#never got over the constant alert phase apparently

[simplyghosting]

Ah~ Another day another less than 4hrs of sleep

[liibrii]

fem!Miya!Reader & Miya family

Part of the Third Miya Series

Synopsis: Three is a weird number. It's only two units bigger than one and only a unit more than two and yet it seems to be so much more, especially when the three in question are toddlers needed to be dressed for kindergarten.

wc: 2.1k

a/n: baby Miyas, the ultimate serotonin providers 🙃 if you wanna be tagged in future chapters let me know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated!

Mrs Miya has always trusted her gut feeling and in that moment it was telling her the bathroom was down the corridor, last door on the left, and, just as Mr Miya had told her that morning, eating leftover curry for breakfast was a dreadful idea.

Doctor repeats her words and Mrs Miya's neck becomes completely stiff. If it wouldn't she'd perhaps be able to look at her husband whose face turned ashen pale. “Triplets?“

Well, this will take buy one get one for free jokes on a whole new level.

Doctor's words are just buzzing and the soon to be Miya parents nod and smile and nod and hold on each others' hand as if there's no tomorrow. They're silent on the way out.

Mr Miya turns to his wife. “Do they even sell strollers for three kids?”

Three is a weird number. It's only two units bigger than one and only a unit more than two and yet it seems to be so much more, especially when the three in question are toddlers needed to be dressed for daycare.

You all wear the same colours because Atsumu would throw a tantrum if your jumper wasn't the same colour as his and you would throw a tantrum when yours was a different colour than Osamu's, who in turn would throw a tantrum because his jumper was now the same colour as Atsumu's.

Mrs Miya had read advices that one should always dress their twins (or, in this case, triplets) differently as it is good for their personality development; which is all well and good and a great advice, except that whoever wrote it forgot to take into account that two and a half out of her three children saw being dressed differently as their siblings as a horrific violation of their toddler rights.

Your parents tell themselves one day you'll grow out of this phase, but till then mom stitches little numbers one, two, and three on the edges of your clothes. She did start stitching your names, but with only two pairs of hands in the house and three little sprouts in constant need of attention there was never enough time to finish them.

“One,“ says Mr Miya and Atsumu raises his hands.

“Ichi!“ he proudly chimes.

“Two,“ Mr Miya grabs you before you'd crawl out of the reach of his arms.

“Ni!“ like his brother Osamu too raises his chubby fists, but only halfway.

“And three!”

“San!“ You hug your dad's neck, perhaps hoping that will get you out of having to wear socks.

And heaven forbid they ever messed up which jumper belonged to whom. It was beyond your parents' wisdom how you could tell the number stitched on the edge was not the same they said when counting your heads, but you could.

“Must be yer superpower,“ jokes Mr Miya while changing your sweater that has the wrong number on the edge. He barely pulls it off when Atsumu's chubby hands already grab it and begin pulling it over his head. He screams when his father offers to help, pouting even if he's completely lost between the left sleeve and the opening for the head.

“Alright buddy,“ muses Mr Miya and turns his attention to Osamu who already pulled his socks off so, naturally, now you've mysteriously lost one of your socks too. Mr Miya sighs. Maybe it's time to let his boss know he's going to be late.

Three is an enormous number, when the three in question are a feverish toddler in your arms and two more running around doctor's office. Perhaps it was time to ask the daycare to put you three into different groups. That will cause an outrage, oh ever since the 'One child, one pillow' incident Mrs Miya is well aware of that. But then again, better that than all of you throwing a tantrum when only one got to leave the daycare early.

“One, two, three,“ she counts your heads under her breath, then hurries over to where you just picked up a very interesting small stone that probably fell from the soles of someone's shoes, “San! I mean y/n, sweetie, that's a stone. See, it's rough and cold.“ You whine when she takes the treasure from you but still  listen closely to her words that spark Atsumu's interest too, and he trots closer to see what is happening. Thankfully feverish Osamu has fallen asleep in her arms. Really, the last thing she needs is his firm conviction the stone is just greyish candy. Mrs Miya still lets Atsumu take the stone in his hands. “No,“ she grabs his hand when he lifts it towards his mouth that is already curving into a grimace. “Hey, hey, no need to cry over it sweetie. Yer gonna wake up yer brother and he needs sleep right now.“

“Is he sick?” your tiny voice chimes in. Mrs Miya nods. “Because he ate melon seeds,“ you nod with all the wisdom of a 3 year old. “He's growin' melons in his tum-tum,“ you tell Atsumu whose wide eyes blink twice before he bursts into tears.

“One, two, three,“ Mrs Miya counts your heads while you play around the house. If you hide from her sight sooner or later screaming and crying alerts her something happened. A moment later Mr Miya returns to the living room with a very much red faced and screaming Atsumu in his arms.

“What happened?“ she asks, crouching down to console you, also crying because there's no way you'd let your brother scream his lungs out by himself.

“Ah the usual,“ he places the scissors on the counter, “wouldn't let him shred his shirt. Osamu, no!“ He quickly grabs his other son who also starts crying, shocked that his own father would take the lost sock from him before he got the chance to find out how it tastes.

Ah, just another Sunday.

The good thing about three children running around is they're never lonely. There are always games to play, fights to win, faces to colour. Most of the days all of you exhaust yours (sometimes apparently infinite) supplies of energy by the time evening falls. Mr Miya puts you to bed (one bed, because trying to make you sleep in separate cribs is apparently a disgusting violation of Toddler convention) before he collapses beside his wife.

“Asleep?“ she asks.

Mr Miya hums. “For now.“

The moment they turn the lights off slide door across the hallway open. Light steps cross the dangerous waters of the dark hallway, enter the bedroom and climb over Mr Miya to the safe haven between the parents.

“Bad dreams?“ asks Mrs Miya. In response Osamu sniffles and snuggles closer. Not a minute passes when two more pairs of legs pass through the darkness of the hallway and climb to be beside their brother. You shriek when Atsumu pushes his cold feet on your back, but dad's stern word makes you stop. A few moments later you're all asleep.  

“One, two, three,“ sleepily mumbles Mrs Miya, patting each of your heads.

“Four,“ says Mr Miya and his wife giggles.

Three is the number of band-aid packages your parents buy per month. Ever since you've grown for about a chopstick taller, well you only grew for about three thirds of a chopstick because nature thought it would be funny if you got outgrown by your brothers at the tender age of 5, it turned out the tall tree in the park could in fact be climbed, if you climbed on someone's shoulders and then pull them on the lowest branch. Sadly the branches aren't big fans of being climbed on but no amount of scratches and falls could stop you from trying.

“A champignon never stops tryin'!“ proclaims Atsumu after the failed attempt that left bark in his hair and Osamu laughing on the branch.

“What's a champignon?“ you ask.

“It's the person who's the best! It's what I'll be one day!“

Osamu snorts, firmly grabbing on the thin branch he's sitting on. “Champignon's a mushroom.“

“No it ain't!“

A mushroom, you make a little note in your memory, because no matter how much Atsumu protests you're more inclined to believe Osamu when it comes to mushrooms.

Your heads turn when you hear mom calling and waving, waiting for Osamu to climb down before running over to her.

“I win!“ announces Atsumu despite Osamu reaching her first.

“Why, because yer a champignon?“

“Are we all here?“ loudly asks Mr Miya before his boys could jump into each other's hair, “identify yerselves!“

“One!“ calls Atsumu.

“Two!“ calls Osamu, louder.

“Three!“ you call and jump, because being louder than them was never an option.

Four heads turn to Mrs Miya. “Mom,“ she raises her hand.

“Excellent!“ proclaims Mr Miya as three small voices cheer. “Then we can get goin'!“

“Where to?“ you ask.

Mr Miya picks up a stick and starts drawing lines in the sand covering the path. “It's a secret but maybe ya can guess, we'll go down this path-“

“A treasure hunt!”

“Almost. At the fountain we'll turn left, and what lies down the fountain path?“

“Pigeons?“ you try guessing.

Osamu bumps his fist on the open palm. “Ice cream stand!“

Mr Miya nods.

“Last one there's a loser!“ shouts Atsumu who starts running before even finishing the sentence. Osamu immediately follows, both ignoring your shouts to wait up.

Three is a funny number. It only works when the two and one have the third , because otherwise it's just one and two. Like a clover that got munched on by a picky rabbit that tried a leaf and then decided it doesn't fit its taste.

Volleyball sort of became the rabbit munching on the clover. One day teachers simply decided you're not allowed to play on the same team as your brothers anymore. And no amount of crying, screaming and sulking could convince the rabbit to give the leaf back.

“Maybe we can sneak ya in,“ suggests Atsumu one night, “all ya hafta do is wear our clothes. No one will know!“

So you try that and funnily enough, people do notice when one and two together make a three, and what surprises children even more is that parents also notice when they return late from school because they had to stay in detention. And as if cleaning the school hallways for a month wasn't enough, now they have to clean the house too.

It is however enough to discourage you from trying to sneak into practice again, so you stick with only coming to games and waiting for their practice to end so you can walk home together. From time to time some of their teammates stop to say hello or to complain to you about their shenanigans, but that's knowledge you hold to yourself, since you never knew when blackmail material might come in handy.

It's only when Osamu teases they get to go to a volleyball workshop and you don't that you get envious.

“It sounds stupid anyway,“ you try pretending you couldn't care less.

“It would be perfect for ya then,“ Osamu shots back and sprints away as you dive after him.

Maybe you are just a teensy bit envious, still as long as you get to play with them when they are home it's not that bad. After returning from their workshops you don't even let them take their shoes off before dragging them to the volleyball net dad set up in the garden. You stand where you always stand, by the net so you can throw balls for them to hit over.

Atsumu pushes you away. “No, this is my position now. I wanna be a setter.“

You don' mind, and throw the ball towards Atsumu who sends it back into a bit of an awkward place and you end up not even hitting it.

Osamu bursts into laughter. “Ya suck.“ He jumps to avoid the kick aimed at his knee. “We play with good players now so yer gonna hafta practice more. There was this tall player with a cool name! Right, Tsumu?“

“Tsumu?“ you repeat.

“Tsumu and Samu. It's our names but they sound way cooler now!“ proudly declares Atsumu.

Your eyes widen in admiration. “I want that too! What should I call myself?“

“Yer always copyin' us,“ complains Osamu but he gets ignored as the first name Atsumu suggests earns him a ball to the face.

“Oh I know!“ You bump your fist on your open palm. “I'll be San!“

Atsumu thinks it over with the same expression Osamu has when trying to decide which udon toppings to order. “San,... Y/n... San,... It sounds so cool! Whaddaja think Samu?“

Osamu shrugs. “San, let me show ya how to spike the ball properly.“

tag list: @espressons @trashy-simp @nachotrash​

[ithehellisbucky]

For You

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Request: “I love you isn’t always enough.”

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Angst to end all angst. PTSD, depression, spiraling, fighting, break up, sad shit.

Author’s Note: I meant for this to be out on Sunday because I wrote it last Monday but I forgot. Anyways this is really sad, but I'm proud of myself because I wrote the ~spoiler alert~ "breaking up to protect the reader" but its the reader doing to breaking up.

~

When it takes a century to find happiness, you thought it would stick.

From the moment that Bucky walked into your life (literally, walked into your bookshop) you knew that you wouldn't leave him behind any time soon.

There was something about him that would float around in your heart forever until you saw him again, and then the process would repeat.

The first 6 months of your relationship was a honeymoon phase. Waking up to him staring at you in adoration every morning. He stayed at your apartment every day. Cuddling in the middle of the night when he had nightmares, holding him when he was scared to touch anything.

Showing him your love in any and every way you could. Making misshapen pancakes together, and him showing you his favorite movies and books from the 30s and 40s. Pure happiness.

But there was something about Bucky that couldn't sit still. He can't live your little happy life knowing that there is someone out there.

It had caused many fights, you never wanted him to go back to crime-fighting, and he wanted to prove himself. And as much as you tried to tell him that he was already a hero, he was persistent that he had to make up for things that the man that used to live in his brain did.

It drove you crazy.

You were laying on the couch reading a book and absent-mindedly watching a mediocre television show you've seen twice before. You hear each of your locks click twice and from the weight of his footsteps and settle back down into comfort.

"Hi, baby." Bucky walks over to you and presses a kiss onto your forehead.

"Hi honey, how was therapy." You ask as he snuggles into your embrace and you put your book down.

"Boring," he exclaims as you stroke his hair.

"Boring is better than bad, I'm proud of you," He smiled at you and pressed a kiss to your collarbone.

Instead of saying the 'I love you' that you wanted to say, you replaced it with: 'I'm proud of you', 'Stay safe', and 'honey' 'baby' 'sweetheart'.

It wasn't what you wanted, but it'd have to do until your love was ready to hear it.

"I'm making pasta, when do you wanna eat?" You exclaim, wrapping your legs around his torso, and realizing that you are fully entangled in a cuddlefest.

"Maybe an hour, I'm never hungry after Dr. Raynor."

You nod and can tell he understood your response.

You hold each other in blissful peace, eat your food, and go to bed. Bucky does things a certain way to sleep. He wraps his body around yours and sleeps closer to the door, so if someone tried to attack he could protect you in an instant. When he can't sleep he goes into the living room and lays down on the floor to watch tv. He's never slept comfortably before, so it's hard to sleep in safety.

Apparently, tonight was one of those nights. You woke up in the middle of the night to an empty bed.

You reach over and notice that the bedsheets are sweaty and his shirt is on the ground near the door. Bucky was fine with his arm around you, it took some time to show him that he's worthy of love- prosthetic included.

You walk towards the door wearing only one of Bucky's shirts and underwear with little flowers all over it.

"Hey Bucky, are you okay..." Your voice trails off when you notice Bucky staring at the tv with hollow eyes and an unrelenting gaze. "Baby what's wrong?" You slowly walk closer to him and place your hand on his shoulder, even though all you want to do is run to him and hold him.

At first, you think that he doesn't notice until he turns around and shows tear-brimmed eyes. "He gave away the shield."

He can't seem to say anything other than that, so you reach over and hold his face to your neck. You help him get up and walk over to your room and your bed, not bother to pick up his bedding or turn off the tv. You lay gently down in bed, and hold him close to you and let him sob into your chest.

The next day Bucky's acting odd, to say the least. But you don't push it, he's been through enough in the past 24 hours. Finding out that the pretty much only constant in your life was in the hands of a stranger isn't something you can take lightly.

He left in the morning and he didn't come back until late at night. When you ask him where he was he shrugged and ate a single-serving pizza in a record three minutes then went straight to bed, leaving you eating leftovers by yourself in the dark. Not exactly the perfect day.

The same happens for the next 2 days, and then the next day he doesn't come home, and all you get is a text that he'll be home back Sunday. That leaves you with paralyzing fear for the days he's gone, and when he comes back to you at 3:30 in the morning he has a black eye and knuckle-shaped bruises all over the parts of his body you can see, which is no small feat considering the super-soldier serum pumping through his veins.

"Where the hell have you been Bucky?" You yell once he's sat down on the couch like nothing ever happened.

"I was doing stuff." He shrugs and clicks on the tv.

You snatch the remote off the table and turn it off. "You can't just disappear for days and act like nothing ever happened!"

He rolls his eyes and gets up, beginning to walk towards the bathroom "Don't walk away from me! You don't get to walk away from this!"

He turns around and glares at you with the gaze that you've seen him use plenty of time at guys who were checking out your ass at bars.

"Why the hell can't I?" He spits out and towers over you.

"Because this is a relationship and you can't walk away whenever you want to and expect everything to be fine!" His anger doesn't intimidate you. "What the fuck did you expect me to do? Bake you cookies and shampoo your hair when you got home?

I'm not your bitch and you're not a liar, so tell me what's going on." You exclaim, hoping that he'll tell you something other than what you know is really going on.

"I was out with Sam."

"Oh my god," you sigh, turning away from him.

"There's this group called the flag smashers, and they're trying to cause a revolution or something," you run your hand through your hair, "and the new Captain America was there, and he's not a good guy, so me and Sam were-"

"No. No Bucky no." He seems slightly taken aback, but what honestly was he thought was going to happen.

"I don't care if you run around beating up bank robbers or making amends for things you didn't do, I do care that you lied to me about something that could've killed you."

"I know it's just-" He says, scratching his head with his metal arm.

"It's just what? That you want to help people? There are plenty of things you can do to help people other than getting beaten up Bucky!"

You take a deep breath and think it through more, "you know what, I'm blowing it out of proportion, you were just trying to help Sam and you were scared, let's just talk to Dr. Raynor and figure something out tomorrow."

You turn to go to bed and notice that Bucky isn't following "what's wrong?"

Bucky takes a deep breath "I'm not seeing Dr. Raynor anymore."

You turn around, angrier at him than you've ever been, "what?"

"John, the new Captain America, wants me to be focused on the mission, and therapy is just a distraction."

You can practically feel anger boiling through your veins. "Do you even hear yourself? You sound crazy. I would be fine if you went on missions or teamed up with Sam, but you can't stop going to therapy Bucky."

"Yes I can; the whole point is that I can make my own decisions. It's my choice." Bucky exclaims, yelling at you louder than you thought he ever would.

"Okay. If you think that making decisions is about ruining your life because you can, go ahead." You look him straight in the eyes, all fear gone. "you can quit therapy and implode all the progress you've made" you take a deep breath "and get out of my house."

Bucky drops all of his anger and steps back in shock and fear. "What?"

"I'm not going to let you ruin your life Bucky. When I met you, you wouldn't even let me see your arm. I've realized, that you are dependent on me, and that's not okay Bucky, because you deserve better than only having one good thing."

You were holding back tears, but in this moment you needed to help Bucky, and the only way to do that was to make sure he would be okay. And he can't do that if you are the only thing in his life. "You had nothing for 70 years Bucky, and now that you have the whole world you can't keep holding on to one person. You lost Steve, and then you were desperate to find something else to hold onto. You need to find yourself Bucky."

"No, no please don't do this. I- I love you." He starts crying and it takes everything in you not to run to him and hold him.

"Love isn't always enough Bucky." You turn around to leave your apartment in the middle of the night, "I love you more than anything, but I can't let you ruin your life. Go back to therapy, Buck, I'll be here. I'll wait. Go live the life you finally have Bucky. I love you."

You walk out your door and the second you close it you start sobbing. You wander out into the street and wonder if you did the right thing.

You hoped and you begged and you pleaded that Bucky would discover the world that he deserved. You wouldn't abandon him, you would make sure he stayed alive, he just needed time to be free. This wasn't for you, you reminded yourself, it's for Bucky.

Always for Bucky.

Requests are open!

Prompt List

~Taglists are open~

Permanent Tags: @natasha-danvers​

Marvel:

[stealing-jasons-job]

💋+ unrequited requited enemies to lovers

apparently I don’t know what a baby drabble is, but enjoy lol  taking them back to their time together in Fjerda for this bad boy

*** 

She wakes in the middle of the night with a start. The fire is more smoke than flame, and Matthias lays in an unmoving heap on the other side of the embers. 

You should run. 

She tries to push the thought away. No, she should go back to sleep. Matthias said he’d let her go free once they got to the edge of the Fjerdan border. He’d given her his word. 

But will he keep his word? After these past weeks with him, she wants to say yes. Yet, there’s a part of her whispering a constant warning not to trust him. His loyalties are with the drüskelle, not with her. And when faced with the decision to choose one over the other, she would end up back in a cage on her way to the pyre. 

It’s a fate she can’t risk. They may have been keeping each other alive these past weeks, but he is still the enemy. She shouldn’t forget that. 

So she runs. She packs up her things as quietly and quickly as possible and sneaks out of the abandoned hut they’d found the night before. 

It’s barely morning when the smell of baked goods and the sight of rising smoke find her. A town. 

She’s still in Fjerda, which means the town is a risk. But the hunger clutching her belly and the small chance at a Kerch or Zemeni merchant outfit being there makes the danger worth it. 

Her first stop is the bakery. She doesn’t have any money, but she knows they’ll throw out the less-than-perfect pastries that are not good enough to sell. And on the first bite, she nearly melts into the side of the building. 

“It’s only a two-day ride back to the ship.” Her ears perk up at the sound of Kerch coming from the front of the bakery. A merchant ship. 

She quickly wipes the crumbs from her front, and peers around the side of the building. Sure enough, there are three men in Kerch colors waiting in line outside the door. She could walk up to them, explain her plight, and promise to work off the debt to bring her back with them. From there, she could pull together enough money to go back to Ravka. 

Oh, to see the look on Zoya’s face when she walks back into the Little Palace. 

But before she can take a step, she’s hauled back by a strong arm around her middle and a hand over her mouth. She struggles against the hold, but it’s no use. Her hands are trapped against her sides, and she can’t see her attacker. 

“No chirping, little red bird,” a voice whispers in her ear. Matthias has found her. 

If anything, that spurs her on harder. No, she will not be put back in that cage. She is not some bird. She is Nina Zenik, a soldier in the Ravkan Second Army. Not some damsel. 

She manages to land a kick to his shin, but it doesn’t phase him. Stupid giant of a man. 

With a grunt, he pushes her up against the side of the building. His body holds hers in place, and his hand still prevents her from yelling for help. He’s not looking at her, though. He leans around the building, looking at something. 

“Hrumph,” she tries to make any sound, alert any good samaritan passing by. For the love of the Saints, let someone kind hear her. 

His eyes finally meet hers, and she doesn’t find the hatred there that she expects. No, she sees something far more frightening — panic. 

“If you value your life, you won’t give me a heart attack for this.” And then he moves his hand and crashes his mouth against hers. 

She knows she should push him away, but the feel of his lips is exquisite. They are softer than she would have guessed. And despite the chill in the air, they’re warm. She melts against him, her arms looping up around his neck on instinct. 

“Get a room would you?” a voice teases in Fjerdan. The sound of laugher fades as the owner of the voice walks away, and Matthias rips away from her as if burned. 

“And here I thought girls were an indulgence drüskelle weren’t allowed.” she teases, trying to hide the fact that she has to catch her breath. 

He ignores her jab. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he scowls, once again leaning around the side of the building. “Fjerdan soldiers are here. They may not be Druskelle, but they’ll happily deliver you to the Ice Court in chains all the same.” 

He sounds...angry. And his fury sparks her own rage. 

“Isn’t that what you want? A little red bird in a cage, on my way to the slaughter?” 

“I gave you my word, Nina. And unlike your kind, I keep mine,” he seethes, once again crowding her space so that he’s only a mere inches away. 

She laughs in his face, a cold and bitter sound. “A murderer who keeps his word, how refreshing.” 

“Murderer or not, I’m the only reason you’re alive, drüsje.” 

His eyes meet hers, and for a moment nothing else exists but the two of them — two hearts beating, two pairs of eyes glaring into each other. Hatred for this man and everything he stands for twists in Nina’s chest, but there’s something else alongside it. A flutter she doesn’t want to put a name to. 

She pushes him away from her. Never one to let him have the last word, she scoffs as she walks away, knowing he’d follow. “Don’t forget the reason you’re alive, drüskelle.” 

[chilly-me-softly]

This Can’t Be True • John Stones

Here we go for another day, this is another long long one so enjoy it. This contains a sensitive topic such as death mention so I understand if you won’t read it.

You feel a little weight on your body as you wake up and sigh, almost unconsciously holding onto John.

"Good morning" he whispers in your ear with his hoarse voice, leaving a kiss underneath it and holding you a little longer.

"Morning" you sigh by sinking your head into the pillow as you can but he rolls on his back on the mattress carrying you on him. You complain about the sudden change of position and he giggles, making his bare chest vibrate beneath you.

"Come on, you said you'd get up"

"I hate you" you murmur making his chest vibrate again.

"You said you'd say that too" then you mumble something incomprehensible by pressing your hand on the mattress and lifting your torso from his body.

"I hate you, I mean it" you narrow your eyes making your best threatening face as he shakes his head getting up, a smile always on his face.

But you're quick to jump on his back and wrap your arms and legs around his chest, "That's not true, I love you" you murmur with your face buried in his shoulder and he takes a few steps towards the mirror before stopping.

"I love you too" he looks at your reflection for a few seconds before you start your day and prepare for the different things you have to do that day.

With his suit he is ready to go to practice, and he approaches you wearing your watch in front of the dresser and smiles at you in the mirror before helping you with the necklace and leaving a kiss on your neck.

You're wearing a blue blouse and fancy pants, an important meeting in a few hours that requires a certain outfit and looking at you you are so different now. But you can't be more alike.

You and John have been married for less than two months, still in the honeymoon phase that you postponed waiting for the end of John's football commitments. And honestly it doesn't weigh on you because you have that ring on your finger now and every day you spend with him at home is a constant holiday.

"I've got to go" he says, holding you close but not letting you go.

"Okay" you sigh as you turn towards him and your heels give you a few more inches so you don't have to get up on your toes to kiss him.

"Remember, I have to do something with Kyle so I'll come back later, okay?"

"Okay, I'll see you when you get back" you smile and he smiles before taking your hand and leaving a kiss on your ring before he leaves for good.

You go to your meeting a few minutes later, as usual they require punctuality they don't have. But it's best not to point it out to them since you'd like to keep your job. This goes between useless speeches and pauses and presentations that seem endless and eventually they free you.

You check your watch and hurry out of that building because you have somewhere else to stop before you go home.

"I know, I know I'm late. Sorry, they held me up" you apologize to the guy who's closing the door of his car while you're holding a box in your arms and your shoulder strap could fall off at any moment.

He comes to help you so you can open the front door and you smile at him, "Thank you Kevin"

"Put it there please" you point to the table in the living room while you take off your shoes and tell him you'll be right back, you really need to take off those work clothes now.

When you come down wearing John's sweatshirt and suit pants, Kevin is already rummaging through the contents of the box and gets a little scared when he hears your voice.

"So you're sure John's not coming home right now?"

"He was busy with Kyle, don't worry.  And then you're here, practice is long over so" you shrug while he agrees with you.

"So, how's the situation?"

"Well, it's two weeks away but I've already ordered the cake and I only have a few people to warn and... I think John doesn't suspect anything" you comment unrolling a banner and checking that everything is perfectly written.

"Good. The club confirmed, they said we can bring our stuff in a few days before and tell them how to fix everything"

"Perfect"

"Are you sure you don't want to get into a giant cake with a sexy outfit for your groom?" he mocks you again as you roll your eyes giggling lightly, shifting your attention to the phone that started vibrating.

You answer even though it's not a number you have in your contacts, your job involves receiving calls from strangers even quite frequently.

The carefree expression on your face suddenly disappears however, Kevin literally sees your face lose colour and is immediately close to you wondering who is on the phone. You answer the person on the other side as if you were an automaton, on the outside you may look calm but inside you are completely chaotic and you can't think clearly.

"John" you murmur as soon as you hang up, the look lost somewhere while Kevin looks at you worried and alert in case you faint. But still he makes you sit in the chair next to him, wondering what's going on.

"John" you whisper again, "i-it was the hospital they said he had an accident and he-he" you can only explain while your hands are shaking and you grab your cell phone, but it falls on the table making a deafening noise.

"Kyle! He said he was with Kyle" you murmur frantically as Kevin covers your hands with one of his.

"I'll do it, I'll call him" you see him pick up his phone and take it to his ear but it's like you're experiencing something extra corporeal because you can't hear the guy talking. His lips are moving, but your ears don't get a sound.

He squeezes your hand again and he doesn't have his phone to his ear, "What's wrong?"

"He said he's not with him. He-he didn't see him after practice"

Trying not to show how much the news has upset you, you get up and head for the car keys on the cabinet.

"What do you want to do? No, I'll drive you come on" Kevin is right in front of you, taking your keys away, and you just nod off to the door and wait for him to follow you.

You don't know where to go. You're not a hospital lover and fortunately you've never needed to go in there for yourself or anyone you know, they look like mazes and all that white just adds to the sense of disorientation in those corridors that all look the same.

You ask for information at the front desk and the nurse looks at you sorry when you tell her why you are there, before sending you in the right direction. Reading all the signs on the way, your heart begins to beat faster as a larger sign on a door tells you that you are there. Your legs almost give way, but you have to be strong as you keep repeating yourself.

Kevin keeps watching you, you haven't said a word since you got in the car and he doesn't want to force you. The situation is delicate though, and he doesn't know if it's more appropriate for you to call someone, maybe a member of your family.

The doctor who comes to meet you explains what happened. Apparently there was a head-on collision between two cars and the people involved did not make it. They need to get an ID from the person closest to the victim, it's procedure, and since you're his wife, it's up to you.

He takes you to a room where there is a window hidden by a curtain, the doctor tells you to take as much time as you want and you stare at that grey shutter in terror. Until you nod your head.

The doctor then goes a few steps away, knocks on that glass and the curtain goes up. It only takes you a few seconds to turn around and bury your face in Kevin's chest. The boy holds you in his arms as warm tears finally start streaming down your cheeks.

That's not him. An entire brick house is moving away from your heart and your stomach at the same time, it's not him.

"It's not him" you whisper as the doctor pulls the curtain down and takes you out of that room.

You can't stop crying while the doctor apologizes for the unnecessary scare he caused you and as before, it's Kevin talking to him.

"Why... why did you think he was my husband?" you wonder. You want to know what's going on. Because apparently John lied to you and you really want to try and figure it out and know where he's at this point.

"The police told us the car is registered to his name and his wallet and phone were also found inside it"

You look Kevin disoriented, how did that day when you were supposed to take care of the final details for John's birthday party end up like that?

And you come home, the boy walks you to the door where Kyle's waiting for you. You hold him close to you and some tears slip from your eyes as he takes the keys out of your hands and opens the door for you. All three of you enter the house in silence, interrupted only by you sniffing and trying to get yourself into a clear head.

"Where is he, Kyle?" you ask coldly, but your voice is shaking. You're on the couch, your back slightly forward and your elbows on your knees while your hands are joined together and your thumbs go to massage your temples.

"I don't know" he replies and your head snaps up so you can look him in the eye.

"Please, I don't care where he is. I just want to know if he's okay"

"I don't know, really. All I know is that he had something to do and asked me to cover him up" he admits as he lowers his gaze at the end and a tear falls on your cheek, ending up undisturbed all the way to your neck.

"I have to call the police" you murmur as you reach into your pockets for your phone.

"Maybe we should wait a little longer, normally-"

"He's out there who knows where, alone, with no ID or phone. You're crazy if you think I won't do anything"

"It's not what I'm saying, but they won't do anything until 24 hours after he disappeared"

"Then we'll go out and look for him. Guys, I can't-" but your sentence is interrupted by the door opening.

John walks into the living room and doesn't even have time to see you actually there, that you're on to him. He takes a few steps backwards caught off guard, sticking his hands under your butt so you don't fall over while you're crying on his shoulder.

"Hey what happened?" he murmurs softly caressing your head and leaving a few kisses on your temple. You keep crying without giving him an answer, happy to see him apparently safe and sound.

Then your legs give way and then he gently slides you down, holding you by your hips until he's sure your feet are firmly on the ground.

"Hey" he repeats again, taking your face in his hands, "What happened?" but you shake your head between the sobs, you can't speak, so he asks the question again but to his friends.

The two of them look at each other before nodding and Kyle tells him to sit down first, so he sits on the couch carrying you down with him and holding you.

"Where were you?" your voice comes muffled to his ears before either one of them can say anything and John sighs.

"It doesn't matter now, I want to know what happened here now"

"Yes, it does! I had to go and recognize a dead body because they thought it was you!" you hit him in the chest while he opens his eyes wide, "And for crying out loud I couldn't find you John and you weren't with Kyle! So I need to know where you were and I want to know now"

He holds you in his arms again, an incredulous expression on his face as he glances at the two boys in the room as if looking for confirmation.

"I'm sorry love, I'm so sorry. I just wanted to surprise you so I asked Kyle to cover for me, then a woman was assaulted and I stepped up to defend her and this guy ran off with my car. I was at the police station until now to file a report"

"Oh my god, so he robbed you and then he... died?" you look him in the eye while he puts his thumb on your still wet cheek and then shrugs.

"I guess so"

The boys just stay a few more minutes to make sure you're both okay before they decide to leave you alone. You hug them both thanking them for being near you, the red one in particular, before closing the door and returning into John's arms. His gentle touch and heartbeat calm you instantly, but you can't help but think back to everything that happened in such a short time.

The situation has helped to make you understand even more that it's with him that you want to spend the rest of your life, in his arms, and if something happens to him you are not ready to let him go yet. You haven't experienced anything of your love story yet and it scares you to know that your life could really change on any given day. You don't know how you'd react if he was actually on that table.

"Me and the guys are throwing a surprise party for your birthday" you murmur suddenly and you're not looking at him but you can feel his smile as he leaves a kiss on your head.

"I can't imagine I almost had to cancel it for a..." you can't say it, your eyes get wet again and then he raises your face putting his hands on your cheeks.

"Hey hey look at me, I'm here. I'm here, okay? And I'm not going anywhere"

"Please" you beg with your broken voice.

"I'm here" he repeats before placing his lips on yours and tears mingle with passion, worry, love.

That night passes restlessly, but John is always beside you holding you and reminding you that everything is fine. Your fingers intertwined and your head on his heart.

[sleepyfics]

❝  i’ll wait through your phases,  peter parker.

summary:  you and peter go through the years as online friends. deep down, the two of you always knew you were meant to be together, but time always came in between. inspired by this and this.

authors note:   look who’s back with another chapter woohoo!! thank you to everyone who’s read this so far, it makes me so happy to see people interested in my writing :’) i decided to make a decision to switch tenses because it sounded better to me like this i’m so sorry BUT i hope you all enjoy! i’m probably going to be writing the next one asap since i’ll be stuck at home all weekend due to the craziness happening in the world so... anyway, stay hydrated and healthy friends, happy reading!

tags ( ♡ ):  @eridanuswave​, @theolewebshooter, @cyrusandhiscollaredahirts​, @juliebean247​, @pluckypete​

CHAPTER TWO.   YEAR: EARLY 2016.

“Happy New Year!”

“Ned, you do realize that you’re like a million hours ahead of us right?” Valerie points out. You can hear constant clicking with her mouse as if she’s occupied, which doesn’t surprise you. She’s always doing something on the side.

The background noise emitting from Ned’s end was beginning to become overwhelming. Fireworks with a variety of crackling and booming noises, relatives screaming and blowing horns, the whole New Year shebang. He’s been staying in the Philippines since school ended, and judging from all the pictures and videos he’s been sending to the chat, he’s having a great time.

It must be nice.

On your end, you haven’t been really doing much since the break started. It mostly consisted of being behind the computer for hours on end----whether it’d be playing video games, watching films, or delving into a deep hole of YouTube videos until the sun came out. While your family usually had things planned over the holidays, the older you got, the less interesting things became.

“Happy New Year from the future!” Ned reiterates, which causes everyone in the call to laugh. “Spoiler alert: 2016’s already looking pretty sweet.”

“I hope we’re getting flying cars this year,” Isaac adds. “Tony Stark needs to step it up, ‘cause if the guy can make flying suits of armor… he can definitely make flying cars.”

“I just want another Frank Ocean album man,” Ned sighs longingly. “I’m getting tired of listening to the same stuff over and over.”

“What about you, Y/N? What do you wish for next year?” You hear Valerie ask.

You pause the video that you were watching that’s minimized on the side, before actually contemplating on the question. As your mind drifts, it instantly brings you to the thought of Peter. No one’s heard of him since his disappearance two weeks ago. Not even Ned, who apparently hasn’t seen him around school either.

You just hope he’s okay.

“Earth to Y/N? Earth to Y/N…”

Immediately, you snap back to your reality. Letting out a deep breath, you press your lips together to leave a trail of hums while you think of an answer that seemed right.

“I don’t know, for Captain America to date me?” The answer’s the first thing that chimes into your head. Realizing how weird it might have sounded, you let out an uneasy laugh, hands waving in front of you as if they can see your gestures. “Don’t judge me! He’s cute, okay?”

And of course, everyone begins to laugh.

“You probably drool all over him in those lame videos they play in school, huh? Weirdo.” Valerie retorts, followed by a small giggle. She can’t seem to get over it.

Well, she’s not wrong.

“I’m more of a Thor guy,” Ned states matter-of-factly, which causes you to burst out into a laughing fit in the background. “What? Cap reminds me of an old guy! The dude lived through World War II, it’s like being attracted to someone who’s a hundred years old!”

“Fair enough,” you chortle. Your hands fold across your chest as your body sinks deeper into your cushioned chair. “But you can’t deny that Cap has a nice ass.”

“Amen.”

“True that.”

“Yup.”

You hear someone calling Ned out on his end, though couldn’t understand what was being said because it’s in a foreign language. Then Ned groans. ’There are few moments left in silence that follow suit, along with obnoxious shuffling (which probably was Ned playing with the mic of his headphones).

“Sorry guys, my aunt wants me for pictures,” Ned says quickly, to which you can hear him stand up from his seat. “BRB.”

He leaves the call.

You blankly stare at the call screen. That only leaves you, Valerie, and Isaac. You’re about to continue the video that was paused, but was greeted with a notification that meant you receiving new direct message.

Peter_skywalker: Hi…..

The longer continue to stare at the message, the faster your heart begins to pound. You don’t even know where to begin.

Why is he resurfacing now after being gone for so long?

You: peter?? You: is that you or did someone hack you???

Peter_skywalker: Hahaha don’t worry it’s me Y/N ! Peter_skywalker: Sorry I disappeared ☹ Peter_skywalker: I felt so bad for leaving you guys ☹

You: no it’s ok, did something happen? You: like are you ok?

You slightly jump at the sudden ringing that surprises you on your screen. It’s Peter. He’s now calling you, and for some reason, that alone has you in full-panic mode. You’ve never been in a private call with him-----the two of you were always just put in a conversation with the group. There was never any reason to. Besides, you wanted to avoid all of the suspicions your friends would have if it did.

So why now?

With shaky fingers, you reach over to your mouse to press the ‘Accept’ button. There’s silence that lingers for a minute while it disconnects you to the group call and connects you to the private one. Calmly, you take a deep breath to regulate the beating of your pounding heart.

You didn’t know what to expect from this. Thoughts of the worst possible outcomes already filling your mind.

It’s not Peter, he’s been kidnapped.

He’s going to tell you he’s leaving the group for good.

Ned told him about the time you accidentally admitted you liked Peter’s voice the most.

God, you want to puke.

“Hello?”

The sound of his voice has you melting in an instant.

Typically, in the group calls, you’re not afraid to showcase how you are. Outgoing, always either telling stories or cracking a joke or two that made everybody laugh. But why does it feel like that’s been stripped away from you all of the sudden? As if you’re flustered?

“Hey!” You answer almost too enthusiastically, clearing your throat to recoup from that horrendous outcome. Warmth is radiating in your cheeks, and if you’re to look in the mirror right now, your complexion would probably resemble a ripened tomato. “Long time no see--- or---- uh, talk.”

He laughs. “Yeah… sorry if me calling you is weird, I um… thought it’d be easier to just talk like this.”

“No no it’s okay,” you quickly reply. Behind the screen, you’re already wiping your sweaty palms on the material of your sleep shorts. “So um, what have you been up to? We all missed you, Peter.”

It’s quiet. You’re not sure if you said anything wrong, but if you did, you deeply regret accepting the call now.

Suddenly you can hear him softly sniffling, as if he’s now in tears. Your eyes begin to brim with worry---- feeling guilty of everything that’s come out of your mouth thus far. Now panicking, your eyes shift wildly as you try to conjure up something to say that’ll make the situation even slightly better.

“Peter, I----”

“My uncle died,” he interrupts. It probably took him all the courage he had left to say it, and you crash. As he continues, you can tell that he’s fighting the tears and losing. Like he’s trying to smile and laugh through it but failing. “His funeral was yesterday and… I miss him so much, it hurts.”

[renegadesrpg]

Dark Angels: Creation. Part 40. Anchors and Allies. Declan

Solo. *I’d watched as Sin made his preparations to enter the Aether. I’d watched him cast the spell, watched the flames burst upward at the addition of each ingredient, and watched as his soul left this plane. And now I stood guard, both against intruder and as his anchor to this world. His image was still here, sitting on the floor, cross-legged and barefooted in front of the brazier, translucent and flickering. A tiny bit of his soul left behind as he walked the paths of power. For all his power and strength, Sin was not a god and only gods fully entered the heart of the Aether. Sin had told me it was a place where he could lose his way and become trapped if he didn’t have something to help him pull free. After all, he technically was only a disembodied soul. Being Death’s First gave him tremendous power, but not enough to go there and back without a tether. The Creator had made that plane for gods and angels alone. Oh, Sean and the others had risked meeting together at the edge of it when they needed privacy from the Horseman. Even as a dead angel, Zav’s grace and ethereal magick still had allowed them access to the misty edges, but that was as far as they could go and no one else, supernatural or mortal, was getting even that far. Except for Sin. Sin’s unique. He’s not mortal, or angel, or god, but he has tremendous power that owes nothing to either earth or ethereal magick. Death has its own power. The magick he wove to enter the Aether had been taught to him by the Fates, the sisters of the Creator, after he’d rebelled against the Horseman. The Fates had watched Sin from his human childhood some 35,000 years ago. I don’t know it for fact, but I’d bet they’d had a party when he accepted the Horseman’s gig and an even bigger one when Sin rebelled against him. Apparently they hadn’t ever had faith in the Horseman’s deal with the Creator, but had always had great belief in Sin’s ability correct things. Even thousands of years ago they could see the Horseman’s growing corruption through the choices he made. When Sin finally rebelled a thousand or so years ago Clothos, the eldest Fate, had walked in his dreams and given him the spell that enabled him to meet with them on the Aetheric plane and taught him how to use Death magick to power it. There was a risk, she’d warned him, but if Sin remained anchored to another plane, he would be able to return to it. Through the centuries the plane and the anchor had varied. At the moment he was stuck with a ghost wolfen whose soul he owned. Not that I’m complaining. Having my soul belong to him was a better gig than anything else I’d been offered after death. My soul wasn’t ready for ascension and being born into a new life didn’t guarantee I’d find Celia again. Sin had been out of the business of creating reapers and regularly escorting souls by then, but he’d been alerted by the Fates that a bonded pair of wolfen was fighting with our reaper about going to Alyssia for our souls pre-rebirth R&R. He’d warned off the reaper and made us an offer, explaining that staying on earth as unattached souls would result in our eventual descent into insanity. Before his split with the Horseman he could have enlisted us in the reaper corps, our souls belonging to the big boss, he’d said, but now being his servants and companions was the best he could offer us. He would hold our souls, yes, because that was the only way it could work, but his needs were few and he wasn’t demanding. That part had been both true and not true. He didn’t really need us, so the tasks we were assigned were easy enough and generally things we’d enjoyed doing as humans. But when he wanted something, he wanted it NOW. So Celia cooked gourmet meals for a being that didn’t NEED to eat but enjoyed it. I’d started as his man-of-all-work, maintaining his various warded refuges, but that had taken a backseat when he discovered my talent at making weapons. He’d discreetly contacted Aiden and had him teach me the art of making supernatural weapons and, with those weapons I’d covered Sin’s ass when he needed extra security.

Not often, but often enough. And Celia and I’d had the free time to enjoy each other, indulge our fondness for fast bikes without worrying about cracking them up, and do things we loved for someone we’d come to love. He became more than the holder of our souls. He became our Alpha and his inner circle our pack. The only thing missing in our post-death existence were pups. I think Celia regretted that more than I did, but, well, you can’t have everything, and I was just happy to have her. Ripples run through the wavy image seated at the brazier. For a sec I felt a moment of panic. He’s never told me how this anchor stuff worked, but my blood pressure dropped back to normal – well, if I’d HAD blood pressure it would have dropped back to normal – when my heightened senses detected the link binding us. Was this what he felt all the time? I wondered. In over 40 years, I’d never felt the connection until that moment. There was a steadiness to it now but when his image had rippled and I’d felt a strong tug, it was like a current was trying sweep him away. Not gonna say it didn’t’ get the adrenaline runnin’. But as I’d calmed down, I’d realized this was probably normal. He held my soul, but not literally. Hell, a ghost is nothing but a soul. No special powers, no magick, just soul. When we’re strong enough we can project a physical image like reapers can, but that’s it. Can’t literally be “held”. So the link between us was like a cord…a, what’s the word... a metaphysical cord that connects me to him. And when he’s in the Aether communing with the Fates or whatever, it connects him to this plane so long as I’m on it. The ‘tug’ was just me doing what I was supposed to. Being an anchor. The hairs on the back of my neck rise and my hand goes to the .48 at my back as I swiftly turn and crouch, two-handing the gun at the entity stepping through a portal at the ocean’s edge. The beach is the hardest area to keep warded, the constant ebb and flow of the salty water eroding the wards even in the half-world and even Sin can’t ward the ocean. It’s where he’s most vulnerable to attack, and, ironically, his favorite place in this world. As I recognize the being stepping through the portal, I lower the gun and drop to one knee on the wooden lanai, head bowed in acknowledgement. There’s not many I bow to, not even in Sin’s world, but she’s one of them. Lifting my head as she approaches, I stand, looking down from the steps to the sand.* You nearly got yourself shot Lady Freya. It’s not like you to just show up here. Is there a problem? *Freya stops a few feet from the stairs and tilts her head up to look at me, blonde hair streaming down her back, tiny warrior braids framing her face.* “It is just ‘Freya’ these days Declan. I think with all that’s happening you’ve gotten beyond the ‘worshipful obeisance’ phase of knowing me. If you ever had it.” *Offering me her hand as she climbs the steps, she gently chides me.* “Sin’s wards are very thorough and he maintains them even more meticulously in these times I’m sure. You should have known it must be one whom he allows past them. There are only a few of us and only Danu and I travel by portal. It’s good to see you’re vigilant, but you must be very edgy to draw a weapon at the opening of one.” *Taking the offered hand, I give her unneeded help up the stairs. A courtesy I’d learned from Sin.* Edgy is one way to put it, *I admit.* We’re near the time and we’ve had trouble both with the Horseman’s bully boys and demons that we think Lucifer is lending him. Sin’s in the Aether at the moment, La… Freya, looking for some answers. “Ah, and you’re his anchor as well as his guard. I understand your reaction now. But you must not feel you alone are responsible for his safety. Sin is never alone on the Aetheric plane. When he invokes the magick, he calls on help from the gods he trusts. Often it is Danu or I, occasionally Kali or Bastet, but this time I suspect he went higher. We do not have the answers he seeks, only the ability to keep him from losing himself in the eddies and shifts of the

plane. The Fates must be in play, and be assured, they have no wish to see him lost in the currents either.” *As she talks we turn to face Sin’s shimmering image.* That’s kind of relieving to hear. *Grimacing* You know he only tells us, any of us, what he thinks we need to know. He’s been in there a while now. I was beginning to worry I’d need to pull him out but he’s never told me how. *Remembering the courtesies now that I’ve been reassured everything’s going the way it should,* Will you wait for him out here or would you rather go inside? “You would not be able to “pull him out” on your own. Whoever is shepherding him on the other side would lend their power to strengthen your connection from their side. It would help him re-orient and find his way back. You would not find the jolt pleasant, but it would not cause lasting harm. However, it is unlikely that will ever be needed. Sin is stronger than even he knows and he has the Creator’s favor.” Her gaze lingers on the boss for a little longer, like she’s tryin’ to see what he sees, but then she turns back to me. “I did not come to see him. At least not yet. I came to see you. I need you to make some weapons. Weapons that can slay rogue reapers and demons.” *A lesser ghost’s jaw would have dropped. Freya had weapons aplenty, but none that would kill reapers. Only an angel’s blade or a reaper’s steel would kill a reaper and we kept a tight lid on who had them. There were reasons for that, Lucifer’s current fondness for killing reapers being one of them. As for demons…* Your blades can’t kill a demon? *She tosses her hair angrily.* “They should be able to. But we’ve had our own run in’s with Lucifer’s boys lately. He’s getting bolder. I can only assume he thinks the Horseman will be taking over the Creator’s role in the near future. I’m glad to hear from you that the end is near. Sin must challenge him very soon. But until then,” she smiles cagily enough that I know I’m not hearing everything – like Sin, I only get to know what she thinks I need to, “we need to be able to protect the realms. Our weapons have become less effective. I believe Lucifer has found some kind of charm or spell that prevents the weapons of Valhalla from doing lasting damage to his demons. We can wound, but, but short of cutting off their heads, they do not die and they heal incredibly quickly. Even cutting off their heads doesn’t actually kill them,” she snorts indelicately in disgust* Their bodies fall, unable to continue, but the heads live on, spewing venom, both literally and figurative.” At my skeptical look she answers my unspoken question, “Demons on the other plains do not adopt human form. We usually see them in their more natural state. Fangs, claws and all. The bodies of these monsters we can burn, but I must have 20 of the bloody heads locked up in the dungeon.” *My brow furrows in a frown as she talks. Unlike reapers, demons have physical bodies. Cutting off the damned heads should kill the fuckers.* So you need something that can kill demons, but why reapers? *She arches her eyebrow at me* Do you believe that the rogues are far behind? Especially if Sin fails. *She’s not wrong, but I know she’s not telling me everything. Still…* What kind of weapons did you have in mind? And know, I won’t give you anything without Sin’s OK on it. *Her beautiful face smooths back into a smile as she assumes she’s gained my cooperation.* “Swords, daggers, spearheads and arrowheads. We will bind the spearheads and arrowheads to shafts of rowan.” *Dubiously, I answer* The swords and daggers I’ve got. Arrowheads and spearheads I’ll have to cast and that’s going to take a little time. The forge is cold and it will take hours to heat it up enough. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer metal shafts for them? I have some put back. Or how about just good-old bullets made from melted down reaper weapons? *She laughs at that.* “Guns are such ugly, inelegant weapons. Loud and they stink like demons after they’ve been fired.” Shaking her head* “Thank you, but no. I would not have time to

learn how to use one or to teach my people. And yes, I am sure about the shafts. The rowan will add to the magick. The Rowan tree is sacred to us and runes to make sure they fly true and harm only those with malice towards us will be carved into them. We will add our magick to yours in hopes that the unexpected combination will give us another edge. And do not worry about the forge,” she bows her head and closes her eyes for a moment before raising it and looking into mine. “It is now at precisely the temperature you need and the trough you use to temper the metal is filled with cold water.” *I could argue the “ugly and inelegant” part. Nothin’ prettier than a 9 mil when you’re surprised in an alley, but then, guns hadn’t saved me and Celia or our pack, now had they? Maybe she’s got a point. Quietly nodding at Sin,* Freya, I can’t leave him while he’s like that. I’m his anchor, his guard. “I will stay here to guard him while you work. As for being anchor… you will still be that regardless of where you are. Physical proximity isn’t the determiner of the bond’s strength.” She smiles, “Your commitment to him is. And that is very strong, indeed.” *For a few seconds I just stand there, eyes narrowed as I look into hers. There are secrets there, but no malice. Sin trusts her. But still…*I’ll get to it then, but you don’t get them until he’s back and okays it. I mean it Freya. And the forge is warded against everyone except for Sin and his inner circle. Not even Celia comes in, so you won’t be able to get to them. *She frowns, but there’s amusement in her eyes* Still you do not trust me? *A laugh follows* Well, you would be a poor bodyguard if you did. A good one trusts no one. It’s not a matter of trust, Freya, *shaking my head.* It’s a matter of Pack. I let down my mortal pack once. I won’t let down my immortal one. *The amusement dies from her eyes, replaced with empathy. She understands that this isn’t about trusting anyone. It’s about honor and the Goddess of War knows something about honor.* “I understand. Now go. I will take your place here.” *I watch as she turns from me, taking up a guardian’s stance. All the softness fades from her clean, defined features and her eyes become impassive. No one or thing will get past this warrior. With a nod, I turn and fade out, still feeling the cord that bound me to Sin firmly attached. An ally was standing guard and the anchor was holding firm. #TBC

[othercat2]

Fic: Build a Life From Scratch 3/?

Ayla Invents Everything

Demoness does most of the work around her house by dint of there being potentially multiple iterations of her at any one time. There’s one that seems to be in charge of most of the tool making and building. She usually shows up to teach the “main” Demoness how to do something, or to repair something else. There’s another one that’s in charge of finding edible or otherwise useful plants. She helps with planting and weeding, and gets into arguments about pigments with Highblood.

(Thing you have learned: Trolls use blood in their paints because troll blood is apparently colorfast. Highblood wants to paint. Demoness does not want blood on her walls. The arguments about this are hilarious and also gross.)

There’s a Demoness that’s apparently in charge of weather patterns and keeping track of the seasons. She is working on a calendar and some kind of astrology project. This results in more arguments with Highblood. “It is not your place to be numbering the stars in the heavens,” Highblood grumbles at her when she shows up a few hours after midnight with rolls of parchment. (Probably made by another iteration who hasn’t shown up yet.) “Your days are too short for such considerations.” He’s studying the unrolled parchment, which is full of calculations and symbols you can’t read.

“My days are infinity plus one,” astrology Demoness says. She moves to snatch the parchment back, but Highblood holds it out of reach. “I don’t see you dividing the heavens.”  

“I’d not put my unskilled hands to such work,” Highblood says. “It’d be unfunny if I fucked up the calculations to or from the saints’ holy days.”  

“If you won’t, I might as well,” astrology Demoness says, and this time she succeeds in rescuing her parchment. “No saints days though; just equinoxes, solstices and phases of the moon.”

“Not much to record of that, just one, barely big enough to see by at night and the color of piss besides,” Highblood says.

“It’s only a little smaller than the big pink moon,” main Demoness says. “But closer and just as bright. Does your eyesight falter, Highblood?” The last is said in a tone of sweet, 100% fake concern.

“My vision’s fine, sassiest sister,” Highblood says.

They continue with the arguing like an old married couple (or however many since there’s currently three of them, but two of them are the same person). A few hours before dawn, the three of them retreat for the bedroom and their piles. You stay out of it. Your voyeur tendencies are not piqued by hair braiding, nonsexual heavy petting and long, detailed conversations about feelings and horrible things.

(The horrible things conversations could get loud and pretty disturbing. You generally absconded when they started that up. Gory psychological horror was one thing, the real deal was another. You are apparently rooming with Actual Freddy Krueger and Actual Sadako. Aside from your first encounter with Highblood, they have been more or less chill, if also creepy as fuck sometimes.)

You scrub the dishes and set them to air dry. Another Demoness turns up as you’re dumping the dishwater. “There’s a feelings jam in the back room, if you want to get a piece of tall dark and scary’s action,” you tell her.

She tilts her head in a way that indicates a negative. “Checking on you,” she says. She looks to the wooden basin in your hands. “More domestic than I expected.”

“You expected something?” you ask. “How do you know anything about me?”

She laughs at you. “How do you think?” she asks.

“From the future maybe?” you suggest, heading back for the house. She follows you.

She laughs again. “Good guess, but no. We had the same master, he would not approve of a bad ass male doing girly shit like cleaning.”

You stop and turn to stare at her. “What the fuck do you mean ‘master’?” you ask. Your voice is trying for harsh, but it sounds more strangled in your hearing. “I mean if that’s the way you roll, I could give it a try.”

She tugs the basin out of your hands. You almost try to clutch at it, but your hands feel nerveless. You feel sick, and you don’t know why. “He did the same to Highblood,” she continues. “No need, he had me to work his will. He had Her Imperious Condescension, but he wanted to fuck around with the clown too; the big powerful and artistic bad ass Highblood.” She smiles at you, all teeth. “He fucked around with you too. What do you think was in that empty place in your head?” She doesn’t bother to wait for your response; she just heads into the house with the basin.

“What the fuck,” is all you can get out when you follow her into the house. “What the fuck.” Also how the fuck did she know? You can’t imagine telling anyone. Striders are not big with the crazy sounding confessions of having an empty goddamn head.  

“When you woke up, you felt empty,” Demoness says. “Yes?” She set the basin to dry by the dishes, and sits down at the table.

“I don’t fucking know what you’re talking about,” you say. You aren’t tracking, you feel disconnected and strange. “Lil Cal’s awesome.” Your words are at once reflex, and also childish as fuck. You make as if to leave despite the shitty one liner.

“Sit down,” she says.

You think, don’t tell me what to do, bitch, and something yanks you down to sit at the table. You try to get back up, but you can’t move. Red flickers all around you. Lil Cal’s awesome, your own voice, subtracting a couple decades, chants in the back of your head somewhere. Lil Cal’s awesome. Lil Cal’s awesome.

“I do not want you breaking your head to be a constant,” she says. She puffs out a sigh. “At least you’re not out of your mind sick and seeing shit.”

“I’m certainly hearing shit,” you say, voice low and angry. “What the fuck are you talking about?” You bite your tongue before another automatic “Lil Cal’s awesome,” comes out. Lil Cal’s awesome, Lil Cal’s awesome, LilCalsawesome,  

“Three weeks ago, you drink bad water, and you get sick, and then you get hurt and more sick. We find you two weeks ago, still sick. We take care of you for about a week, then today you wander off in a dream and break your fucking head,” she says. Then in a weirdly fond voice, “It took you months before you got better. You are a fucking wreck.”

“That didn’t happen though,” you say. “What do you mean break my head?” You ask, distracted. You remember her saying that.

“Not like a melon, just a crack,” she says. “But pretty bad. What we are is very sturdy. You’d still be alive even if your head had broken like a smashed melon.” She smiles at you, all teeth. “But maybe a little more stupid.”

“What do you mean, ‘what we are’?” You ask, now completely distracted from the inward chant of Lil Cal’s awesome. There’s also the part where it sounds like she’s juggling at least two timelines, maybe more.

“Whatever is like a god, that comes before gods, but which are not exactly gods,” Demoness says.  

“Like a Titan?” you ask.

“If that’s what that is,” Demoness says.

The conversation shifts, after that. You go along with it, and the chant of Lil Cal’s awesome fades off since she isn’t casting doubt on the inherent awesomeness of Lil Cal. It’s weird, and you know it’s weird and the weirdness doesn’t stop. The accusation and your reaction to it, that is. How could your puppet be the demon that wrecked the sessions? You were attached to him, sure, and had invested him with a personality and his own subjective existence--but he wasn’t a goddamn demon.

(Pam had never liked the puppet. She wasn’t a boys don’t play with dolls type. One of her other kids had a stuffed Spiderman doll he carried everywhere and wouldn’t be parted from. She purely hated Lil Cal though, and had done everything she could to separate them. She’d stopped eventually, though you don’t know exactly why.)

You do indicate a certain curiosity about how the hell she knew about the empty place in your head. “You said so, while you were sick,” she says.

“And you believed crazy things said by someone out of their mind, why?”

She smiles. “Because we have the same empty place, moron,” she says gently. She gets up, and crosses over to you, bends down and kisses you on the forehead, her hand on the back of your neck. “He was already there, and I always fucking know,” she whispers in your ear.  Then she leaves, and the red still shimmering around you vanishes.

You slump forward, arms resting on the table, and your head pressed against your forearms. Shivers run up and down your spine. The sick feeling in the pit of your stomach is back, and a sourness at the back of your throat. You can still feel her lips on your forehead, her hand curling around the back of your neck. “Jesus fuck.”

We had the same master.

He fucked around with you too

He was already there, and I always fucking know.

Lil Cal is awesome. Lil Cal is awesome. Lil Cal is awesome.

The words spin around and around in your head, not making a whole hell of a lot of sense. You hadn’t. You hadn’t been some kind of fucking sleeper agent, fucking up the game. (Lil Cal is awesome.) A sleeper agent wouldn’t have done their best to make sure their kid survived the game, right? You didn’t fuck things up. (Lil Cal is awesome.) Whatever created that fucked up dog monster fucked things up. You cut a fucking meteor in half. You made sure your kid got into the game in one piece. You did what you were supposed to do. You did what you had to do.

He fucked around with you too.

The horror is staring at you with burning red eyes. It’s black and spiny, armored liked some sort of beetle, looming over your body. It cuts off your arms, your legs, tossing them carelessly aside. A sickle cuts through your sternum, and black claws crack your ribs apart. You don’t feel anything but a sick sort of horror as it takes out your heart and shows it to you before eating it.  

Someone touches your shoulder and you scream and flail like a goddamn little girl. You pitch backward from the table, disoriented and confused, then instantly more alert. Highblood draws back, looking amused. “Heard you snuffling and whimpering out here,” he says. “All having a day terror.”

“I don’t fucking whimper,” you say.

“Must be some other hornless motherfucker then, throwing his voice maybe,” Highblood says, and sits down at the table. “Better clean that puddle,” he says.

You start to say, I didn’t fucking piss myself either, but you realize puddle he’s referring to is on the table. You fucking drooled in your sleep. Goddammit. You swipe the table clean with your arm, and dry off using some of the sand on the floor.

“Think we all oughtta look for that other motherfucker, slandering your hardass self?” Highblood asks, sounding amused.

“I thought the moirail thing was exclusive to Demoness,” you mutter.

“You think I’m coming over pale for you?” Highblood asks. “It’s nothing to do with pale. A motherfucker can’t help but to hear the day terrors you keep having.”

“I’m not the only one having nightmares,” you say. “Don’t tell me about splinters when you fucking have a log sticking out of your eye.” You are for some reason rocking some pretty fucking Biblical metaphors.

“I don’t remember saying I didn’t have ‘em,” Highblood says. “Just saying that yours woke me the fuck up.”

“Well I’m awake now, so you can go back to bed,” you say.

“Nah,” Highblood says. “I’m all up now. Feeling a little guilty you never got to your pile.”

“I decided to respect the entirely metaphorical sock on the door knob,” you say.

You’re a little surprised the comment doesn’t fly completely over his head. Either trolls have an equivalent to the sock over the door to signal privacy required due to sex, or he figured it out on his own.

“Still could have grabbed some bedding,” Highblood says. “Know you well enough now, we wouldn’t care if you came in and grabbed a fur or something.”

“Scandalous displays of completely chaste PDA, I couldn’t bear to witness such completely vanilla fluff,” you say dryly.

“I feel sorry for a hornless motherfucker who hasn’t ever got his pale on proper,” Highblood says with a sigh of dismay for your tragically limited romantic palette. “No jamming, no conciliations or fierce mediation.”

“Striders don’t really do emotions,” you say.

Highblood snorts. “You go and tell yourself that, motherfucker,” he says. “You’ll figure out how hard you ain’t sooner or later.”

You decide you’re not going to rise to the bait. “Whatever, I’m heading to bed,” you say. “Morning.” You get up and head for the bedroom.

Back

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[chronicallygothic]

PTSD

I didn’t write the following article but I thought it really hit home and needed to be shared. Not all of it is relevant to my story but it comes very close. The abuse happened to me 13 years ago and I only just told my mom a few months ago (even though my “boyfriend” was living with me at my mother’s house.)

I’ve had to cut ties with several friendships over the gaslighting issue. I don’t even like saying his name. Not his nickname that he used when we dated or his real name. I’m frequently on high alert but my fight or flight response is finally starting to calm down after a decade of therapy and helpful partners.

Seeing him around makes me instantly sick. The fact that people don’t know what I went through makes me sick but the thought that they might not believe me “cuz he’s a good guy” is unbearable. 

He told me how to dress, who to hang out with, who not to hang out with. I was only 14.

Many times while he was driving us one place or another I would fantasize about yanking the steering wheel into oncoming traffic and hoping that neither of us survived. 

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

For many years I was in an extremely destructive relationship with someone who has NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder) and during that time I was regularly subjected to a variety of emotional, mental and physical abuse.

Every day I walked on eggshells, living in fear of saying or doing something that might trigger an aggressive response.

Many people might wonder why I, or anyone else, would remain in this kind of environment, but by the time I fully recognized that I was in extreme danger, I was already badly emotionally and mentally weakened and debilitated.

I was living in terror waiting to be attacked at any moment and yet I did not feel as though I had the strength or courage to remove myself from it.

Abuse doesn’t always happen overtly and it isn’t always easy to recognize. Often it is a covert, insidious, invisible drip that slowly poisons the victim’s mind so they don’t trust their own judgment, is unable to make life-changing decisions and feels as though they don't have the coping skills necessary to get help or leave.

It took me a long time, and everything I had, to pull myself from the bottom of the deep dark hell I existed in and to get myself to a place of safety.

By the time I walked away, I thought that the nightmare was over. But in so many other ways, it had only just began.

The terrors of the taunts, torture and torment that had become my normality didn’t subside. They remained alive and relived themselves in the form of intrusive, regular flashbacks.

Many months after I had left the relationship I discovered that I was suffering from C-PTSD, (Complex Post-traumatic Stress Disorder.)Â C-PTSDÂ is a result of persistent psychological trauma in an environment where the victim believes they are powerless and that there is no escape.

C-PTSD is slightly different than PTSD, which is brought on from experiencing one solitary, traumatic incident, or it can develop due to an accumulation of incidents. Although both C-PTSD and PTSD both developed from my experiences, I identify more with C-PTSD, as it was the effects of the prolonged exposure to repetitive and chronic trauma that I felt I couldn’t escape from that affected me the most.

For many months after leaving the relationship I struggled to sleep at night, and when I did I often woke trembling after experiencing terrifying reoccurring dreams. On many occasions when I did eventually sleep I would sleep solid for at least 24 hours, in such deep slumber that I would struggle to wake from it and when I did I would feel fatigued, spaced out and as though I was numbly sleep-walking through the day.

I was easily startled and panicked at the slightest sudden movement or loud noise.

I was ultra-sensitive, on edge and highly alert most of the time, which I believe was my mind’s way of forming some sort of self-protection to keep me aware so that I avoided similar potentially dangerous situations.

At the mention of certain words, names or places I felt nauseous and dizzy and would become extremely distressed. A painful tight knot developed in my stomach every time something occurred to remind me of the trauma.

I still have difficulty remembering large phases of my life, and for a long time I struggled to stay focused, and my concentration abilities were very poor.

I would get upset easily, especially if I was in a tense environment. I had constant anxiety and was regularly in fight-or-flight mode.

I didn’t eat properly. I had no motivation and suicidal thoughts regularly flooded my mind.

I had lost my spark.

One aspect of the aftermath of the relationship that affected me most was the daily gaslighting that I endured. This left me finding it difficult to believe anything people would tell me, and I analyzed, questioned and dissected everything.

Forming new relationships, whether friendships, or romantic, was almost impossible as I struggled to trust people’s intentions and felt scared of possible underlying, hidden motives and agendas for their words or actions.

I dissociated from most of what I had been through and pretended, even to myself, that the abuse wasn’t as serious as it was. Partly because I felt ashamed that I had not left sooner and also because I wanted to defend and protect the person I was involved with, as I still cared for him. Therefore, I rarely mentioned the relationship to anyone and froze and shut down through stress (sometimes resulting in a meltdown) if anyone tried to talk to me about i It got to the stage where I withdrew completely as leaving the house became overwhelming and a major ordeal because I wouldn’t/couldn’t open up and connect and I felt terrified of everything and everyone.

One thing that became apparent and harrowing was that although I had gained enough strength to walk away and I felt empowered by the decision knowing that it was the right choice for my emotional, mental and physical health, I was suppressing all my emotions and feelings and I was far from okay on the inside.

There were many rollercoaster emotions trapped inside me and trying to ignore and contain them was doing more harm than good. In many ways the ending of the relationship had signaled closure to one phase of my life and had opened up a new chapter that was going to take a little time to get used to.

It appeared that while I was in the relationship I had become so used to enduring a wide variety of narcissistic behaviors that they had almost become normal and acceptable. Stepping away from all that I had known felt like I had walked from one planet and onto another and I hadn’t got a clue how to navigate it on my own or how to relate to anyone on it.

I soon realized that unless I started to focus on healing myself, I would remain a victim of my previous circumstances as the build up of emotional injuries, wounds and scars needed urgent attention. Otherwise, they would seep out and silently destroy sections of my life without me being aware that the past was still controlling me.

It was up to me to rebuild my strength and confidence, otherwise I would end up alienating myself and causing further damage.

I had a lot of inner healing work and restructuring to do and trying to convince myself that just because I had left the relationship everything would be okay, was not going to be enough.

The first and most significant step I took was admitting and fully accepting that the carnage I had experienced was real and had a huge impact on my emotional and mental wellbeing.

I had been surviving by a fragile thread in a domestic war zone and for far too long I had been intimidated, manipulated, lied to and threatened, amongst many other toxic and dysfunctional behaviors. The whole relationship had been an illusion and resulted in me having serious trust issues as well as losing the will to live. I not only struggled to trust other people, but I also realized I had no faith at all in my own intuition, perception or judgment.

Finally, I gave myself permission to take as long as I needed to heal, even if it meant I would spend the rest of my life slowly putting the pieces of my life back together. I came to terms with the fact that there is no timescale to healing and there was no hurry.

I allowed myself to grieve the relationship and the loss of the person I had separated from. This was extremely difficult to do as I had so many mixed emotions due to the scale of the abuse. For a long time I denied my grief, as it was complex to come to terms with how I could miss someone who had been responsible for vicious behavior towards me.

One of the hardest parts to dealing with this grief was feeling as though I could not talk openly to anyone, as I believed no one would understand how I could remain in such an abusive relationship and still miss many aspects of that person and the life I had with them.

The reason getting over this type of relationship can be so difficult is that many narcissists display both Jeckyll and Hyde type characteristics, one minute appearing extremely loving and affectionate and the next crippling, cruel and cunning.

It is not easy to explain that I deeply loved and badly missed one side of the person I was involved with, and disliked, feared and never wanted to hear his name mentioned at the same time. Even thinking about this can make one feel a little crazy as it does not feel natural to love and hate the same person.

One essential step toward healing from narcissistic abuse, I believe, is finding someone to really confide in and who doesn’t judge or question anything that is said. Being free to talk openly and comfortably without having to over explain is vital to start putting the accumulation of experiences into some sort of context. If there isn’t a friend on hand, it is worth taking time to seek out a good counselor with an understanding of C-PTSD deriving from abusive relationships.

The most important thing that helped me to heal was focusing more on healing and rebuilding myself. Although I took time out to research and gain knowledge and understanding of the type of abuse I had been subjected to, I spent far more of my time indulging myself in whatever felt good for my soul.

Slowly and surely I rebuilt myself, formed new friendships, learned to trust people and forgave all of the past. There are still days that it haunts me, but there is a bright light at the end of the tunnel and although it can be difficult to believe that when you start walking through it, as soon as you take the first steps of acceptance the path ahead begins to become clear.

Healing comes by taking one small step at a time, with gentle, loving care and without hurry.

Article by Alex Myles

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2016/10/living-with-c-ptsd-following-an-abusive-relationship/