepper’s awesome wardrobe. They cut me off again when I started talking about the history of the color pink and child product consumerism.

“No, his suit, tell us about the Iron Man suit weaknesses!”

“Have you seen that thing? Who thinks red is a good color for a suit? Tony freakin’ Stark. I love the guy, but any chance it could be black, brown, camo? Noooooo. Red and Gold! Not that Steve’s suit is better. Still, he didn’t design it so I give him a break there. . . usually.” That devolved into a comparison of all Avengers’ gear designs, and more embarrassingly who looked hot in what.

They tried asking about the defences for Avenger’s Tower and the compound. I had more trouble deflecting that. I couldn’t help but start talking about FRIDAY, but once I got myself talking about the AI’s personality I was off on a rant about the comparisons between her program, the TESS program in my Neural Interface and JARVIS. TESS won that comparison, after 15 minutes of one sided discussion.

“What is Nick Fury’s home address?” I laughed at the likelihood of anyone knowing that answer. No one could discover his favorite coffee, let alone his home address, codes, birthday, favorite color, etc.

“Does Black Widow fear anything?” I got in 15 minutes about how amazing spiders are, how they are related to horseshoe crabs, how insects were the first land animals and what does Natasha have to do with sea lions?

“Listen up! We don’t know what another dose of this will do.” Interrogator #3 held up another vial of whatever they kept dosing me with. “We’d prefer you sane and useful, at least until we sell you and your info to the highest bidder. You are really making that hard.”

“Maybe the drug is no good on me? Did you test it on normal humans or genetic experiments visiting from other universes? There’s only a few of us visitors hanging around, so, I’d be pretty supri-”

“There’s more of you?” Interrogator #1 exclaimed, looking both excited and worried at the thought.

I almost winced, that was more info than I wanted to share, but,”More of me? Not on this planet that’s for sure. We tend to aggravate each other outside of specialized conditions.” “More visitors fro. . . what the hell was that?”

I was saved from accidentally revealing anything by some very loud sounds coming from somewhere not too far off. I sighed in relief. “You all are in so much trouble now. If Nat, Bruce or Loki are here you are dead meat.” Now I explained how painfully dead those three would make my captors.

“. . . and after the Hulk puts you through a wall Loki will pull your insides out through any hole he finds. If you haven’t died yet he’ll-”

“Shut up! This can’t just be the drug. You must be insane! Who says all that so cheerfully? How did you take a question about the Hulk and turn it into a lecture about Black Holes, Stars Exploding and Poles?” I grinned at the remaining guy in the room. That had been a fun stream about Gamma Ray bursts, threats to life in the universe and Magnetic Pole reversal.

Huh, when did the other two guys leave the room? I was knew the drug was affecting my awareness, but that was worse than I thought. Oh well, the door was flying open and I was given a second off from having to answer anything as I watched Steve stop the final guys questions.

My awareness hazed out for the next bit until I was breathing fresh air and realized that I was explaining to Cap how medicines for mental illness had side effects like memory loss.

“Is she alright? Let me see her!” I heard a pleasant, if urgent, voice cut through my mental fog.

“Loki! I told them they’d be in big trouble if you came. I knew you would be here. Did you rip anyone to shreds? Did Nat come and break some bones?” I asked happily, likely sounding almost drunk.

Loki looked straight into my face, eyebrows drawn in confusion. Instead of answering me he turned to Steve, who had helped walk me outside. “What has happened to her, Captain? What have they done to her?”

“It seems they had a truth serum of some sort. We gave Bruce samples and he’s already started analysing it on the Jet. We’ll know more by the time we get home.”

“Know more? I’m certain I could reveal everything we need from one of the prisoners,” Loki got a dangerous glint in his eye.

Steve was going to raise an objection, but I couldn’t keep my mouth closed. “Awww, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the way you look when you get all dangerous and angry.”

Loki turned back to me in concern and surprise. Before he could ask for clarification on my apparent love of his dark side I continued with more helpful information. “It’s some sort of temporary inhibition release, like a truth serum thingie mixed with ativan mixed with alcohol. They said it calms the subject(me!), reduces or rids control of mind to mouth and encourages open thinking. I really don’t think they realized what open thinking means for me. They learned a lot about my love of sciency stuff and how I adore all of you guys, verrrry little about our defences or secrets.”

I looked more seriously over at Steve,”I was getting really loopy at the end there. It’s worth seeing if they got a record of anything in case something important slipped. I haven’t heard TESS, since the first dose, but she might be fully operational and have a record.” Always helpful to have an AI built into your brain, or adjacent to it, or whatever Stark called it.

I felt a hand turn my face so I would look back at Loki. “But are you alright, love? Did they hurt you?” The concern on his face sobered me up as we started walking to the Jet. My general awareness seemed to be coming back as I also noticed a SHIELD team run past about twenty feel off, and Tony was talking to someone while pointing back at the building I had been held in. The Jet was only a few hundred feet away, like a little piece of home come to get me.

“I’ll be fine, I think it was just a few scratches and bruises. They insisted the drug needed high doses to hurt a normal brain, and you know my physiology would handle way more than a normal human brain.” I paused to look closer at him and say,”Sorry I got kidnapped, again. I really don’t want to worry anyone, especially you.” Memories of the previous, and much worse, abduction made me shudder lightly.

I felt his arm pull me closer to him as we started up the ramp. He seemed to take a moment to breath the scent off my hair. “It’s hardly your fault. I do wish I could keep such events from occurring. However, I would like to return to a comment you made a moment ago.”

I looked up at him in confusion as we settled into the seats. “You enjoy my dangerous and angry look?”

Even in my current state I felt a blush start, “Well, yeah. You know I think you are extra sexy when you are all serious, or protective and angry. It’s not like I never told you that, right? Or, wait, no, yeah, didn’t I mention it that first time we had the silk cords and candles, whe-”

“Uh, Juliana, you know Bruce and I are standing right here, right?” Steve asked in a soft but mortified tone. Bruce looked like he wanted to shrink into oblivion.

Any blush I had before was nothing compared to the the heat I felt on my face now. No, I hadn’t even thought about who else was on the plane. It was as if everything but Loki and I had disappeared. Loki had one of his freakin’ smirks going and I knew he felt no shame. “Oh good lord, I’m so sorry Steve. Hi Bruce, sorry. Umm, thanks guys for coming to rescue me and I can’t believe. . . stop smirking Loki!” I whacked him on the shoulder.

Bruce tried to sound understanding,”No, it’s fine, I get it. You are under the influence, so to speak, Don’t, don’t worry about it Jay. Just glad you’re okay.”

“Don’t worry about what?” Tony’s load steps echoed into the Jet as he came onboard. His suit was on, helmet off, and he looked curious.

The answer came from the cockpit, which furthered my embarrassment,”It’s nothing Tony, that’s why we don’t have to worry.” Clint had heard me too.

Everyone should have known Tony would have none of that. Loki’s smirk became a full grin as Tony said,”Oh no, it’s something.” He looked at me appraisingly, then pointed as he figured it out,”You're still drugged and started dishing out something good. What is it? Spill.”

My face hit my hands as I started,”Well, I was remembering the time Loki and I-”

“TONY, no! No taking advantage of this. Sorry Jay, you don’t have to answer,” Steve interjected before things got too far.

“But daaaad, it was gonna be fun!” Tony whined.

I got to grin as I watched Tony piss off Steve, which kept up until Natasha got on board and we prepared to head home. I learned that Thor had flown off for a date as soon as he heard I was rescued. That turned out to be a very good thing, because Loki wasn’t done with his fun.

A few minutes after take off I was finally quiet, staring at the spot I had been lying in after me last rescue. I wanted to curse the system of balances that made pain and fear a good substitute for all the bad things I could stop. It was worth it but. . .

”Surely a simple smile did not merit such a violent response,” Loki spoke up, rubbing his shoulder as if I had actually hurt him. “I would love to hear more about what you were remembering. I can’t seem to place what you were speaking of,” he sounded almost thoughtful, under his blasted smile.

“Oh good lord, Loki! Don't think I doubt you remember that perfectly well. Green silk cords, specialty candles, those flo-”

“Hmmm Hrmm,” Steve coughed as I turned red again.

“Oh great, I am still just spewing out everything in my head. How long will this last?”

I glanced over at Bruce, who was looking very uncomfortable. “Oh, um, I don’t really know. I’ve tried to hook FRIDAY in to TESS and they are running some numbers. Let me see. . . oh, looks like 3-6 hours?”

I gasped,”Oh no, no no, is there a sedative, yeah, sedative you can give me? I am not ready for my inner dialogue here.”

“Jay, Juliana, you just sat with strangers for over 7 hours under the influence. We are much safer,” Steve tried to reason.

“First off, I don’t care what those a-holes think of me. Second off, different circumstances lead to very different answers. I was in a clinical interrogation, it was easy to stay impersonal. You all are my family, it’s personal here. Third, look at Loki’s face! He’s planning mischief!”

Loki put on an air of hurt innocence,”I most certainly am not!”

“Ugh, we all know better darling. You might be subtle, but you are trouble,” I glared, with maybe a hint of love bleeding through.

“I could be less subtle dear, if you like. Or I could,” he leaned in, close to my ear, “ask something very subtle, like what do you want?”

Everybody else disappeared again as my answer took over. He made things worse by skating his fingers over my neck. “I want to strip your armor off, throw you down and kiss every part of you until you-”

“Loki, enough! That’s enough of this!” Steve sounded half panicked, half furious. He was trying to use his Captain America voice, though it sounded just a little off.

“Perhaps if you and Bruce are finding this uncomfortable, you could move farther away from our conversation,” Loki offered.

Tony snorted at that. He was having a grand time now. This was all he wanted out of a good truth serum debacle. Steve was flustered, I was flustered but showing my kinky side, and Loki was grinning like the happiest God of Mischief in the universe.

Loki looked back at me,”You must be hungry after everything.”

“Seriously, using that voice and saying that? Of course I am hungry,” I said, trying to steer my thoughts to food, chocolate, fruit, oh no. “I would love to have some chocolate and, and, and,” I tried to fight it,” annnnd I would love to lick it off of you, bit by bit. I would paint both of us in it, and then use a whole strawberry. . .”

Steve and Bruce fled as far as they could get. Tony’s eyes went wide as he gleefully listened to my fantasy. Loki got a different look in his eyes, promising fun down the line.

It was a few days later that I thought back and realized something quite important. Every time I had started to get overwhelmed with memories from that previous trauma, Loki would step in an distract me with stupid salacious prompts. I couldn’t decide whether or not to thank him, or if I should explain that he could have picked a less embarrassing distraction. Then I remembered that look in his eyes, and how once I got a clean bill of health we made good use of green silk cords and plenty of chocolate. Not much more needed to be said, once I thought of that.

#Loki #loki (marvel)#loki x oc #mcu #fanfic #original character #imagine loki #prompt #avengers #tony stark #steve rogers #iron man #captain america #bruce banner #capture #truth serum

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