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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Note

Would it be possible to get the aftermath of a heroic whumpee who went up against someone incredibly far out of their league? Kind of along the lines of that one time Dazzler went up against the Juggernaut on her own (A heroine with light projection powers vs a villain with the power of unstoppable force) and ended up being beaten to the point where she was too weak to move. The other heroes become her caretakers for a little while. I loved that arc and could really use something similar.

I can hardly describe how much I love this prompt. I absolutely adore it, and I can only hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I think I’m somewhat familiar with Dazzler, though when I looked through the wiki, I couldn’t find anything about this story? The wiki may just be incomplete, though. It reminds me of a story arc of the original ms. marvel, too!

This is absolutely one of my favorite kinds of whump, and I really hope that I did it justice. Thank you so much for the ask!

CW//Medical settings, poison, therapy, paralysis, inability to speak, self-hatred, low self-esteem, hair-pulling

The metal doors at the entrance to the Metropolis General Emergency Room swung upon with the force of a thunder clap. And, just as thunder, they too heralded lightning.

Or, at the very least, light.

A pair of lab-coats pushed forth a gurney on ratta-tatta-tattling caster wheels, footsteps crashing on the floor in even rhythm. Close behind, an entourage of two sprinted in close pursuit: A pair of heroes in civilian clothes.

“Lux!”

To the person laid upon the gurney, the voice felt to be emanating from a thousand miles away. Or more. Maybe a couple thousand, or a million... It was hard to think about numbers when their mind was stuffed with cotton, and their vision was dominated by blurry white ceiling tiles.

“What in the world happened to them?” The doctor that spoke had had all sense of clinical professionalism drained from their tongue.

“We don’t know.” A hero, outfitted in jeans and sweater, replied in a single, slurred sound. “We just found them, and-”

It was too loud. Far, far too loud-- Lux felt as though the full force of the ocean had made the sudden decision to crash into their eardrums. And, beneath at all, the caster wheels refused to stop their clitter-clatter. Spikes piercing their temples, they let out the tiniest of cries.

A tiny sound, and all eyes were on them.

“Lux!”

“Lux, what in the world happened to you?”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Talk to us!”

“Wake up!”

“Wake up.”

“Lux. Lux, what did you do?”

Lux, what did you do?

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The support beam shook against the force of the body, hurled at it. Shudders rocked from the base to the top, threatening for the thousandth time the structural stability of the building.

And the structural stability of Lux’s ribs.

With several hoarse coughs, the hero struggled to hands and knees, joints wobbling as though the ground they were braced against were the epicenter of an earthquake.

They could taste it.

They could taste what they had been inflicted with, more than they could feel it. The wound upon their side had long since gone numb-- at the very least, the poison had that benefit to it. Now, the sensation had migrated to Lux’s tongue. A bitter flavor of burnt coffee.

Even if they had the chance, they had no desire at all to examine the gash that had been torn across their side. They’d heard the stories, seen the headlines.

Lux knew what happened to Mercury’s victims.

That was why they were here, after all.

“Had enough yet, kid?”

The voice was booming, sounding from the other side of the half-toppled warehouse. In their weakened state, Lux could barely raise their head high enough to meet the eyes of their foe.

Mercury’s height was unimportant, as was their general stature. After all, it was hard to focus on his body. It was hard to focus on anything but the claws-- terrible, wicked things curling outwards from his knuckles.

A single slash from them, and flesh would begin to curl away, to rot. To necrose.

The wound they had been inflicted with was already a death sentence. But, not an immediate one-- Lux had a bit of time left on death row.

A bit of time to make this right.

Shivering, the hero stood to their feet, facing their opponent from a hundred foot’s distance. It was the most ridiculous of match-ups. A chihuahua against a pit bull. A garden snake against a cobra.

That didn’t mean that Lux couldn’t try.

“Firefly wants another round, then?” The villain’s voice curled, almost as venomous as their blades. “Try me, kid.”

And try they did.

Hands balled to fists at their side, Lux took one, single step forth, stomping onto the warehouse’s concrete floor with a decisive strike.

It was as though a bomb had gone off.

The world was swallowed, all at once, by white. Light engulfed each shadow, each color, until the universe was as blank as unexposed photo paper.

It was merely a distraction, a smokescreen. But they needed time to recover. Time to catch their breath.

Time to remember why they were doing this.

In the world of heroes, Mercury had a particular nickname-- “The Untouchable.” He was the lion in the zoo. No one dared get near him, much less touch him. It was a death sentence, to be slashed by his claws. The heroes were terrified of him, and that gave him a free license to tear the world to shreds.

It was from one of their villainous informants that Lux had heard of the plan initially. The water supply. Mercury had found a way to distill the poison held within their claws, and they intended to release it into the city water supply.

To kill every last citizen of Metropolis.

But the others turned merely a blind eye. No one would touch the villain. They had resigned themselves to dealing with the aftermath.

That would mean deaths. That would mean ‘acceptable causalities.’

To Lux, there was no such thing as an acceptable causality. Only a problem that needed to be solved.

Their teammates had insisted, begged, nearly, that they not be so careless. But, when had Lux even been known as the careful one?

Not once in their life.

“Stop this, Mercury!” The hero snapped into the expanse of white. “Just-”

Lux did not so much as see the fist before it connected. Did not so much as feel the claws, raking their neck.

Not before the world went from black to white.

Lux, what did you do?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You did it.”

Those were the first words that Lux heard clearly, after escaping from their haze. Consciousness teased them as the world above turned from colors to shapes to vision.

White tiles, spotless and all in a row. Their perfect nature was threatened only by an out-of-place beeping that nearly forced the hero to once more fall to sleep.

But, they managed to cling to consciousness as they turned their head to the side, revealing a figure, interrupting their view of the tiles overhead.

A figure. A person. A-

“You did it, Lux.”

Nora. Nora, their friend, their teammate, their comrade. Not Mercury. Not a villain. If Nora was here, then they were safe. The hero had an almost supernaturally calming way about herself, located somewhere between her wispy tangle of black hair and the way her movements imitated the performance of a dancer.

But, wait- Why wasn’t she in uniform? No, now she bore only the clothes of a civilian.

No. No, of course she wasn’t wearing a uniform. Lux had gone on a mission, yes. But it hadn’t been with their team.

They’d tried to stop Mercury, and-

“The water’s safe.” Nora’s voice was only just as smooth as her movements. “Mercury’s been contained. You did it.”

“And by god, what were you thinking?!”

The shout sent a stabbing agony through the side of Lux’s skull. That was more so the reaction they had expected.

Nickel. The most paranoid superhero on planet Earth.

Lux struggled to open their lips, to bring forth an explanation. To state that they had been doing what was right. That they had been doing what a hero should have done.

And yet...

And yet, their lips refused to so much as twitch. Too, their tongue sat dead in their mouth, numb and useless.

The only muscle in their body that functioned was their heart, which in that moment began to race.

“You could’ve died!” Nickel’s tirade continued, despite the fact that the target was showing not a single reaction. “Or worse! You could’ve died, or worse, or both! That was so stupid.

Don’t give me the silent treatment, dammit. Explain yourself!”

Lux wanted so desperately to do so. Their heartbeat turned, now, to a pounding tattoo within their skull, the pedal of a bass drum, slamming against the inside of their cranium.

They couldn’t move.

A twitch of the head. A blink, maybe. That was all. That was all they had left.

Lux had saved the world.

Their vision began to swirl.

Lux had saved the world, but what had they given up in exchange?

Telling when the hero fell unconscious was nearly impossible. Yet, when their eyes at last drifted closed, it became clear that whatever wakefulness they had had was now extinguished.

That left two heroes, one proud and one paranoid, leaning over a hospital bed. Shivering both in their own rights, Nickel and Nora stood. It was with great care that the room’s entrance was pushed open. The doctor that did so walked backwards-- their hands were quite thoroughly occupied by a clipboard.

Nickel and Nora said not a word, as speechless as their teammate. They both knew that this was the bringing of news.

This doctor was the bearer of their friends fate.

“They’re going to live.”

That was what they started with.

“With medical care, Lux will survive this ordeal. However, they will need to stay under intensive care until their immediate symptoms subside.”

Nora stared blankly for a long moment, before whispering:

“They aren’t moving. They aren’t talking.”

The doctor could manage only the more sympathetic of nods. Again, they repeated themself, but, this time, with an addition:

“Lux is going to live. But, most likely, they will never be the same. The poison has taken its toll on their system. There’s no cure. No antidote.

One day, they may be able to move, or speak. But, they have a very, very long road ahead of them.”

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Very, very long was an understatement.

No, the doctor would have been better have describing Lux’s journey as a highway from Moscow to Las Vegas.

“The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Da ra’zz spa- ff mm a pla.”

“The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Za ree z’pa fa ma- play.”

“One more try. The rains in Spain-”

“Nnn- oh! No!”

The lab-coated doctor sitting before Lux set down their clipboard with a heavy sigh, sending only another bubble of rage rising in the hero’s chest. They balled their hands into fists, shaking them furiously before placing their open palms upon their temples.

Lux hated this. Lux hated every last minute, every last instant of this. They hated the doctor. They hated the doctor’s office they had to sit in, walls covered from floor to ceiling with charts of vowels and consonants. More than anything, they hated their exercises.

It should have been simple! Eight words. Eight simple words. If they could repeat them properly, then they would never have to go to one of these stupid appointments ever again.

But, they couldn’t. They couldn’t say eight simple words. In fact, they couldn’t even say one.

A month in the hospital, and Lux could not so much as speak. It made them want to tear their hair out! In fact, they would do that, had they had the motor control for it.

But, they didn’t. They didn’t have anything.

The last month had been the longest of the hero’s existence. Hell, those thirty days had felt to be longer than the rest of their entire life, put together! Thirty days and thirty nights of utter hell.

When they had gone off to face Mercury on their own, Lux had been very well prepared to die. They had not been prepared for this.

From the outside, the progress that the hero was making was undeniable. They had begun in a state of complete and utter paralysis, able to move their head, their eyes, and not a thing else. It was only with thrice-a-day physical therapy that they had begun to move. First, it was only moving their head. Then, their arms. Their legs. By the end, they could even sit up, with the help of a helping hand.

Every day, Lux’s teammates visited. And, every day, they congratulated their friend on their progress.

But, as far as Lux was concerned, it had been a month, and they hadn’t made an inch of progress. As hard as they tried, they were still laid up in a hospital. Still broken. Still useless.

They knew that their friends were trying. They knew-- it was evident on their expressions. Those constant, stupid looks of pity. They would never speak about their own lives, about their missions. The villainous plots they’d stopped, the battles they’d won. No. They focused only on the mundane: Where they’d gone for lunch, how they’d spent their evening.

It was out of pity. Lux knew that. It was all pity. But, in all truth, those were the only moments during which they ever felt, truly, like themself. Like Lux.

Like a hero.

So they’d heard, the media had praised them, lauded them for their victory. But they never spoke of the sacrifice it had taken.

Their friends’ visits were the only parts of the day that Lux had to get forward to. The rest of their life was filled with... this.

“Lux.” The doctor coaxed. “You need to do your exercises. You’re already getting so much better! But you won’t make any progress if you don’t try.”

“Don’ thwaa ex- thwaa ta.”

“Don’t want exercises, want talk?”

Lux narrowed their eyes. But, that had been what they were trying to say. The fact that it needed to be repeated, interpreted, however, made them feel sick.

“You need your exercises, Lux. How about we just try one more time? I know you can do it. You’re already doing so well!”

Eight simple words. Eight simple words, and Lux could be a hero again. Eight words, and they could be a person again.

“Okay, Lux. Repeat after me: The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Tha ran-”

Yet, that was all they could make out. Lux’s throat ran dry of words, void of syllables. They couldn’t speak before, and now, they couldn’t so much as make a sound.

They never cried in front of others. Never. Yet, that rule had been broken in the hospital already a dozen times. And, so it seems, this would make thirteen.

Lux’s chest was wracked with heavy sobs as they buried their face in their hands. Soon, tears leaked from beneath their shaking fingers.

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“I’m right here for you, Lux. Lean on me all you need.”

Nora’s voice carried the same cadence as water, meandering through a stream. Too, of course, did her gestures. A gentle, yet firm hand took Lux by the wrist, wrapping their arm around their comrade’s shoulder.

“It’s going to be hard, okay? It’s going to be hard. It’s okay to get tired. And you don’t have to get it on your first try. Or your fifth. Or your hundredth.”

Lux stopped listening on the last part.

This was it. The final gauntlet. Nearly an entire season spent within hospital walls-- now came their test. Everything counted on it. As far as they were concerned, it was a matter of life or death.

If they succeeded, they were home free. They could be brought home by their teammates-- of course, while still attending outpatient physical therapy, but still! They would be home.

And, yet, if they failed? They would be placed back in their hospital room. They would continue to be useless, a burden on both doctor and friend alike.

Everything was riding on this. Lux took a deep breath, and opened their eyes to face their challenge:

A hallway.

They had studied it extensively. Seven feet in width, and perhaps twenty in length. A tiny little thing, used only to get between two particular rooms. It was in the very depths of the hospital; that was why they were using it. There was no chance of distraction, of interruption.

“Are you ready, Lux?”

“Yesthh.”

“Okay.”

Their weight was leaned, nearly entirely, upon Nora. But, that didn’t matter. It wasn’t a test of standing on their own. If that was the test, they’d never get out of this hellish place. All they had to do was make it to the end of the hallway, with help. They could go slowly. They could lean. They could rest.

They only had to make it to the end.

Nora placed one foot forward, waiting for Lux to do the same, which they did, slowly and shakily. It was in this manner that they moved. One foot, one foot, staying always in the slowest of locksteps.

For Nora, it was simple.

For Lux, it was agony. Their knees felt mere milliseconds away from buckling, legs straining under the weight of the rest of them, even as the vast majority of it was leaned onto their friend.

Five feet. Five tiny, minuscule steps. That was how far Lux made it.

And then they were falling.

They did not remember the fall, not really. One moment, their knees had given out. And, the next, they were on their side, on the carpet.

Shaking.

This had been it. This had been their chance. All they had to do was walk down a hallway, that was it! Then, they could have gone home. Then, they could have been with their friends.

Then, they could have finally been a hero again.

And they’d failed. They’d failed the simplest of tasks.

In that moment, a certainty struck Lux like a dagger to the chest: They were never going to get better. Never. It didn’t matter how many exercises they did, how many doctors they saw. This whole thing was pointless! They were going to be worthless until the end of time.

On the floor, Lux screamed. It was a babbling, incoherent thing, as most sounds they made were. Too, they began to thrash, slamming their fists into the floor as they howled in anguish.

Then, they weren’t thrashing anymore. They couldn’t.

Lux had no need to open their eyes to tell what was happening. They knew Nora’s footsteps, knew the sound of her racing over. The feeling of her, hauling them into her arms. Holding them close.

They knew, also, the sounds of doors opening. Of more footsteps, familiar footsteps. Of chattering voices. Their friends’ voices.

Their whole-

Lux’s breath caught in their throat.

In order to avoid distraction, it had only been them and Nora in the room. They had assumed that it was only Nora who had visited that day. And, yet, they knew these voices.

Their whole...

Their whole team. Their whole team had come to watch. They counted every voice, every pair of footsteps. Every last one of their friends had come to watch them succeed.

But, they’d only watched them fail. Lux expected heckling, expected to be berated.

They did not expect the half-dozen pairs of arms, wrapped around them. They didn’t expect to be the center of a group hug.

“You’re doing so well.”

“You got so far!”

“Just a little more practice, and you’ll be back out there fighting crime in no time.”

“You’re almost there!”

“That’s the furthest you’ve been able to walk yet!”

“We’re proud of you.”

Lux’s tears did not stop.

And, yet, they realized something:

They were no longer tears of sorrow.

#hero whumpee #whump #whumper #whumpee #caretaker #whump community #hero x villain whump #hero villain prompt #hero x villain #hero villain scenario #hero villain whump #whumpblr #whump blog #whump scenario

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marinetteplztakeabreak · 4 years

Text

okay now that we’re in the middle of a hiatus and the fandom is mostly calmed down

I’m one of the very few people who’s actually hoping for a Lila redemption arc? I don’t want her to be friends with Adrien or Marinette or anyone she’s really really hurt, but she is still like 14 and we don’t know her full story and I honestly want to see her grow and be a person and make some actual friends and get some hobbies. Again, I think she’s burned the bridge with a few characters, but that doesn’t mean she can’t ever be friends with anyone else

and anyway, my ideal takedown/ redemption arc for Lila is one where she unknowingly lies about having several disabilities that other students in the class actually do have

BUT I don’t want it in a “oh actually, Lila, you dumb fool, I have real medically diagnosed tinnitus, so I know that’s not how it works, haha everyone look at Lila the stupid liar” kind of way

I want them to be like stupid levels of understanding and try to bond with her

(detailed explanation of my Lila arc under the cut, obviously don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with the idea of Lila being redeemed)

Lila is like “oh... actually... I can’t participate in the PE final... I have scoliosis... that I just found out about right now” and Juleka is like “oh! I have scoliosis too!” and Lila is panicking because she’s about to be called a fraud, but instead Juleka just happily sits with her for the entire PE final and rambles about stuff and is super happy to have a bench buddy

Alix mentions that she has tinnitus and Lila is like “wait what? why aren’t you in front of the class?” and Alix is like “oh, for me it’s kind of a waves thing? on good days, I can hear her from anywhere in the classroom, and on bad days, nothing can really help me hear? so Ms. Bustier just gives me lecture notes that I can read and it works for me.” And Lila is completely expecting to be called a fraud but Alix is just like “it’s super cool that it does help you, though! everyone’s different! If you ever want to compare notes about what helps, you can text me!”

Lila starts to say the beginning of a well practiced and overly researched speech about how she can’t go on a field trip because she has a super rare medical condition and Max just pulls her aside and is like “hey, I know it can be scary and you feel like you have to justify yourself, but you really don’t have to give super personal information all the time. It’s totally fine if you are comfortable, but really, I know from personal experience that Ms Bustier and this class are super understanding. You can just say ‘personal reasons’ or something and we’ll all leave you alone. You’re allowed to have privacy.” and Lila is like “huh”

this is getting long but basically, eventually she talks to someone in the class with ADHD or anxiety, I’m going to say Alya for now, so she literally catches Lila lying about knowing some celebrity, and instead of being angry or judgemental she’e super discreet about it, she pulls her aside like “hey, I know it feels hard to make friends, but I promise you, people do think you’re interesting as you are, and we care more about you than the people you know.” and she doesn’t even call Lila out for lying? she’s literally just like “u dont have to know celebrities”

and then Lila actually finds out that there’s at least one actual compulsive liar in the class. And, if you didn’t know, Lila’s not an actual compulsive liar, and I’m not going to get into a rant about that now but... She lies on purpose, and tells planned lies with an agenda, whereas compulsive liars don’t usually plan to lie or have a reason for lying. So anyway, Lila gets actually caught lying, and someone, lets just say Nino for the sake of picking a character, is like “hey i know its hard but you do still have to apologize, even if you did your best, you still messed up and you’ve got to own up to it. I believe you that you’re trying to be better but you can’t just use mental illness as an excuse.” and Lila pulls out the fake tears and is like “you don’t understand-” and Nino is (not in a rude way, just trying to be kind) like “I can’t understand you exactly, no, but I literally did have a problem with compulsive lying and I have a therapist, so if you want to talk about it I probably understand more than you know” and Lila is like “oh.”

and anyway, Lila’s arc doesn’t come through someone she’s harassed trying to defend her, and it doesn’t come from her being traumatized into being nice, it just comes from her classmates treating her like a human person, and doing their best to understand her while also actually finding ways to make things accessible to her so she stops being able to get out of things. And then it turns to “hey Lila, just so you know, you don’t HAVE to give explanations for not wanting to go places, you can just SAY if you’re uncomfortable.” and she starts getting called out on it a little bit more, but in a friendly way. Her classmates are just like “Lila please just tell us what you want, I don’t need your medical history, I’m not going to do a background check, just, say you want to borrow a jacket and I’ll let you borrow it. I literally have an extra hoodie”

But simultaneously, everyone with a disability “in common” with her starts latching on to her and opening up, and they actually hold her accountable for listening to their needs. And Lila, who already has the mindset of “oh u are legally required to help Disabled Person or everyone will hate you,” which is literally the basis of half of her plans, is now surrounded by classmates who are asking for her help with reading things because they’re dyslexic, or asking her to grab a textbook from across the room, and asking her if she has any heating pads, and, well, Mylene actually bought her some heating pads when she was faking having cramps earlier, so she might as well lend those out so that she can get more credit with her classmates

And it’s not because she *cares* obviously, she’s just doing it to get them to rely on her, and to get on their good side

and then she’s invited to join the disabled students activism club, and it would look suspicious if she didn’t join, so she agrees, and then whoops, she is now working to do actual charity work-- because it’s really nice to have such solid evidence for her claims, and some charity work that she can actually point to solid evidence for if she ever gets called out-- and honestly it is pretty stupid that its so hard to get accommodations on tests for students with anxiety, because aren’t those the students who are the most afraid to talk to the teachers-- not that Lila cares. And it’s super dumb that no one even knows proper etiquette for helping people in wheelchairs,, and people keep Leaving Things in the Hallways that make it too narrow, and-- Lila doesn’t care at all though, and she definitely doesn’t care about her “friends” in the club because they’re not her friends, and she totally does not cry when she finds out that most of them are literally self-diagnosed, and then it turns out that Mylene was actually wrong, and she probably doesn’t have Lyme disease like she thought, and no one judges her or treats her any different? they’re all just like “oh thats great! glad you could keep getting new information!”

and Lila realizes that literally no one will be mad if it turns out she doesn’t have any disabilities. Except also, she’s starting to become more and more sure that she Does have several things wrong with her, because apparently it’s Not Normal to feel constantly on guard when she’s around other people, and apparently it’s Not Normal to just have days where you literally cannot drag yourself out of bed in the morning and then get hit with terror that if you tell anyone about how numb you feel they’ll immediately think you’re unworthy as a human being, and she’s like, oh, huh, i should look into that

and anyway Lila doesn’t even try to be a good person at first she just wakes up one day and is like “what the heck when did i get actual friends and passions and hobbies,, i did not sign up for this” but she does start making an effort to be worthy of them and she ends up growing a whole ton once she’s given a support system

and anyway i know lots of people are uncomfy with Lila and that’s fine, but i’m continuously a sucker for “evil devil child is actually a pretty decent human being once their basic needs are met and they feel safe” trope

#long post #lila rossi #miraculous ladybug #ml #i do not know how to tag this #trying to not tag my hate but also not attract the specific people who would hate on this #let me know if theres any tags that need to be added

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etherealluminescence · 4 years

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Hi there! I was hoping you could do a headcanon of the demon brothers with an Mc/reader that self harms pls? You don’t have to though!

I have 7/8 fic requests so I’ll do the headcanons first!! ((: and I don’t mind! This is going to be a little bit angsty! And I hope you’re doing okay!! I’ve never personally cut / done great self-harm so I based it off stories I’ve heard, or common knowledge. Sorry if it doesn’t sound completely okay!

I tried a bunch of ways to describe an MC who does self harm?? Does that make sense? Like for depression, for the thrill, for boredom? I’ve had friends and know many people who have self-harmed, and done it for myriads of reasons, and I sort of wanted to include all types?? I hope that doesn’t sound rude or mean-

One more HC and then it’s fic time. I’m excited to write Solomon smut.

Brothers react to GN!MC doing self-harm

Lucifer

He didn’t pay much attention to you at first, considering how busy he was. He thought of you as a bit of a nuisance, and began to pick-up on what was really going on after talking to you for a bit.

You used a lot of self-deprecating humour, which at first he was caught off guard with, and eventually realised you were genuinely serious.

You saw yourself as some pathetic and worthless creature, and the fact that those around you call you that too only added fuel to the fire. A worthless human, something weak and pathetic. You never denied it, and always agreed.

He soon found out you cut yourself, bloodlet, and do all sorts of harm to your body in order to relieve yourself and use it as a coping mechanism.

He began to worry about you, not just for the sake of the student exchange program. There were plenty of demons in the Devildom, and you were an easy victim.

You never fought back when someone picked on you, you never denied it when someone degraded your existence, and you didn’t even bother if your harming was obvious or not, so long as you calmed yourself.

He finally confronted you when you took it too far one day, sitting in your bathtub, soaked in blood. You were running late to dinner, and Lucifer’s bad feeling made him come find you. It felt good to you, great. It was addictive. The one thing you could control- the amount of agony you endured. You were so bored of life, that this is the only thrill you got.

He began screaming at you, and immediately picked you up and began to wrap bandages around your arm, and kept yelling that you shouldn’t do this, and you are taking it too far.

You were about to brush him off when he yelled out that if you’re trying to die, this isn’t funny.

It made you pause. Was he, concerned? About someone like you? But, why? Why did you a small human in this vast world matter to him?

He could tell what you were thinking and sighed. He couldn’t believe how you were raised, to think of yourself as insignificant. Even though he was known as the prideful demon of sin, he admitted to you that he does care about you, and doesn’t want to see you dead.

It pained him to see you struggle to understand him or accept that he was genuinely concerned for you. Anymore time that you were bullied, he’d scare off the demons, or anytime you talked shit about yourself, he would tell you to stop.

Mammon

The first time you met Mammon, he degraded you. He told you that you were stupid. A human couldn’t survive. Don’t talk to him or rely on him.

And that’s exactly what you did- you never bothered him. You believed every word that he had said to you. You didn’t want to be a bother, so every time you passed a demon who intimidated you, you kept your mouth shut and endured it.

You couldn’t win against one, anyways. Even if you could, what would that do? You’d just cause problems. You always caused problems wherever you go, so why don’t you be good for once?

In the comfort of your own room, you cut. You choked. You took a needle and dragged it across your arm, and poke, poke, poke. Droplets of red stained your arm and the carpet, with your tears falling down mixing in.

You hissed and whimpered to yourself, trying not to bother anyone around you with your loud whining.

It was then that Mammon entered your room, and saw what was happening. He was going to steal something, but stopped. What the fuck did you think you were doing?

He grabbed the needle from you and threw it aside and practically yelled at you. You were frozen and scared, shivering and clutching your body curling to brace yourself for the hit.

The hit never came, and he slowly eased you open again. He never knew humans were so high maintenance. He may not know you, but he’s not actually going to let you die.

You explained to him that you felt worthless, and he told you to just leave him alone. Die while you’re at it. He felt extremely bad.

He didn’t think you’d actually hurt yourself, or that you’d not go to him for help. He’s the great Mammon! If you begged, he would of let you seen a good side of him.

From that moment he apologises, sort of, in his own little way.

And he starts to protect you and comes over and clings to you, claiming this is how his human will stop their self-doubt and love themself

Leviathan

He could tell pretty early on. He saw your anxiety and the way you would curl away from people, listening to music, and how you would clench your fists when someone would talk to you.

You had severe anxiety from what he could tell, but didn’t exactly notice the self harm scars you had. He did not want to get involved, but could not just leave you like that when he knew.

He gave you some anxiety medication, which caused you to panic due to thinking you’d be yelled at again, and by a stranger no less. You started to yell sorrys and it’s my fault, and began to violently shake.

He’s seen enough anime with shitty parents to understand that you were more than likely afraid of people.

He allows you to play his games, and see his fish, but you were so scared to move, but when you came to it you were too scared to say no.

After a few minutes, he could see that you were scratching yourself to the point of bleeding, and that you were not doing okay. When he was about to say something, you got startled and fell on your face. Your shirt slightly riled up revealing bruises on your stomach.

It was a lot worse than he originally realised, and even signed up for. He just wanted to give you anxiety medication. But if he went that far, may aswell go another mile, right?

He ends up coaxing you overtime to come to his room, and slowly stops you from curling around him, or begging him for forgiveness.

He has to keep the majority of his brothers away, which is no problem, since he’s an otaku.

You finally ease up to him overtime, and feel a bit more comfortable, enough to speak in full sentences around him. He finds it as a sort of progress, and each time you end up bleeding or hurting yourself, he applies medicine and helps you calm your nerves.

He swears to summon Lotan on your parents, though.

Satan

He could easily tell something was up with you. Just not to that extent. You wore oversized clothes, never held out your handing, constantly pulling on your sleeves, and didn’t look people in the eye.

He was slightly concerned though after an incident in class. The teacher called on you and you barely whispered out the answer, and even got it wrong. You were crying and sniffling to yourself, and as he was seated behind you he could hear it.

He figured out pretty easily that you were afraid of public speaking, and couldn’t handle interaction really well. He decided to read up on a few human books, because he actually pitied you. You looked like you desperately wanted to speak, but at the same time just couldn’t.

He was finally going to approach you when he saw you behind the house, playing with a cat. You had your sleeves pulled up, and there were many cut marks covering your arm.

When the cat scratched you, you jolted back a bit and proceeded to bite your fingernails, muttering to yourself. Walking closer, he could hear you insulting yourself and saying how even an animal couldn’t like a creature like you.

He watched as you ripped the fingernail out with your teeth, and proceeded to scratch at your neck. He was shocked for a moment before pulling your hand from your neck.

This was much more serious than he initially thought. Here you were muttering nonsense to yourself, and harming yourself, he gets that you have anxiety, but why are you going to this extent to cope?

You freaked out when he grabbed you and thrashed about and started to breathe heavily. He tried to slowly calm you, and tried to show he wasn’t an enemy by telling you to wait there while he gets some bandages.

It takes a long time for you to get used to him, probably months, but he sticks by with you trying to make sure your anxiety doesn’t spike, or that you at least stop cutting yourself.

Asmodeous

He screeched when he saw you.

You were littered in scars. Bandages everywhere. Blood coming down from your thigh. You even had an eyepatch. You were grinning with a knife in hand and walked across the living room, and casually sat down.

You ignored his remarks on you, and began to watch your bodily fluids seep. Asmo was unsure how to react. Did you, do that, to yourself? But how would a small human like you be able to do that to yourself and why would you?

He was scared of you at first, from how easily you swung the knife and other forks or needles, but finally convinced you to come to his room. You figured he would bring you some sort of pain or humiliate you since he’s so beautiful, so you came.

You were wrong.

He forces you to discard your weapons and treats you nicely. It baffles you, as he puts lotion, and medicine on your wounds.

You hissed from initial contact and try to run, but he’s pining you down and forcing you to take care of yourself.

He doesn’t know how you did it, or why, but he is going to fix you. Your body had so many knife marks that it didn’t even look human! How could you do that.

He was angry and determined to fix you, and got to work for three hours despite your struggle. When he was finally done, he gasped. Now that he’s managed to comb your ragged hair, change your clothes, and rub your wounds, you actually look really good.

You were annoyed, you wanted to rip it all off. This wasnt exhilirating, only humiliation was.

He yelled at you when you touched your hair, and began to treat you everyday despite your endless attempts of running away.

He confiscated all your sharp objects, even the knife you hid in a teddy bear, and began to slowly work on making you feel better.

Although you were begrudgingly doing it, it felt nice. To gain the attention of someone around you for once, and not because you were covered in blood.

Beelzebub

You and Beel got along pretty well, but you had a dirty secret. You would cut yourself as a coping mechanism, each time you were stressed or felt worthless.

One day however, you took it too far. You cut much more deeper on accident, being startled when you heard a loud thud downstairs, and slit.

You were freaking out, you had never cut so deep, and there was so much blood. You tried applying paper towels upon paper towels, holding it to a towel, washing it, but there was no end.

You started crying and panicking, because you didn’t actually want to die. You just wanted to cut a bit, not actually die from it.

You could only think of turning to someone for help, but you had no clue who other than Beel. You never wanted to show him or tell him that you cut yourself, but you were so worried about being found dead in your bathroom that you ran to him as fast as you could.

You ran to his room, albeit it was actually like a speed walk as you were trying to hold your arm. You banged loudly and when Beel opened the door, he saw you crying and clutching your hand covered in blood.

He immediately got protective and thought someone had done this to you, but first had to calm you down. He brought you in and disinfected the wound, and started to put a gauze on your wrist. He then wrapped some bandages around semi-tightly, and got you some snacks.

He was about to ask you what happened, but you confessed it to him out of fear. You told him about how you cut- and how you took it too far. You didn’t intend to cut so deep, and you were so so scared.

You were slightly hysterical and he had to calm you. He took it in slightly concerned, but didn’t think it was right to yell at you. You seemed to deeply regret it and seemed to be so scared yourself.

He proceeded to take all your knives and weapons, and spent even more time with you. He would never let you cut around him, and if you did, he would immediately cuddle you and refuse to allow you to harm yourself again.

He felt really sad he didn’t notice sooner, but was slightly happy you came to him first and are slowly recovering with his help.

Belphegor

The first time you died you didn’t even attempt to dodge him, you just accepted your fate. Too bad you weren’t actually dead, you thought.

After the whole ordeal, Belphie apologises to you and you were just so nonchalant saying you didn’t mind, and you already have a bunch of wounds so one more wouldn’t hurt.

He sees you lifting your shirt up to show him your cut marks, and he’s just like ??? Is there something wrong with you. He feels bad for trying to kill you now.

You weren’t supposed to accept death, right? Humans are beyond strange. He knows he doesn’t have the right to tell you not to hurt yourself when he literally just tried to kill you, but he wasn’t going to just let you die. Again.

He’s very awkward approaching it. On one hand he doesn’t know you, and on the other he doesn’t want you to hurt yourself. And why aren’t any of his brothers saying anything?

His brothers are casual about it too at this point, because they can’t stop you. Even when they try, you still go back to your old habits. Slightly pisses him off.

He pulls you into his arms when he goes to sleep, and makes sure you don’t have access to your weapons. He holds you just tight enough so you can’t escape him to do who knows what.

You progressively start to lose interest in harming yourself. You only did it for the feeling, and out of habit, but Belphie is constantly sleeping and dragging you into bed with him, so you’re unable to do it.

He will never directly admit that he wanted to stop you from cutting, though. Still upset at himself for trying to kill you.

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #obey me hc #obey me headcanon

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background-noise-headache · 4 years

Text

Hurt the Bard, but like, Emotionally/Non-lethally

Um, terribly painful Jaskier-whump idea. (This has some Geraskier elements in it, but in a pre-relationship, developing friendship way, featuring a lot of Geralt openly caring for Jaskier because that’s my head canon, Geralt speaks with actions and his eyes, not his words.

I know the fandom likes to play with the idea of Jaskier’s parents being distant or abusive or neglectful. Which I do enjoy, but I vibe more with the idea that Jaskier had very supportive parents and that’s why he’s so confident and open and affectionate.

So, this: The court mage’s apprentice is bitter and angry seeing all this love that annoying brat (only a few years younger than him) gets. The jealousy is eating at him. Jaskier goes to Oxenfurt then sets out on his own to become a bard with the encouragement of his parents even if it’s not what’s expected of a viscount.

Somewhere between when Jaskier meets Geralt to the djinn incident (I imagine after Cintra) Jaskier is home for a while, telling his family about his adventures and being showered in love and sharing that love back with them, he’s missed them so much.

The apprentice is now the court mage and that anger has never gone away, just been buried and smothered because dude does not have the best coping mechanisms, no one ever taught him any. Asshole decides to cast a curse on Jaskier:

“Every kind word will cause you pain and make you rot on the inside, but no one will see the pain they cause you. It won’t kill you physically, but you’ll swear you’re dying. Every kind word, every compliment, will make you rot until the only relief and joy you get is when someone insults you. You’ll beg for them to hate you, beg for them to spit in your face.”

By the next day it’s clear how effective the curse is.

(Okay, trigger warning for body horror, skin issues, medical wounds. This is honestly me coping with a terrible nightmare I had a few years back that I never completely got over and sometimes I need to talk about it. So, bear with me, or skip to my line of astrisks)

(You know what, additional trigger warnings for toxic relationships and emotional abuse between Jaskier an characters only mentioned in the show but never seen. You know the ones)

By rot, I mean that when Jaskier looks at his skin it looks like it’s bruising, and then cracking, bleeding, pealing away. It’s molting and pussy and awful (that is specifically what it looked like in my dream, the skin on my left arm was molting.) But nobody fricken sees it! Jaskier can point to the wounds, groan in pain, nobody sees the cause. It’s not actually there, it’s technically in his head because that’s what the curse does, it won’t kill him, just rot him.

So immediately Jaskier realizes he has to leave home because every time he sees his parents and his siblings and his neices and nephews they’re excited and happy and loving. They’re quick to realize something’s wrong, but Jaskier knows they can’t see the way his skin is turning. He leaves without saying goodbye because he can’t explain.

He travels, avoids his friends and familiar places where he’s known. But when he performs his audience will tell him how wonderful his songs were and patrons will flirt and it’s all pain. It’s less painful to avoid performing, but harder to survive without it. But he can’t always bear the pain, it’s just too much sometimes.

He runs into an old classmate. He and Valdo were never close, several years apart in age. They chat, they flirt, they go to bed together. Valdo is sparing with his compliments, and very observant. Because Jaskier gets irritable with pain and too many nice words makes him lash out, but insults stir a fire in his eyes that Valdo enjoys. He thinks he knows what Jaskier really wants. He’s not sure how he feels about it, but Valdo can’t remember the last time he had a fling so interesting and contradictory.

They travel for a while. Jaskier becomes a backup for Valdo’s performances, getting a share of the coin to get by and minimal attention. It’s better this way, he tells himself.

One drunken night he tells Valdo about the curse. To Valdo it makes too much sense and it’s so tragic and the tragedy makes it more romantic. The relationship is downhill from there as Jaskier realizes the kind of situation he’s gotten himself into and how he’s becoming dependent on Valdo’s cruelty, and how much crueler it feels if Valdo says something nice.

He leaves.

He meets the Countess. She flirts with insults and thrives making people feel lower than her. She pays him a lot of money to play for her and takes him to bed and rarely has a kind word and if he avoids drinking too much he’ll never fall into the same trap he did with Valdo.

And then a song begins circulating about a poor bard cursed to long for pain and cruelty, who will never know love again. Which fucking hurts worse than any of this shit before, the message that he’ll never be loved again burns.

The Countess grows bored and kicks him out. He travels for a few weeks, to tired and burnt out to perform and goes through his money fast. He also had jack-all in the way of travel supplies, not even a bedroll, so it’s a rough few weeks after he can no longer afford a bed under a roof.

And then he meets Geralt on the bank of the Pontar. Gods it’s nice to focus on someone else’s problems for a moment. And then the fillingless pie comment, and it’s the first time in a Gods-know-how-long time that he finds no relief in the insult, only annoyance. And that old habit of bickering with Geralt kicks in because even if it’s been a few years they’re still friends.

(Yes, they’re friends. I head canon that Geralt says they’re not friends 1. because he has obvious abandonment issues and self loathing problems, as the fandom well knows, and 2. every time he says he and Jaskier aren’t friends, Jaskier insists they are with more and more evidence to prove it and it makes Geralt feel warm and fuzzy. Eventually they had that conversation and Jaskier knows what Geralt actually means/wants to hear when he says they’re not friends)

(also Geralt has been plagued with insomnia for weeks or months on end, and I’m telling you, you would be cranky too. Not getting enough sleep gives me migraines, worsens my snow vision, makes my ADHD worse, and makes me irritable. That’s why Geralt is so grumpy on the river bank)

So for a few minutes he forgets about the curse and the festering rot on his skin. And then the djinn, and he’d really like to get back at the two people that have hurt him the most recently, and then break this stupid fucking curse already.

No such luck.

And after all the djinn nonsense, Yen makes the offhanded comment, “Where’s your cursed bard run off to.”

“He shouldn’t be cursed any more.”

“Oh no, he was cursed long before the djinn.”

“Why didn’t you tell me!”

“I didn’t see it until you left.”

“And you didn’t break it?”

“It wasn’t killing him. The djinn was. One problem at a time. The djinn needed to be solved before this curse.”

So, yeah, Yennefer and Geralt find Jaskier outside and they have a long talk about it. Yen needs a day to prepare for breaking the curse because she’s already used a lot of chaos today and she needs rest. (And those two idiots need to talk, she can see it and it’s giving her a migraine she needs to sleep off)

Jaskier tells Geralt about the last year or so of his life. It’s fucking shit.

The curse is broken. There’s no sign of rot on Jaskier’s skin, no pain when anyone says something kind, like “we are friends” and “I missed you” which is a relief.

But the emotional changes won’t go away overnight. Jaskier responds to kindness with hostility and takes insults in silence. And Geralt isn’t doing well watching someone he cares about act... act like Geralt. Self-hating and believing they need cruelty to be normal. And there’s no traveling therapist either. So they’re doing the best they can. But it’s a rough few years as Jaskier unlearns all that shit.

It kind of convinces Geralt to get his head a little more out of his ass and stop hating himself so much, realizing how painful it must be for Jaskier and his brothers and Vesemir and Yennefer to watch.

The mountain is just a really awful few days. Jaskier takes Geralt’s lashing with minimal resistance. A comment that it’s not fair is a vast improvement from 5-6 years ago, but nothing like his younger self would have responded, all puffed up dramatics until Geralt realized how ridiculous he was being.

Geralt and Jaskier have an awkward, stunted few days hiking down the mountain, during which Jaskier decides he needs to go to the coast and sort himself out. He’ll see Geralt next spring.

He goes home and spends that autumn with his family. It’s the most healing three months he’s ever had. The mage has long since left, and Jaskier’s not sure he’ll ever get that closure, but he’ll take what healing he can get now. He’s more like his old self than he’s ever been since the curse broke.

And then Geralt shows up on the edge of winter, limping with an exhausted child surprise and a wounded sorceress by his side. Jaskier gives them shelter for a few nights but they can’t stay, they’ll in danger as long as they’re stuck down south.

The night before they leave, Geralt and Jaskier talk, clear the air. Geralt asks if Jaskier is happy. He is. So Geralt decides not to ask Jaskier to join him. Yennefer is the one to ask, because fuck that idiotic bullshit and Ciri already knows him from a few winters spent at Cintra and adores him, and he’s already great with kids, a skill Yennefer and Geralt can’t claim yet.

Jaskier’s family supports him, of course they do. He promises to return home soon.

* * *

So like, I was going to pose this as a writing prompt and offer it to anyone who wants to write it. I didn’t intend to develop it so much, but getting it out of my system helped a lot. I needed to get all those ideas out.

If it speaks to you, feel free to run with it, but please include a link to this original post or mentioned me. My ao3 is Shadowmightwrite17

(yeah, tbh, that nightmare still haunts me. I told my parents about it immediately, but I didn’t open up about it to anyone until last summer when I told my best friend about it. I was like, “did I ever tell you about that one nightmare I had where my skin was molting off my arm?” and he was like, “no. no you did not. wtf” But there was also a thing last week when I read a vaguely body-horror sentence in a Witcher fanfic about something moving under your skin and I remembered again, so like, I needed to talk about it somehow)

#jaskier #dandelion #geraskier #the witcher #geraskier fanfiction #fanfiction #my fanfic #it's past midnight I should be sleeping #i'm too tired to edit this so sorry for that

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tsarisfanfiction · 5 years

Text

Wax and Feathers

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rated: Gen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Gordon, Virgil, John, Tracy family

Sometimes limits need to be broken. But a limit is there for a reason, and breaking them has consequences. Episode tag for 3.20 "Icarus"

It was fact that everything had a limit. No matter who, or what, there came a point when they just couldn't push any further. This was even true for International Rescue.

Scott liked to pretend it wasn't. Acknowledging limits felt like giving up, but when Thunderbird Two went underwater, or into space, and barely survived the experiences, or Five's immensely strong structure cracked under too much gravity, those limits almost took the lives of his brothers. So, as much as he hated them, he couldn't quite ignore the fact that limits existed.

Thunderbird One was the fastest aircraft in existence. The idea that speed could ever be an issue for her was ludicrous. Her full capability was rarely exercised, unnecessary in all but the direst conditions and, as John was fond of saying, everything Brains designed had a huge safety margin. Even her limit wasn't really her limit; Scott had never tried to push her more out of respect for his father's impressive record than anything else. He didn't want to know if he could beat it. Not without his Dad watching, anyway.

Something was wrong. Experienced pilot, more or less one with his Thunderbird from so many flight hours together, Scott knew the moment he engaged the VTOL to leave the air show and head for home that Thunderbird One wasn't going to make it back without considerable skill and a healthy dose of luck. The noise of her engines was just off kilter to usual, a change that he could feel more than hear it was so subtle.

Subtle, but there. The controls weren't one with him. For the first time in a long time, Scott actually had to dedicate conscious thought to them, counting carefully the beats before the next shift to account for the airspeed. Ever his Thunderbird, One worked as closely with him as she could, responding to his touches, but it was impossible to fall into her usual rhythm.

"Scott?"

He ignored the hologram of his brother appearing in his line of vision, focusing on the readouts flickering up instead and not even daring to spare the time to swipe the floating image away.

"Scott!"

Mach 1.3 seemed to be the sweet spot, Thunderbird One purring along almost as though nothing was wrong, but it was tough to keep her at exactly that speed without autopilot – and with something seriously wrong somewhere in her engines, Scott refused to trust autopilot.

"Thunderbird One, respond!"

John barked in that tone that meant answer me or I'll take control of your Thunderbird. Anyone else taking control of One right now would be disaster. Scott responded.

"What?"

Short, curt. Uncharacteristically so, even for him at his most stressed.

"Thunderbird One's flight pattern is erratic. Are you okay?" His brother sounded worried. Scott didn't have the concentration to spare on reassuring him.

"Fine."

"You don't sound fine."

Scott ignored him as Thunderbird One shuddered. Whatever was wrong in her engine wasn't fixing itself, and instead seemed to be worsening steadily. He was still several hundred miles from base.

Gritting his teeth, he slowed to sub-sonic flight. At least now if she crashed, he had a chance of walking away from it.

"Scott what's going on?" Virgil's hologram appeared beside John's. Gordon quickly flickered into life to complete the trio of concerned looks. "Why have you dropped speed? Did something happen?"

"We're ahead of you, slow poke," Gordon chimed in. "Feel like doing the dishes for once?"

"Gordon!" Virgil snapped. "Scott, speed up or I'm turning around."

He opened his mouth to protest, instinct rebelling at the notion of his brothers coming back to help him, before common sense prevailed. Thunderbird One was deteriorating too quickly. Either he landed her now, while he was over land, or he would get an unwelcome swim somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.

Thunderbird One had hit her limit. She wouldn't make it back.

"John," he said. "Somewhere remote I can land. Now."

"Scott?" Virgil asked, but John's F.A.B cut across him. Scott gritted his teeth as Thunderbird One juddered again, more fiercely this time. Alarms began to wail, belatedly telling him something was wrong with his 'bird.

"Scott, what's going on?" Virgil demanded.

John was still silent, hopefully calculating somewhere he could land with minimal damage and audience.

"I don't know," he lied. "Some sort of engine trouble."

He knew exactly what had happened. Thunderbird One's operating limit was Mach 19. Her top speed was Mach 20. In pursuing Icarus, he'd pushed her past Mach 21.

His brothers thought he'd stuck to Mach 19, closed in using Kayo's flight path, and not sped up past that until he'd hooked Icarus, at which point he was being effectively towed so the only strain was on the tow cable.

At their comparative speeds, the sudden strain from a craft going Mach 19 latching onto a craft reaching Mach 22 would have torn both ships apart. A difference of Mach 3 was no small feat. In order to keep both intact – and consequently both pilots alive – Thunderbird One had had to attempt to match speed. It hadn't gone perfectly, still enough of a difference that the ships had threatened to tear apart, but he'd caught her and slowed Icarus down at least for a while.

"Sending co-ordinates now," John told him, and Scott glanced up at the new destination as they flashed up, making the adjustments to his course. Dimly, he could hear the lower roar of Two's engines over the sound of One's struggling and despite himself relaxed slightly. The sound of a Thunderbird really was the sweetest thing to hear when in trouble.

It was not his best landing, not by a long shot. He tried to set her down gently, feather-light as usual, but the various small shifts in the engine power required to land a supersonic jet proved to be the final straw for his poor, damaged 'bird. With a concerning snap from somewhere behind him, the engines cut out entirely just before the landing struts engaged and she ploughed, nose-first, into the dirt.

"Scott!" a chorus of brothers' voices sounded, and he groaned, straightening up and bringing a hand to his head. No whiplash, hopefully no concussion either he self-diagnosed as he pushed the restraints up and rolled his shoulders. There was sure to be some bruising from that, but nothing worse.

"Thunderbird One, respond!" John snapped as One shuddered in the familiar way that meant her sister was landing right next to her.

"Scott!" Gordon's voice sounded through the comms in stereo with a faint noise from outside One.

"I'm okay," he told them both, fumbling for the emergency override and opening the cockpit. Gordon leapt in before he could get out, pushing him back into his seat.

"We're gonna be the judges of that," his younger brother told him. "Seriously, what the hell happened?" Scott suffered through the brief medical exam, lengthened by the arrival of Virgil who promptly took over from Gordon and did it all again. It spoke volumes of how worried they were that Gordon didn't protest that he'd done it already.

"She couldn't quite hold long enough," Scott admitted. "Something in her engine's broken." He tried to stand, itching to go and see the damage for himself, but his brothers stopped him.

"I'll check the damage," Virgil said, stepping back. "You and that concussion of yours are staying right there until I get back."

"What concussion?" Scott demanded, then flinched as Gordon's gloved hand brushed against the back of his head.

"That one," his blond brother told him. "Why didn't you put your helmet on?"

"Wasn't time," he defended himself. Gordon raised an eyebrow.

"If I could get mine on with a volcano landing on top of me, you could have got yours on when you knew there was a problem." Scott flinched, mind flickering back to the nightmarish sight of the crumpled Thunderbird Four and her limp aquanaut as Penelope pulled him out of the wreckage.

There went any chance of sleep tonight.

He was saved from having to reply by Virgil's reappearance. The dark-haired Tracy looked grim.

"She's not flying anywhere," he declared bluntly. "Her main engine core's completely burnt out. Two'll have to carry her back." Scott had feared as such.

"But Two's already got a full load," Gordon pointed out. "She can't carry One and Four at the same time."

"I'll just have to drop Four off then come back," Virgil sighed. "Gordon, wait here with Scott. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. I won't be long."

"F.A.B."

Scott bristled at the implication he might try and get her airborne again. He wanted her home in one piece, and he knew the only way that would happen was by the grace of Virgil and Two now.

The behemoth in question lifted away from the ground slowly, only to engage her thrusters to full as soon as she was fully in the air and disappear off in the blink of an eye. It was easy to forget that although she was sluggish compared to One, Two was still an incredibly fast craft. And Virgil wasn't hanging around.

He went to stand up again, and growled at Gordon as his younger brother put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"You've got a concussion, Scott," the aquanaut reminded him.

"So you've said," he retorted. "But concussion or not, I'm getting out of this chair and seeing the damage for myself so get out of the way."

Gordon did not get out of the way. But he did, after a moment, remove the hand from his shoulder and offer it instead. Scott tried to deny that he appreciated the help as the interior of his beloved ship swam slightly before his eyes.

"You'll be riding back in Two anyway," the blond menace shrugged. Scott ignored him as he stumbled his way down through the fuselage to the main engine. The internal access panel was still open from Virgil's investigation, and immediately he could see why Virgil hadn't been gone long.

Burnt out was a rather understated way to describe the charred lump of metal that had once housed the engine core, and his engineer brother hadn't even bothered to mention the relay. It was sheered clean in half – clearly the snap he'd heard as his 'bird had fallen the last few metres from the sky. No doubt her other engines were in a similar condition.

Virgil was right. There was no way Thunderbird One would be able to get back in the air under her own power.

"Brains is going to kill me," he groaned, pressing a hand to his face.

"Join the club, bro," Gordon chimed in, before giving off a low whistle. "Woah, how the hell did that even happen?" Scott shrugged, unwilling to admit that Thunderbird One had gone too fast.

"Scott," John buzzed in from his comms channel. "I just reviewed Thunderbird One's flight telemetry. What were you doing at Mach 21.7?"

"Catching a plane," he said, overriding Gordon's yelp of "Mach what?

"No wonder her engines are fried!" the aquanaut continued. "Thunderbird One's top speed is Mach 19. Nine. Teen."

"Technically that's her operating limit," Scott corrected. "Her top speed is Mach 20."

"Mach twenty one, Scott. Twenty one is higher than twenty. My point still stands."

"Point seven," John corrected Gordon. "He reached Mach twenty one point seven."

"That's even worse!" Gordon cried dramatically, hands in his hair. "What even possessed you to do that?"

"We had to catch the Icarus," Scott reminded him, even though his gut churned as he remembered that despite pushing Thunderbird One into this state, he'd still failed. The success story had been the combination of Two and Three. Wrecking his Thunderbird with nothing to even show for it gnawed at his mind unpleasantly.

He heard Gordon sigh and a hand returned to his shoulder.

"Come on, let's go outside."

He didn't move, staring into the depths of his 'bird and the carnage of her engines. She was going to be grounded for weeks with that much damage while Brains repaired her.

But Brains was working on the T-Drive engine.

He sank down to the floor, one hand blindly reaching out to trace the cool metal of her hull as he did so.

Brains would have to stop working on the T-Drive to repair her. They didn't have time for petty delays yet he'd gone and wrecked his Thunderbird without even a success story to excuse the damage and subsequently put a huge dent in their too tight time frame.

Unless he told Brains to leave her, keep Thunderbird One crippled until the Zero-X was complete and Dad was home. But International Rescue needed her.

The Zero-X or Thunderbird One.

Unbidden, bile built up in his throat, catching him off guard as he retched.

"Geez, Scott." Gordon's voice was softer now, and his hands were gentle even as they hauled him to his feet. "That concussion's not happy with you, is it? Let's get you outside." Drained, too burdened by the realisation that he would have to choose between two equally important craft to have any fight left, Scott let himself be led out of his 'bird's cargo bay door.

Gordon guided him to her nose cone, splattered with dirt and streaks of silver cutting through the red where the impact had damaged it, and coaxed him into sitting on the ground with his back leaning against his downed Thunderbird.

"Stay there," he said before disappearing back inside One. Scott watched him go, looking down the long silver fuselage of the plane to the blue stripe around her engines. From the outside, there was no sign of the wreckage. A slightly scratched nose cone and the lack of her landing gear out were the only signs that she hadn't simply landed there.

"Here." Gordon reappeared seconds after vanishing, holding something that glinted in the sun in his hands. "You're trembling," his younger brother explained as the foil blanket wrapped around him. "Nothing to be done about the concussion, though." He sat down next to him, slinging an arm around Scott's shoulders lightly. "She'll be okay. Brains'll fix her up, better than new."

"Brains is working on the T-Drive engine," Scott reminded him. "He doesn't have time to fix her."

"Then we'll fix her," Gordon said matter-of-factly. "You, me, Virgil, Alan. Well, mainly Virgil. Just like we fixed Two up after her little swimming adventures."

Thunderbird Two's damage had been nowhere near as severe as this.

"It'll be okay, Scott," his brother continued. The arm around his shoulders tightened slightly. "We'll save him."

That was his line, to be recited to younger brothers whenever they needed it. Not for them to recite back to him.

It was comforting to hear.

"Yeah," he said as the roar of Two's engines came into earshot, the green behemoth appearing as quickly as she'd vanished. "We will."

"Budge over," Virgil ordered, their comms crackling back to life in unison and with no ceremony. "I'm going to land on top of her and I don't feel like explaining to Grandma why two of my brothers are fried worse than her cooking."

"I'd pay to see you tell her her cooking is bad to her face," Gordon retorted, but he was already on his feet and pulling Scott up with him. Together they backed up, Scott knowing exactly how far was safe and reluctant to get any further from Thunderbird One than required. Gordon pulled him back a little more.

"You couldn't afford it," Virgil scoffed as he positioned his 'bird over her sister. Without a module, she looked flimsier than usual, even though Scott knew she could lift greater weight without one. "Why is Scott in a foil blanket?"

"You said to make sure he didn't do anything stupid," Gordon chirped, a huge grin on his face. "So I make sure he couldn't."

"Resourceful," Virgil commented approvingly. Scott scowled, even though he knew Gordon was lying – or at least, partially lying. He wouldn't put it past his prankster brother to have had multiple reasons for bringing out the blanket. Two's landing struts deployed to their full extent and Scott watched with rigid shoulders as they came down either side of his 'bird, the rear pair barely missing her extended wings.

Thunderbird Two wasn't strictly designed to land on her fully-extended struts, but Virgil made it look easy as she settled daintily over her sister. The grapples fired down and Gordon ran over to secure them. Contained in foil, Scott could do nothing but watch as his younger brothers secured the two craft together. It looked terrifyingly flimsy, four relatively thin cables trailing down from the walls of Thunderbird Two's module bay the only links, but Scott knew that it would hold. Brains put safety first, and in a gift of forethought and paranoia had installed specific places on Thunderbird One's hull for just such an eventuality. She was far better secured to her sister than any other craft could ever be.

Once all three brothers were satisfied, Scott unable to resist joining Gordon if only to instruct ("I know, Scott!"), Thunderbird Two's platform lowered. Mild concussion or not, Scott refused to be treated as a rescuee and won the argument over whether or not he could grapple up to the platform by himself. That didn't stop Virgil from manhandling him into the nearest seat – usually Alan's, directly behind the pilot – while Gordon slid triumphantly into the co-pilot's seat, which was technically Scott's right as commander, but his brothers were clearly having none of it.

"You sit back and call Tracy Island," Virgil told him when he tried to resist. "Kayo's having kittens about what could have brought One down under her watch and Alan's not much better. Now shut up and let me get your 'bird home in one piece."

Scott scowled, fighting his way out of the foil blanket before tapping his comm unit. Beneath him, Two's powerful VTOLs roared into life, straining for a moment before they began to gain altitude.

"Scott!" Alan's voice burst out of his communicator, the small hologram appearing above his wrist. "Are you okay? What happened? Did you crash? Virgil didn't say much."

"I'm fine, Alan," he cut in, silencing his youngest brother's babble. "One's engines gave out, that's all."

"What happened, Scott Tracy." Kayo flickered into view, pushing Alan aside as she scowled at him, eyes sparking dangerously. "Thunderbird One performed just fine during the air show, and no-one unauthorised got near her at any point."

Scott gritted his teeth for a moment before letting out a sigh. His head throbbed and his shoulders ached – reminders that no matter how lucky he'd been, it had still been a crash landing.

"It's nothing to worry about," he told her, conscious that Virgil was listening in from the seat in front of him. Gordon was tapping his own flight controls, already aware of the cause thanks to John earlier and hopefully on standby to prevent any erratic flying from Virgil. Kayo opened her mouth, clearly about to protest that it was clearly something to worry about if it could take a Thunderbird out of the sky straight after a public event. "Catching the Icarus just put too much strain on the engines."

"Mach 19 should not have strained Thunderbird One's engines like that," Kayo disagreed. Scott winced, and her hologram's eyes narrowed. "Scott?"

"Mach 21.7," Gordon interrupted, and Scott shot him a glare as Thunderbird Two dipped slightly. His brother had firm hold of Two's flight controls, which was fortunate as Virgil whipped around to stare at Scott incredulously.

"Excuse me?" Kayo asked, taken aback. "Thunderbird One's operational limit is Mach 19. Even taking into consideration Brains' safety limits, she can't exceed Mach 20."

Control of the conversation was slipping away – if he'd ever had it – and Scott wanted it back.

"Well she did," he snapped.

"And murdered her own engines in the process," Virgil retorted, regaining flight control from Gordon. "Good job."

"But you're okay, right?" Alan piped up again, shoving Kayo back out of view. Blue eyes, washed out slightly in hologram form, looked up at him in concern, and Scott softened.

"I'm okay, little brother."

Alan's worried look gave way to one of relief, and Scott was content to sit back and let him talk, revisiting his part of the rescue – the successful bit, his brain muttered mutinously – and all the fun he had at the show when they weren't saving Professor Kwark. Virgil kept sending him disapproving looks over his shoulder, which he studiously ignored.

"Tracy Island, this is Thunderbird Two." Virgil cut through Alan's retelling of how he swept up Professor Kwark from the remains of the Icarus for the fifth time. "On final approach now. Alan, Kayo, get ready."

"F.A.B."

Scott's communicator blinked out.

He looked out of the window to see their home looming in the distance, growing by the moment. Two's palm trees were folded back already, a blob of green sitting on the runway. Gordon made a strangled noise of protest.

"Did you just dump Four?" he demanded of Virgil, who raised an eyebrow at him.

"Two can't enter or leave her hanger without a module," he reminded him. "That's where her wheels are."

"Point," Gordon conceded with a shrug.

"Now go get ready to unhook One," Virgil ordered, and with a cheeky salute Gordon headed to the rear of the cockpit. "Scott, you are not leaving that seat until Two is back in her hanger."

"She's my 'bird," Scott retorted, standing up. Gordon pushed him back down and before he knew it the foil blanket had been wrapped back around him and the safety belt fastened over the top of it. "Gordon!"

"Concussions don't go away that fast, bro. Don't worry, I'll take care of your 'bird." Scott groaned and let his head fall back, wincing as the headrest made contact with the source of his headache.

"Good thinking with that blanket," Virgil told Gordon. "We should use it more often."

"You should not," Scott snapped, but went ignored as Virgil turned his attention back to their approach and Gordon got ready to rappel out of the hatch.

Two pods trailed out of Two's hangar, set up as landing gear cradles. Scott watched them vanish underneath Two's bulk and a moment later Virgil opened the hatch for Gordon to disappear out of.

The operation began. Scott listened as his three brothers and Kayo co-ordinated the two pods and Thunderbird Two to get One nestled safely on the landing gear and had to bite his lip to prevent himself cutting in. Unable to even see the holographic display Virgil was referencing clearly, he was stuck waiting, and dwelling.

Scott did not do waiting or dwelling well. Never had done, and now so much was weighing down on him at once, it was even worse. Gordon's words had helped, but they couldn't clear all of the worries away. He'd been useless – worse than useless, now an actual detriment to International Rescue – in trying to save Professor Kwark, and now he was useless in even getting his crippled Thunderbird home.

What was he even doing?

Two's engines increased their thrust, pushing the behemoth back into the sky. Below, the two pods carefully manoeuvred back into the hanger, carrying Thunderbird One.

"Still with us, Scott?" Virgil asked as he brought his 'bird down over module four, finally bringing Gordon's beloved sub into the hangar.

"Yeah," Scott grunted, watching as Thunderbird Two finally came to a halt. "I'm fine."

"No you're not," Virgil corrected him, flicking through post-flight checks rapidly. "Your Thunderbird fell out of the sky and you have a concussion. You're not fine, Scott, and none of us expect you to be."

"I'm fine," he snapped.

Virgil sighed heavily and stood up, smoothly stepping around his chair to stand in front of him.

"Come on, big brother," he huffed, releasing the safety belt. "Let's get you in the house."

They were all waiting for him when the platform lowered, Virgil's arm firmly around his shoulders and keeping the foil blanket in place despite his efforts to dislodge it. Alan barely waited for him to step off of it before tackling him into a hug, while Gordon sauntered over at a more leisurely pace to slip his arm around his shoulders from the opposite side to Virgil. Kayo's arms remained firmly crossed but her eyes were soft, and even John was there, standing next to Brains and looking as though he'd come Earthside in a hurry. Grandma wrapped her arms around as many of them as she could reach.

"What-" he started, wondering what had prompted the sudden family gathering in Two's hangar.

"Don't you scare us like that, young man," Grandma overrode him briskly, squeezing tighter before letting them go. "Now, let's get you upstairs."

"I-I'll get started o-on the repairs," Brains excused himself, and Scott's mouth fell open.

"What?" he demanded. "But the T-Drive-"

"Dad wouldn't want us to prioritise him over International Rescue," John overrode him quietly. "Thunderbird One takes priority. You know this, Scott."

He grit his teeth, wishing he could refute what his brother was saying, but John had the annoying habit of always being right.

"EOS and I will continue calculations for the T-Drive," John continued. "This isn't a setback, Scott."

"It shouldn't have happened at all," Scott spat. "It didn't even help."

"Stop talking nonsense," Grandma scolded, hands on her hips as steely eyes glared up at him. "You might not have saved her by yourself, but that isn't Thunderbird One's role. Thunderbird One brings hope, and you, young man, brought the Professor hope that she would be saved. Don't you forget it."

She reached out and rested a hand on his cheek, breaking into a smile.

"Besides, your father would be delighted that you broke his record."

#Thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #episode tag #scott tracy #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #john tracy #alan tracy #kayo kyrano #grandma tracy #brains #crash landing #tsari writes fanfiction #wax and feathers #thunderangst #thunderwhump #thunderfluff

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blog-sliverofjade · 4 years

Text

Of Doms & Subs 9: Rock and a Hard Place

Pairing: Angus Hopper x OFC

Summary: What’s a submissive female to do when she fights her nature and goes on the run as a Lone wolf to avoid being assimilated into a pack?

Word count: 1905

Of Doms & Subs Master List

Getting slammed by four hundred pounds, give or take, is painful no matter who you are. Being caught between this freight train of flesh and a stone wall, such as the one surrounding the grill setup, is taking the term “between a rock and a hard place” to its most agonizing extremes. Once the tweety birds spiraling my head dissipated, Alan and Mickayla filled my gradually returning vision. Angus stalked off to go bash some heads together, judging by his face.

“Anybody get the number o’ that Mac truck?” I groaned, my accent thick from the pain that was already setting in. Where’s shock when you could really use it?

“Can’t be too bad if she’s making bad jokes,” Mickayla said to Alan. Then to distract me from his poking and prodding, she said with a roll of her eyes towards where I assumed Ian and Gordon were. “They’re just like teenage boys when they’re trying to show off.”

“There’re easier ways o’ getting’ my attention. ‘Hey, you’ works fine.” I hissed through clenched teeth when Alan inspected my shoulder. “Dislocated, probably torn rotator.”

“Amongst other things,” he agreed mildly as he did something that should have been a violation of the Geneva Convention. “Couple of cracked ribs, mild concussion. Ever dislocated anything before?”

“Nope, but’s gonna hurt like a mother.”

Alan nodded to Mickayla and before I could react, they set the joint back in place with a sickening crunch. The world swam in a nauseous haze, but I didn’t pass out. Woo!

“Lemme know when I can return the favour,” I groaned. “In spades.”

“The rotator’ll heal on its own in about a week. Compared to months for a human.” Let’s hear it for regeneration. “But your scapula’s split, and even if your joint’s set, your shoulder’s still messed up.”

“That the medical term, doc?”

“Recovery will still take weeks. If you shift, you’ll heal faster.”

“No.” I shook my head too fast and the world wobbled.

“Tell me, is this normal?” Alan carefully lifted my right, injured arm. Around the blinding agony I dimly hard disturbing sounds that should be coming from a cereal bowl instead of a person.

“Fuck all ya’ll,” I panted when I could breathe again.

“No thanks,” he said blandly. “Cute as you are, I don’t want to fight the others over you. The longer you take to shift, the more you’ll heal wrong.” We both knew that improperly healed rotator cuffs are a bitch and can take a year or more of PT to correct. That’s not even taking into account complications from broken bones knitting without being set right. Logic and experience said that he was right. The only problem was that the wolf wanted to come out and play too much. And there were too many humans. Pain and panic, exacerbated by the wolf coming to the fore, paralyzed me till I could only shake my head faintly.

“Don’t make me use the Dommy voice,” Mickayla said sternly. I opened my eyes to let her see the fear that chilled me. Or maybe that was finally shock. Could werewolves go into shock?

A pair of familiar suede loafers stood at the edge of my vision. A moment later Angus crouched to fill my field of vision, which was threatening to narrow again. “Ellie, stop this nonsense and shift.” There was no power other than the natural force of his personality, but the order allowed me to stop worrying. His casual tone of authority reminded me that they would keep me from gorging on a human buffet instead of potato salad and burgers.

“Come on, you don’t need an audience for this.” Mickayla moved to help me up. Angus beat her to it, scooping me up in his arms so that my shattered shoulder wasn’t pressed against him. This unnatural strength still took me by surprise. Of all the places, he took me inside the house and downstairs where he set me on the edge of a bed. There were shining metal bars over the narrow windows set high in the wall. Pretty comfy digs for a cage.

“My safeword’s ‘apples’,” I panted as my body settled into its new position with no small amount of complaints.

“Good to know.” The dry bit of humour coming from Angus was so unexpected that I giggled and immediately regretted it when the motion rippled through my battered body. Alan and Mickayla helped me undress while Angus stood over us, a statue of controlled rage. I tried to protest the men’s presence, but was immediately shot down by all three. Resoundingly so.

“Please be gentle, it’s my first time,” I said tightly as they drew off my pants and underwear. You never realize how much you move any part of your body until it’s injured and you try to move it. Once I was naked, that was when I freaked out. “I can’t.”

“Sshh,” Angus said soothingly as he carefully held me against his chest. It was like a warm brick wall, but far more comfortable than the one I’d just been introduced to. My mind and hormones swung back and forth between embarrassment and pleasure at being naked in his arms until I sensed Alan crouching on the bed behind me. Damn, he still had to set the shoulder blade. I didn’t even have time to tense before his deft, quick hands crunched the pieces back into place.

After awhile I realized that Angus was saying my name and stroking my hair. “To shift you have to let the wolf take over. You’ll not likely have control, nor will you be able to change back for several hours. We’re going to have to lock you in so you don’t hurt anyone, or yourself.”

So many things had been spinning out of my control I wasn’t ready to relinquish any of it. But the wolf didn’t care. She wanted to come out and meet Angus and the pack. The instant I seriously thought about passing off the reins she seized the chance. I quickly closed my eyes not only because it hurt like a bitch, even worse than my short lived career as a wrecking ball, but because I couldn’t stand watching my own flesh ripple as muscle and bone crunched and reformed. I almost wondered if letting everything heal relatively slowly wouldn’t have been preferable.

They were making soothing noises and urging me to be quiet at first, then they realized I was cursing under my breath in between soft whimpers and whines. “Son of a mother biscuit eating cracker” made them laugh. You can’t curse in front of patients, even if they’re coding. Instead you get creative with alternatives to four letter words. At some point the torture ended and everything went black.

“What were you thinking?” To an outsider, my voice would be deceptively soft. Ian and Gordon, as did the rest of the pack, knew better. The two males knelt with heads bowed and necks bared. My wolf wanted to rend that soft flesh. They were dirty and still battered from when they were separated with more force than was strictly necessary, but was entirely appropriate. “I’ve known newly Changed wolves with better self-control than what you displayed today. If you had hit Moira instead, she could’ve lost full use of that arm.” They winced as my voice sharpened and cracked across them like a whip.

“Because of your stupidity, Ellie is undergoing her first intentional shift locked in the safe room after everything I’ve done to disprove the half-truths that crazy Lone fed her.” I leaned in close and whispered, “If she chooses to leave because of your idiocy, I’ll take it very personally.” Their already white faces blanched even further before I straightened.

“You will beg Ellie for forgiveness. You are her slaves for the next week. You are not to look her in the eye. I don’t want to see her lift anything heavier than a glass of water. If she asks you to jump, one asks how high and the other holds the hoop. You will wash, dry, iron, fold her laundry, and shine her shoes. You have one week to arrange for repairs to the barbecue. For the rest of the weekend, the two of you are on cooking and dish duties. The pack cars, Ellie’s Jeep, and my car could all use detailing. Oh, and I expect the house and grounds to be spotless by the end of the weekend.” They’d be so busy they wouldn’t have the time nor the energy to lose their heads again. And by working their tails off, everyone would be reminded that this was a warning for anyone else who might do the same.

“If the rest of you find yourselves at the mercy of your instincts, you will take it elsewhere and handle it in the usual fashion. If not, then you are a liability and will be dealt with accordingly.” I glared expectantly at the two boys, who were old enough to know better. They quickly muttered, “Yes, Alpha” before scrambling to their feet and scattering for one of the many tasks given. I desperately wanted to give chase and slaughter them for injuring what was mine.

I gave a brief nod to Tom, who acknowledged with a bow from the neck before herding everyone inside. Once everyone was gone, I stared at the broken bricks and patio stained with Ellie’s blood until Ian and Gordon approached hesitantly with a hose, soap, and stiff bristled brushes. I snarled at them as I strode back towards the house.

Alan was sitting in the armchair outside the safe room. A man with an impossibly large sword faced a dragon on the corner of the paperback he was reading. Only the delusional would fight something like that with a melee weapon. The alleged “hero” would be barbecue before he got close enough to swing that tool of overcompensation.

“Hey.” He set down the book and sat up from his slouch. “Passed out still, but she’ll be fine as long as she doesn’t hurt it again any time soon.”

“Thanks. Go on up. I’ll sit with her.” I scrubbed a hand through my hair and touched my pocket to ensure that my phone was there. Nervous habits that I’d never quite managed to shed.

“Sure thing.” Alan looked like he would offer to stay until he saw my expression. “Too bad they couldn’t spare the brain cells if you knocked their heads together.”

I smiled despite my murderous mood. That was the magic of a submissive, although I never felt calm around Ellie. Frustrated, annoyed, fiercely protective, half-crazed, yes. At peace, no. Then again, she had yet to feel entirely safe or comfortable since the Change.

“Alan.” He paused on the stairs. “Have Ian and Gordon bring down meat and water.”

“Aye, aye.” He’d been spending far too much time with Mickayla.

I settled into the chair and picked up the dog-eared novel he left behind. The main character had barely finished his backstory when Tweedledee and Tweedledumb placed their offerings in the safe room before locking it back up. Ian set a cup of coffee, two cream, on the small table beside me before slinking away. They stank of fear. Good.

The handsome, virile Chosen One had just met the feisty ingénue, who was of course a princess in hiding, when Ellie woke up.

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Texting & Tamarins

Cries of pain, the smell of a sickroom, the blank faces of the attendants, Jane’s cries of frantic agony, the helplessness, the fear-

Joan’s eyes snapped open.

No sickroom, no dying woman. Just her own cabin.

She curled up into a ball and lay there, shivering.

Instinctively, she reached for her phone.

‘R U awake?’

Maggie teased her about using text speak but it was so much simpler when she was in a hurry. Such as now.

The answer pinged back almost immediately: no.

The response made her whole body sink with relief- Maggie was awake, it was all ok- and she was already starting to key in her response when she stopped herself. Maggie had said no, after all. And she HAD- very nicely- asked Joan to try to keep from texting her after midnight, in the interest of good sleep hygiene (or as she had phrased it- ‘I love you but it better be an emergency or I’m not going to have gotten enough sleep to not kill someone’.)

Did this count as an emergency?

True they hadn’t hashed out the finer details….but still, probably not.

She pushed her phone back under her pillow and curled up again.

It was fine. She’d just go to sleep and tell Maggie about the dream in the morning.

Except.

She just couldn’t switch off.

The cabin felt….extra dark, somehow. More sinister. Usually, it was her bolthole from the sometimes chaotic and often crowded rest of the ship. Now though, it felt unfamiliar. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the absolutely ridiculous feeling that there was someone there with her- there, or just outside the door…

She rolled herself into her blankets, which helped for about thirty seconds...but then she felt just as vulnerable as before. Vulnerable- and alone. The fear that there was someone creeping up on her was mixed somehow with the feeling that she was the only one awake on the entire ship, and even though logically she knew that wasn't true, the thought made her feel oddly lonely. She thought of the sleeping ship- and of the bleak empty ocean surrounding them- and her eyes stung with tears.

Rolling onto her stomach, she started to cry very quietly into her pillow, hating herself at the same time for being so pathetic. Even the knowledge that she’d feel like an idiot in the morning didn’t help dissipate the horrible feeling of desolation building in the pit of her stomach.

Alone….all alone….

The quiet knock on the door made her freeze, heart suddenly pounding. Someone was outside, She lay there, too afraid to even breathe, straining her ears- would they try the next door, or would they stick to hers? She was suddenly seized with a terrible fear that she’d forgotten to lock her door behind her- they locked automatically, of course, but what if something had malfunctioned, what if it hadn’t closed properly, what if-

‘Joan?’

It was Maggie.

Relief flooded her at the familiar voice and she scrambled out of bed, stubbing her toe in her hurry to open the door.

As she did, her previous fears felt especially foolish- the corridor was lit as it always was, she could even faintly hear the sounds of other people still moving around.

She surreptitiously brushed her damp face with the sleeve of her pajama top, hoping Maggie wouldn’t notice anything amiss and she’d be able to escape with her dignity (such as it was) intact.

‘Why were you crying?’

No such luck.

‘Um...I wasn’t?’

Maggie raised an eyebrow and Joan felt her resolve crumbling- it was hard to obfuscate with someone as frustratingly blunt and straightforward as Maggie.

‘It’s stupid really, I just had a bit of a bad dream and when I woke up, I kept thinking that there was someone….there with me-’ It was ridiculous that even though she knew herself to be perfectly safe, actually verbalising it all made her throat ache and her eyes sting. ‘-like in the cabin or right outside, and I kept seeing, I kept seeing Jane, I kept seeing her screaming and I could smell the blood….and I was watching her die again….and it-’ A sob tore itself, unbidden, from her throat. ‘It was just really lonely and scary-’

She was pathetic, she knew it- to be whining like a child, after nothing worse than a dream, bothering Maggie no less. She’d been speaking to her bare feet and she was reluctant to even look up and face the guitarist- she didn’t want to see Maggie’s blank inscrutable look, her distinctly-underwhelmed face, the one she showed to audience members who complained, to passers by who passed remarks on her height, to anyone who was dismissive of the importance of the band to the success of the whole show.

She didn’t want to see the unimpressed stare Maggie was surely greeting her teary rambling explanation with- so it was a surprise when instead of being questioned or scolded as she expected, she felt herself being pulled into Maggie’s warm arms.

‘Hey, it’s ok-’ Despite being several inches shorter, Maggie still managed to exude a surprisingly protective feel. Like she would tear the throat out of anyone who tried to get too close. ‘It’s all ok-’

‘I’m sorry-’

‘Don’t apologise, you’re fine-’

She sniffled into the shoulder of Maggie’s hoody, feeling humiliated but also comforted.

‘I’m sorry I woke you up, I know it’s late-’

‘That’s ok, it’s ok.’ Maggie pulled back enough to look her in the eye. ‘I did say you could call me in emergencies.’

‘I don’t think this counts as an emergency…’

Maggie shrugged. ‘Hey, anything that makes you cry on me in a corridor is an emergency in my book, right? I’m glad you texted.’

‘I stopped texting because I felt bad about disturbing you-’

‘Well, I mean you’d already woken me up by that point-’

Fresh tears welled in Joan’s eyes and Maggie squeezed her hand.

‘Joke. Honestly, you could have carried on texting, I wouldn't have minded.’

‘Sorry for getting you out of bed though-’

‘It’s really, really ok-’ Maggie pulled Joan back into her, gently rubbing circles up and down her back. ‘Anyway, you didn’t get me out of bed, I just got….concerned when you didn’t text back so I thought I’d check on you and…..well, I was right!’

Joan gave a watery chuckle at Maggie’s (for her) exaggeratedly self-congratulatory tone and burrowed in closer.

‘Now-’ There was a (small) smile in Maggie’s voice too- it vibrated in her throat where Joan’s face was buried. ‘Let’s get you back to bed and warmed up a bit- you’re shivering-’

Joan wasn’t entirely sure if the tremors were entirely due to the night chill of the corridor or not but she didn’t feel like arguing. The adrenalin of everything was starting to wear off; she stifled a yawn.

Maggie nudged her back towards the half open cabin door. ‘Get your pillow first- I’m done with you stealing mine in the middle of the night like you usually do…. if I go to medical with a stiff neck again, they’re going to think I’ve got an actual problem-’

Pillow in hand, Joan joined Maggie in the corridor again.

Maggie looked at her without speaking.

‘What?’

She kept staring.

‘What?’

Maggie sighed. ‘God, you’re actually going to make me say it, aren’t you? Go get your monkey thing or whatever it is. And there I was trying to be all tactful and shit-’

‘......she’s a tamarin.’

There was no point trying to deny anything, after all; face burning slightly, Joan reentered the cabin with as much poise as she could muster and scooped up the slightly worn creature from where it had fallen to the floor, hiding it behind the pillow in her arms so it wouldn’t be seen in the corridor.

‘You don’t need to be all weird about it-’ Maggie went on as they started down the hall to her cabin. ‘As if I care that you have a stuffed marmoset or whatever- it’s not like you’re the only one-’

Hope flared in her chest. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, Bessie sleeps with a flick knife under her pillow-’

‘That’s….not really the same thing….Also she’s a tamarin….’

‘Meh, flick knife, marmoset. Marmoset, tamarin, Potato, potahto-’

Maggie swiped open the door of her cabin- the faint smell of (strictly forbidden) incense and (even more strictly forbidden) cigarettes enveloped them.

Other cast members had complained about the permanence of the aroma of both contraband items but to Joan, the cabin smelled of safety.

‘Get comfy. And hands off my pillow, remember.’

Maggie pulled back at the covers and motioned for Joan to get in first before climbing in after her. It was a tight squeeze but, with the wall on one side and the warm shape of Maggie next to her, Joan felt safer than she had all night. There was just no way anyone- even the most determined intruder- would be able to get past Maggie.

Maggie’s thoughts were obviously running in the same direction. Clicking off the light, she wrapped an arm around Joan’s stomach and pulled her in close. Her breath tickled the back of her neck.

‘You’re ok now. I’ve got you.’

‘I know.’ She yawned again. Somehow in Maggie’s cabin, the dark and quiet felt soothing rather than threatening. ‘Thanks, Maggie.’

‘You don’t have to say thank you, you know.’

‘I know but-’ She struggled to find the words. ‘You came and you didn’t have to, I woke you and disturbed you, and it wasn’t even for a good reason and-’ She could feel herself getting worked up again.

‘Shhh.’ Maggie pressed closer to her; her hand found Joan’s in the dark and squeezed it gently. ‘It’s ok. Go to sleep. Dream some nice dreams. Dream about tamarins or some shit.’

‘But-’

‘Shhh.’ A kiss was pressed between her shoulder blades. ‘It’s all ok. I love you. Just rest.’ There was a pause. ‘Slight addendum to that- it’s all still ok and I still love you but if you don’t move your monkey thing to your side of the bed, it’s going on the floor-’

‘....it’s a tamarin.’

Joan drifted to sleep to the sound of Maggie’s quiet laughter.

#HHHHHH AAAAAAAAH!!!!#THIS IS THE CUTEST THING EVER #I read this like three times before I could even make notes #I love the attention to how short maggie is andbsnnss #I dont know why but I love the little detail where maggie’s smile appears more in her voice and a vibration in her throat 👌👌#joan stealing maggie’s pillows 🥺 love that #and omg maggie telling joan to grab sunny and not calling her the right name omg omg #I love that so much!!#‘dont be weird about it’ aaah I love the way you write ba maggie so much #nice subtle nod to maggie smoking 👀#it actually really fits her character a lot #THE KISS BETWEEN JOAN’S SHOULDER BLADES SENT ME #and omg maggie’s last comment about the stuffed animal killed me!!#THIS IS SO GOOD!!!!#you wrote them so well!!!#better than I did!#I love this so much thank you for sending it 🥺🥺#submission #not my writing #six breakaway #breakaway joan on the keys #breakaway maggie on the guitar

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nottinghillcounselling · 4 years

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Counseling for Living a More Fulfilled Life | Psychotherapy Shepherds Bush

I know there is a particular stage in life where we all feel low, less confident, unmotivated and want to escape from the situation. About 100 years ago, Albert Einstein shared his ‘theory of happiness’ with the world, stating: “A calm and modest life brings more happiness than the pursuit of success combined with constant restlessness. But many people around us are still looking for the rapture. So here are some points which will help to live the life more fulfilled way:

Treat yourself like a king or queen: - Have you ever beaten yourself up over things that happened in the past? If yes, then you need to stop that as soon as possible, in fact immediately. Just forgive yourself for whatever happened and stop living in the past. Because if you don’t show respect and kindness to yourself, how can you expect someone else? So stop underestimating yourself. How can someone else see how awesome you are if you can’t see it by yourself?

Stop making life so challenging: - Life is elementary. So, why make it thus complicated by overanalyzing it? Stop making every decision so complicated and convoluted. Life isn’t meant to be filled with tension and stress. Just chill out, take a short walk through the park, or have a quiet and relaxing dinner.

Stop others to determine your self-worth and growth: - The problem is when you start comparing your life with others. When you compare yourself to others, you are degrading yourself. The fact is looking at someone else’s life from the outside is the same as looking at a highlight reel. Who knows how long it took them to get to their current position? Don’t compare your life to others.

Learn to enjoy your own company: - Don’t become reliant on other people’s company or feel the need to be in a relationship to feel complete. Being in a relationship needs to come from want, not an obligation. Embrace the notion of being your own best friend. Learn the 10 Things That Happen When You Start to Enjoy Being Alone.

Challenge yourself to become a social butterfly: - Make an effort to connect with more people, smile, and maintain eye contact a little longer than average. This forces you to become more open to the world, leading to more significant connections. When you are meeting new people, choose people from all different backgrounds and beliefs. This allows you to become a better-rounded individual.

You should be so severe 24/7: - It seems boring! Would you please have a sense of humor and smile in your life? Why so serious? Not everything is a matter of life and death, you think of. Feel free to take time off from playing the role of Captain Serious and joke around and act stupid. Laugh when it is a silly situation. Laughter also helps people live longer, and in addition to this, it reduces blood pressure too. The world will be a better place if we all quit taking ourselves too seriously and live the moment.

I hope somehow I have managed to calm down the queries related to you. If the points mentioned above are not enough, I would suggest you go for psychotherapy. It will really be going to heal you. Notting Hill Counselling and Psychotherapy, Shepherds Bush, is one of the best psychotherapy centers in Shepherds Bush and nearby areas . They helped many people to come out of depression and give them a very joyful life. Notting Hill Counselling and Psychotherapy, Shepherds Bush helps to solve anxiety and stress, depression, emotional crises or trauma, relationship problems, anger, and gives confidence to face the world. They will also provide you the proper medication and solution to conquer the illness. Don’t be too late to book an appointment now!

If you liked my blog, feel free to share it! Hit a like and shoot down your queries in the comment section. I will try to answer it.

Take care of yourself,

Bye Bye!!!!

#Psychotherapy Shepherds Bush #anxiety counselling Notting Hill #bereavement counselling Notting Hill #psychotherapy Notting Hill

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letstalksymphogear · 5 years

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Symphogear, EP. 4 (Cont)

The gremlin challenges Tsubasa, a Symphogear, whose entire shtick is to sing to channel power, to sing.

It dawns on her, however, that Tsubasa is part Greninja. Tsubasa used Shadow-Weaving! It’s super effective.

“tell me, you jellyfish looking weirdo...”

“hey- hey, time out. are you gonna do what i think you’re gonna do. this is gonna like, kill you. you know that, right? that you will literally die? you do understand you can just retreat now or- or just take hibiki away, right? i even told you that was the whole point of this... uh... oh shit.”

“ARE YOU READY TO JAM”

“tsubasa please i will literally lend you my remaining brain cell to stop you from this really stupid mistake”

Dad has entered the server.

“oh my god. oh my god. oh my god. oh my god. o- ryoko. stop breathing on me. this isnt helping my anxiety over my adopted daughter figure literally preparing to kill herself over my commands.”

“sorry babe its just the asthma, forgot my inhaler”

“i cannot FUCKING believe of ALL the opponents i had to fight i had to fight the DUMBEST one on the goddamn block, you idiot, you absolute dunce, RETHINK THIS”

“OH GOD SHE’S DOING IT! SHE’S DOING IT! THE ABSOLUTE MADWOMAN- FUCK- FUCK! GET ME OUT OF HERE! FUCK! FUCK!”

“just used up my last brain cell for this attack, pal. you’re through.”

“NAH, EAT ASS YOU- YOU GODDAMN MANIAC”

“HAHA YEAH, GOT YOU NOW, SLOW WALKING, DRAMA INDUCIN’, PURPLE RAIN CHANN-”

“OH GOD! YOU TELEPORTED! YOU’VE GOT SV_CHEATS SET TO 1, DON’T YOU! NOCLIPPING LIKE NOBODY’S BUSINESS GET OUT OF MY FACE”

“WHOA WHOA WHOA WHAT THE FUCK WHOA I KNOW I CRACKED SOME JOKES BUT WE LITERALLY JUST MET AND I- I GOTTA KNOW PEOPLE FIRST BEFORE THIS SHIT AND- OH GOD PLEASE STOP”

“OH GOD! THIS... RAW, GAY, REPRESSED ENERGY... IT’S... TOO STRONG...”

The gremlin could not begin to comprehend Tsubasa’s intense love for incredibly well-built redheaded women.

Hibiki can, though.

“SO......... MUCH........... SAUCE...................”

“.................................................”

The gremlin retreats after getting her licks. This scene subtly implied something; the Nehushtan armor she wears regenerates over time, which means no matter how much damage it sustains, it will always return in one piece. The same can’t be said for the user, though.

Hibiki runs to Tsubasa, checking if she’s okay, totally oblivious to the gravity of what just happened.

“i came just as i could and ive brought happy meals for everyone”

Genjuro asks if Tsubasa is okay.

I dunno man, this is a pretty tough judgement call here. I mean, is she okay? Pain is a pretty subjective experience, after all.

“oh my god i get it. i get the joke she implied. she wanted to jam. she’s jammed! cause it- it looks like jam! no, wait, its more like sauce...”

It dawns on Hibiki that people actually do die during this job.

Tsubasa, as it turns out, survived her Swan Song. It makes sense that she would because she was naturally receptive to her relic, Ame-No-Habakiri. Still, the injury comes with great gravity. She’s benched for the next season, and it’s likely she’s gonna miss the playoffs.

Stuck on a respirator on the edge of life, Tsubasa will probably look back at this and go, “Gosh, I was such a wild child. Haha. Almost dying and all.”

Hibiki wraps her single braincell around the idea of death. Most main characters aren’t familiar with the concept of death, you see, because most don’t die. But this is Season One Symphogear. Flirting with death is common.

Ogawa comes in to comfort her.

“dumbass had her opponent bound and the gremlin still escaped anyway”

Ogawa then explains shit we already know. Thanks, Ogawa.

“in summation: i get where you’re coming from, but stop fucking saying ‘im gonna replace kanade’, please, im begging you”

Hibiki FINALLY gets it, and naturally upon realizing, feels really bad for it. A real right and true asshole.

“oh thank god i was worried not even that was going to get to you”

Meanwhile, in Tsubasa’s mind...

“ah fuck me. im trapped in metaphor limbo. see, im falling because i clipped my wing, cause i nearly died, you know, like icarus and shit”

“hold up my gay senses are tingling”

Her senses confirmed. Kanade is in her mind, in probably the most romantic metaphor possible. There is absolutely no way to interpret all of this platonically.

Tsubasa is literally submerged in a sea of her own emotions...

Involving Kanade, and how she strives to be like her and honor her memory.

SHE LITERALLY DROWNS IN THOSE EMOTIONS, SUBMERGING DEEPER INTO THE WATER.

youtube

Tsubasa, in her Symphogear Brand Medical Cocoon for the Dumb and Beaten Down, quietly slumbers in her semi-comatose state as she wrestles the water metaphors of her own sexual identity.

The poor thing just misses her girlfriend.

Meanwhile, Hibiki sits and thinks more than usual. In a flashback, Genjuro muses about how The Gremlin wanted to kidnap Hibiki.

“i dunno maybe The Gremlin’s super lonely or shit”

“i mean if thats the case ill just adopt her too”

Since Tsubasa is away, Hibiki has to pick up the quota for teenage angst in the 2nd Division. Unfortunately, she has very big shoes to fill, but Hibiki isn’t one for slacking in the misery department. She blames herself for everything.

“im really going to fire the therapist we have around here for being pretty damn useless”

“can i be the therapist?”

“ryoko i am absolutely begging you to filter your bad ideas given the several teenage crises we’re dealing with right now”

Hibiki then yells out, for what is possibly the third time, out of the blue:

“I HAVE PEOPLE I WANT TO PROTECT”

The flashback ends.

And speaking of girlfriends.

“there is no force on this planet stopping me from having some quality fucking time with my girlfriend damnit”

Miku points out Hibiki has been pretty lonely. Says she heard it from a friend who, heard it from a friend who, heard it from another she was messin’ ‘round.

Unfortunately, Miku is a goddamned chad.

Immediate handholding. Make no mistake. Behind those soft-spoken eyes lies an absolute master.

“o-oh, my hand, you’re holding it, so smoothly”

“hibiki, you’re my sunshine. i want to soak up your rays so hard that every piece of flesh of my body is horribly mutilated from skin cancer.”

“jesus christ miku at least use sunscreen in your metaphors”

“ill use them just for you, hibiki. just for you.”

Their relationship is interesting. When one of them is sad, the other sorta acts as an angst vacuum. You’ll see them flip flop with their points of misery with each other, but when together, those problems always melt away.

Of course, emphasis on being together. Season 1 is the worst with keep them away from each other.

“Just Be Yourself!” Miku Kohinata, Symphogear, 2012.

“fuck me, you’re right. im the protagonist. i cant just eat shit here the whole time. i gotta do protagonist things!”

“was that an invitation?”

“another time. but now... let’s just catch up.”

And so, they laugh together about how the recorded footage of the meteor shower was all black. Truly the greatest couple of all time.

It is this realization of being her own self, coupled with her renewed gay energy, and new perspective on what she must do, that causes everything to go uphill for her from here. Take note.

Here is where a God is truly born.

Tachibana Hibiki.

The end of this episode cuts to a specific dojo.

Genjuro’s dojo.

“i dont fuck around with training, even though i probably should have trained you sooner. you sure about this?”

“dadman either you do this or i will most definitely die next time”

Part of their training involves watching action movies, because Genjuro is so unreal that he should frankly be a fictional character in the very universe he exists in.

Fucking adorable.

“im so conflicted its so clear she’s part of /fit/ now but i cant help but imagine her washboard abs”

Hibiki balls even harder at karaoke now, due to her Symphogear training, and not because she’s secretly Aoi Yuki playing a recolored version of Madoka.

Her significant other is mildly terrified at the superhuman that is slowly unfolding her powers before her eyes.

In the end, things all reach their logical conclusion.

Hibiki becomes a Tekken character, just like Genjuro.

Of course... Miku pushes the fact very subtly that she would never hide anything from Hibiki...

Turmoil brews in the worst way... soon...

#symphogear #symphogear season 1 #recap #anime

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destroyyourbinder · 6 years

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dealing with binding damage/pain

I had a reader ask this question a month or two back and I just realized I never answered it! Since I've been on the topic lately I wanted to give them a response:

So I came to terms with my sexuality after identifying as ftm, and binding for three years due to internalized homophobia (luckily didn't change my body more than that because my parents are extremely conservative). Any advice with dealing with chest pain/tissue damage when no longer binding?

Hey there-- I'm really glad to hear that you've come to terms with being a lesbian; it's a long journey for a lot of us, and although it's definitely not over once you recognize you're "just gay" after all, it often opens your life up to possibilities you thought were forever closed. Once you've settled in, in my experience at least I've found it to be a big fucking relief in a lot of ways.

The advice I'd give you is really contingent on what kind of damage you suffered, where the pain is currently and what in particular exacerbates it, what you're currently doing with regards to wearing garments on your upper body, whether you also have posture changes due to slouching/binding, and how far out you are from when you've stopped binding. I'm going to write to a general audience both because I don't actually know what you're experiencing, because you might be unsure yourself or not realize something you're experiencing is related to binding-related (or dysphoria-related) issues, and because I think a lot of female people could benefit from this discussion. One of the resources I want to link you to is a 2017 study that I think I've reblogged a couple times now, called "Health impact of chest binding among transgender adults: a community-engaged, cross-sectional study" which is I think the only research piece that we have to have systematically examined negative health outcomes of breast/chest binding practices. I'd advise anybody binding or with a history of binding to look through this study to educate themselves on the risks and prevalence rates of a number of health issues commonly caused by or associated with binding. Not everyone knows or is willing to admit that certain issues they are experiencing could be binding-related so just simply having this information is a good start. You can find the study linked here for free: https://transfigurations.org.uk/filestore/binding-project-postprint.pdf I also want to preface this with the plea to please take seriously anything you're experiencing; I know it's a chronic myth in the trans community and in gender non-conforming female circles where people might bind that there is a level of binding that is "safe" or at least significantly "safer". Although your problems can escalate the more time you spend binding (whether measured in hours per day, the frequency with which you bind, or how much time total you've spent doing binding practice) or with certain binding practices (like using ace bandages or duct tape, "double binding", or using too much compression) binding can cause certain problems near-immediately, such as muscle aches or other musculoskeletal related pain, shortness of breath, and skin issues. Serious binding-related problems, like rib movement or decrease in lung capacity, can occasionally happen very quickly, i.e. within a few months of beginning binding regularly, even following generally well-regarded harm-reduction practices for binding. I sometimes read of people who doubt that binding could have hurt them because they "only" bound for such-and-such a period of time or "only" with a commercial binder, and who seem to refer to some mythical lumberjack trans man who wears his binder 12 hours a day in the timberlands and has no problems, or at least just bears them through his beard with no complaint, as the gold standard for binding. I know for many female people bearing the pain and body issues that come with binding is considered a hallmark of masculine identity and that your right to name your distress as gender dysphoria is often in question if you decide that the costs of binding are too high for you. There is a very nasty arms race to the bottom in trans community sometimes about who is the absolutely most dysphoric and the absolute manliest, and if you don't think that any horrible level of nihilistic self-destruction is worth it to ward off the prospect of Really Being a Girl then you run the risk of losing this terrible game. I want to begin my discussion of binding risks and known problems with this because most of us struggle with this mentality in some form, at some point, and choosing to prioritize taking care of our bodies in a very basic way over doing what our dysphoria tells us is necessary to make it go away can be extremely difficult, to the point we may deny that we have anything happening with us that we need to take care of at all. Listening to your body will take a lot of time when all you could hear at one point was how gross, humiliating, disturbing, and wrong it was. It's a lot like learning to communicate with a species of animal you've never had to interact with intimately and that maybe you're repulsed by, like a rat (which are perfectly wonderful creatures, by the way). That all out of the way, the first question I want to ask is this: are you having any problems with breathing, your lungs, or general respiratory problems you suspect are related to binding? This is probably one of the most serious problems some people have with binding and is not something I feel comfortable advising on given that it can be extremely medically serious and life-limiting. Problems frequently cited are general shortness of breath, chronic wheezing or coughing, feeling deprived of oxygen especially when exercising, and feeling like you have fluid in the lungs. These may be more serious if you smoke, are being exposed to environmental allergens, or have a pre-existing respiratory issue like asthma. I did not experience this but would definitely direct you to seek advice from a medical professional if you are having lingering issues of this nature.

Binding is also known to cause permanent rib changes-- serious and/or chronic chest or back pain should probably warrant a trip to the doctor. Broken and cracked bones are possible from binding practices, or from becoming injured while binding. If you're experiencing intense or odd pain you may have also pushed your ribs out of alignment to hit an internal organ or compress a nerve. Some symptoms, including ones like gastrointestinal issues, can indicate that you have altered the position or function of organs contained inside your rib cage or that compression is affecting their ability to work properly. If you suspect this is going on I also don't feel comfortable advising you to do anything else but seek medical advice.

Costochondritis is a common symptom that people who bind experience. It is an inflammation of the cartilage that connects your ribs to your sternum (the center bone in your chest) and is something that I experienced even when just wearing tight/multiple sports bras. I had it off and on the entire time I wore bras or used a binder and it ranged in painfulness from mild to so-intense-I-had-trouble-breathing. It is usually a temporary condition, but it can reoccur continually over time to various degrees of intensity. I usually waited out the times it occurred more mildly, but if it's severe you may need a course of steroids to decrease inflammation (as I did twice in my late teens/early twenties). You can usually tell that you have it instead of some sort of more medically serious chest pain if you poke your ribs towards the center of your chest and the pain feels both external and shoots up dramatically. If you aren't sure whether the pain is located in your ribs or elsewhere, you should probably get things checked out to make sure you don't have a heart or lung issue from binding or otherwise. Another thing I want to mention is that you can very easily sprain or pull muscles from getting in and out of binders or moving around in them, especially if you're moving around vigorously or exercising. This should also generally be temporary and can be treated in the same way you usually would treat any muscle injury (rest, heat/cold, gentle stretching and movement) but even if you stop binding, look out for continuing symptoms from any serious pulls or strains you might have incurred while binding. Wrenching your neck in particular can result in lingering issues. It might make you feel stupid to admit or think about, but "dumb" injuries like pulling your shoulder while getting a stuck binder off are mechanically the same as any other injury, so keep an eye out. A lot of pain you might experience while binding or even years after binding has to do with your muscles-- this can be from binding directly from the way a binder/bra exerts force on your chest and shoulders, from range of motion issues from being constricted in a binder or from compensating for binding pain, or from chronic posture issues from hiding your breasts. I also want to note, because they're so common in trans and gender non-conforming female people, that autism in particular but other neurodevelopmental disorders can change your posture in weird ways, and your sensory feedback is likely atypical or not fully integrated so you might have odd ways of moving that aren't necessarily mechanically optimal. All these things together can lead to chronic pain throughout your body-- obviously most people talk about pain in the upper back, chest, shoulders, and neck-- but chronic jaw pain or headaches are a potential issue from tightness or referred pain from lower down, and compensating for upper body tension, motion issues, or pain can lead to changes in the position or motion of the lower back, hips, or legs which can lead to tightness and pain. I unfortunately have both lingering issues in my chest, shoulders, and back and a host of posture-related pain issues even over two years after stopping binding, due to ways that I compensated for wearing compression constantly on my chest (I would wear sports bras even to bed) and ways I changed my body posture to prevent "looking female". I have a slouch about as bad as what’s-her-face, as most trans men I have met also do regardless of whether or not they're post-mastectomy, and although it’s gotten better with mindful practice and lack-of-binder I am still totally not where I want to be. There are many physical therapy resources out there that are now publicly available online-- on resource websites as well as YouTube-- and regularly stretching using these strategies has basically held my body together this whole time through several physically intense jobs. I personally use a set of stretches for headaches, and a number of sciatica stretches, calf stretches, and trapezius-focused stretches that I found all over the internet. There is also a tumblr thread here (not all of which is posted on my blog, please check the notes) where another woman who experienced binding damage solicits advice and many people offer suggestions for binding-pain related stretches and exercises. I also made a DIY foam roller out of a 2-ish foot stretch of 3 inch PVC pipe and some squishy shelf liner that I glued around the outside, and I have a DIY rice bag I pop in the microwave for use as a heating pad. I have also found that regularly taking omega-3 oils helps mitigate the level of inflammation and pain my muscles can reach; I take algae-based oils because I am vegetarian but if you eat fish, regular fish oil pills will work just as well. If you are still wearing a supportive bra or have chosen to deal with stopping binding by stopping everything your muscles will not have learned to support your chest yet, especially if it's large. If you quit all chest-supporting garments cold turkey or go to only very minimal chest support after binding you might have a lot of pain initially. My general chest and breast pain has substantially decreased after 2+ years of being without a bra or binder, so it's worth a shot or two to learn to do this, but you will have increased pain initially until your body adjusts. It was both my actual chest muscles, wall, and ribs that hurt as well as my breasts (something that might be obscured by dysphoric-friendly language about "chests") but once my chest and shoulders became sufficiently built, my breasts "sagged" appropriately to hang where they were comfortable, and I adjusted to the sensory input of feeling the weight on my chest, I was ultimately more physically comfortable than I ever had been in bras or binders. The pain was not easy to get through-- it was sometimes excruciating-- but now I can do anything I could do previously with a bra or binder without one, including run. If you are in this position I recommend upper body exercise or introducing regular upper body work into your daily life; this will help you build muscles appropriately and learn to move your body in a mechanically optimal way. It does simply just take time if you are attempting to adjust to minimal or no compression on your chest, and stepping down more gradually can help (such as by wearing athletic compression wear, which I have a guide about here). But it took me probably about a full year before I no longer had this sort of pain, and about another year or so before it felt fully "normal". I talked more about the process of stopping wearing bras and what it felt like in this thread, if anyone is interested in knowing more. On the topic of changes to skin and tissue: sores, infections, skin damage, and so on are common from binding, especially if you are large-chested. I still have some mild issues with this in the summer, as many people do, when I sweat a lot and various fungal and bacterial microorganisms can easily proliferate. This should resolve itself over time if you wash regularly with a gentle antibacterial soap or cleanser, keep the area between and under your breasts dry, change your clothes daily, and try to wear loose-fitting clothing. But as always, anything that won't go away for weeks, or that is resulting in skin breakage, swelling, or sores, should be addressed by a doctor. My breast tissue did change from binding with a binder, and my breasts became more "floppy" and "soft". I gained more stretch marks than I had already had. I suspect I am more prone to breast pain than I was previously, and my nipples and breast skin have little conscious registry of sensation, but I don't know if that came from binding, either with a binder or bras. But to my knowledge most changes to your breasts from binding are largely "cosmetic". I have not heard word from anyone that this damages your breast as an organ, but then again most people who bind usually do not breastfeed. Stories by trans men who kept their breasts and became pregnant indicate that their breastfeeding is relatively normal, but we simply do not have the data to know how binding might affect breast function. I do not know either if you're more likely to do something to the breast tissue by binding which could increase the likelihood of any medical issue in particular or create the opportunity for pain. Mine are definitely "saggier" to some extent and have gotten even "worse" post-binding, but as I've noted this has not been a bad thing, because I do not wear a bra any longer and my breast tissue now hangs in a way that allows me to move without pain. Finally, I just want to mention there are a lot of emotions that you might feel from having binding damage in a similar way that anyone who did something to themselves in the name of transition or dis-identification might. I sometimes personally feel extremely stupid for having done what I did, and that makes it even harder to deal with pain or other physical issues, even though it was understandable that I reached for binding to cope with my feelings at the time. I also feel extremely stupid and conflicted about my values a lot of the time given that I still have impulses to go back to binding even though I know that it hurt me and I don't actually want to begin again. I feel really angry about how my body was sexualized at a young age and how my family and doctors dealt with my early puberty, about how my family chose to humiliate me for being neurotically "modest" instead of supporting me through something difficult. Sometimes I feel really bad about quitting binding or for having to quit because of pain because I feel like I was "proving" right people who criticized it or my impulse to hide my breasts for the wrong reasons, or even that they are right because I "deserve" the pain I feel as a result of trying to avoid my body. I feel exposed and ashamed a lot about my breasts, and it's been hard to cope with the effects of binding damage realistically in a way that values my not-being-in-pain when I'm also trying to manage dysphoric feelings. I feel messed up that I felt "validated" about having and using a binder and that I tried to ignore how much pain it put me through in favor of hoping that it would facilitate me some day achieving some ultimate male-like body state where basically I couldn't suffer anymore. These are all varieties of normal feelings to feel, and I just want others to know that it makes sense if you feel stuff like this. Re-centering on taking care of yourself and your body takes time if the feelings are really intense, but it's worth getting back to focusing on what you actually value-- your health, your functioning, and so on-- even if it takes a while, and you don't have to immediately ignore or push past what you feel to "get better".

#binding20 #responses #qanda #writings #risks01 #science30 #dysphoriacoping26 #whatsitlike106 #alts101 #chest12

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fandomseverywhereassemble · 6 years

Note

Could you do b2 or n5 (amputation/self surgery) with Lance?

I hope you enjoy some self-surgery! I also hope that it’s surgical enough for your liking!

“Guys, I think I’ve been hit,” Lance spoke over the comms. “Blue’s got something loose in her.”

“What do you mean by ‘loose’?” Pidge yelled over the explosions outside their Lion.

“What do you think I mean by loose?!” Lance demanded, “She’s really hurting, and I don’t think I can keep her in the air much longer.” He resisted the urge to grip his head, Blue was sending some of her pain and urgency over their bond, and Lance’s head felt like it was going to explode.

Keith’s voice came crackling over the comm link, “You’re flying fine right now, do you think you could keep her up for just a little bit longer? The Galra look like they’re getting ready to retreat.”

Lance nodded even though he knew the others couldn’t see him, “I can try.” He spun Blue to evade an attack, but he must have knocked something else loose because all of a sudden his head exploded in pain.

“Lance! Lance, are you okay?” Hunk’s worried voice asked, “That looked like a direct hit.”

I was hit? Was the last thought that went through his mind before Blue crashed into the surface of the planet.

“-an-”

Static filled his mind like cotton and made it hard to think.

“La-ce!”

He groaned in response which seemed to satisfy whoever was trying to scream through the static.

“He’s alive, guys!” Hunk. That voice was Hunk, wasn’t it?

“We could all hear him, Hunk.” A second voice spoke. “Lance, can you hear us?” Was that Keith? Maybe Shiro.

He groaned into the comms again and tried to squeeze his eyes open, but a sharp pain in his side distracted him further. “’m here.” He spoke. His mouth was dry, and his tongue was twice its usual size. He coughed weakly, but that only sent more pain through his stomach.

“Thank God.” Shiro breathed, “Lance, are you okay? We’re trying to get to you, but it could be a while. When you crashed, you might have accidentally set off a cave-in beneath you which swallowed Blue up.”

Lance opened his eyes but was met with complete darkness. “I-” He coughed again and groaned, “I may be having some slight problems.”

Pidge groaned obnoxiously, “What kind of problems, Lance? Is Blue operational?”

He reached out in his mind for her, but couldn’t find any trace of her. He shook his head, even though he knew they couldn’t see him, “I can’t feel any trace of her. My problem might be that I’m not operational.”

There was silence for a few seconds where the rest of the team could only hear his labored breathing.

“What… Do you mean by that, my boy?” Coran asked cautiously.

“I mean, I’m having a hard time breathing, and there’s this really bad pain in my side. I can’t see anything either.” As soon as he said it, a cool blue light washed over the cabin, allowing him to see some, but not all of the predicament he was in.

The entire front window had been shattered and through it was a large black crystal shard that ended in Lance’s side.

“Okay, one problem solved.” Lance tried to push hope into his voice, but knowing exactly what was happening was somehow worse than the unknown.

Keith sighed over the comms, “What problem have you solved?”

Lance coughed again, and the movement caused the rock to push deeper into his abdomen. He gasped loudly into the comms and waited for the spots in front of his vision to fade. He was starting to feel dizzy, and he hadn’t even moved, this was going to be great.

“So, I can sort of see now. Blue must have some emergency lights that still work.”

“This is good news.” Pidge said, “Why do I have a feeling that there is bad news following?”

Lance tried to breathe deeply, but he failed, “Out of curiosity, is anything on this planet toxic to humans?”

“I’ll do a scan of the planet immediately,” Coran said. His voice got softer as he moved away from his mic.

“Lance.” Shiro asked quietly, “Why do you need to know if anything is toxic?”

Lance smiled to himself softly, man, he was getting so lightheaded, “You know Pidge’s prediction that there was bad news? Well, they may be right.”

Hunk anxiously asked, “So, how bad is bad news? Are we talking can’t find our teddy bear bad or facing off against aliens bad?”

Before Lance could answer, Coran came back with the results of his scan, “So it looks like most things are harmless. The one exception to that is a mineral inside that cave system you fell into. Particles in the air only act as a mild irritant, but ingestion of even small amounts could be lethal to your species.”

The blue paladin sighed heavily and rested his head against the back of his seat, “Coran, does this mineral happen to look pitch black and shiny?”

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, “Yes, my boy. How did you know?”

“There may be a large shard lanced through me.” He tried to throw some humor into his voice, “C’mon guys, laugh at my dying joke.”

“This is not a time to be joking, blue paladin!” Allura’s voice ordered, “Your life could be in danger, and you are attempting to make jokes?”

Lance rolled his eyes, “Look, princess, if I’m going to die, I’m going to make sure at least one person is laughing.”

“You don’t have to die.”

“What was that Pidge?” Shiro asked.

“I said he doesn’t have to die.” They repeated, “Lance, under your chair there should be some sort of medical kit. Can you reach it?”

He reached down and felt around for the kit Pidge had described. Several moments went by before he finally grabbed it. Inside there were three rolls of gauze, which he had no clue how to use; band-aids or the Altean equivalent,, which he didn’t think would help him now; a large and intimidating knife that he didn’t understand the presence of; some sort of needle and thread; and other miscellaneous medical supplies.

“I’ve got it.” He was breathing heavily, too heavily for just grabbing and opening the medical kit, “Pidge, I’m not sure how to break it to you, but I don’t think band-aids are going to help me now.” His eyes were starting to droop. Was this from poisoning or blood loss.”

“You aren’t going to use the band-aids.”

“Well then what am I supposed to use?”

“The knife.”

The answer came so suddenly, Lance was speechless, “I’m sorry. I’ve been stabbed, and you think that a knife is going to help me?”

Pidge exhaled in frustration, “Yes. Now, you need to do what I say, and you are going to hate me for it, but after this, you might not die.”

“What the quiznack is a knife going-”

“Lance.” Shiro interrupted, “We are working on getting you out, but we need to be extra careful. If we pull the wrong rock, you could be crushed or impaled even further. Listen to Pidge and do as they say.”

Lance was quiet for a moment before he reluctantly answered, “What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to use that big knife and cut through the crystal. The scans that Coran sent me show that the mineral is malleable enough to be cut with a serrated knife. The knife in my kit is serrated, please tell me that yours is as well.”

Lance hummed his agreement, it was getting hard to follow their words, but he hoped he was doing a good enough job at it.

“Cut through the crystal. I apologize in advance.”

Lance bit the inside of his cheek to try and regain consciousness. It gave him a small spark of energy, so he did it again when he hefted the knife against the crystal and started to saw.

“Ahh! Oh my God, Pidge.” Lance panted. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he bit his cheek harder to distract himself from the pain that every single vibration shot through his body, “Are you sure death isn’t an option?”

He continued to saw through the mineral, whimpering softly and trying to keep the tears from spilling over.

“We are all very sure that death is an option.” Keith spoke, “That’s why you need to listen to Pidge and do what they say.”

Lance tried to smile through the pain, only it ended up more like a grimace, “Awww… is Mullet worried for me?”

“Yes, you idiot!” Pidge shouted, “Now hurry up, we want as little toxins in your body as possible, and the longer that is in you, the more problems it will cause!”

The blue paladin sighed, “I’m just trying to lighten the mood. It’s a little hard to not want to when I’m feeling everything that is happening like I’m cutting into myself with this knife. I’m just about done with this part. Please tell me the next step is significantly less pain.”

Pidge shook their head, “The next step is to remove the rest of the mineral from your wound, so I need you to careful-”

“Oh, fuck. Mistake. Mistake.” Lance groaned and panted heavily to keep himself from screaming in pain.

“What did you do?” Pidge asked, concerned.

Lance held the sawed-off chunk of mineral in his hand, “You told me to take it out.”

“I was going to tell you to carefully take it out!” They screamed into the comm and made Lance’s repressed headache reemerge, “I wasn’t going to tell you to yank it out like some half-wit!”

“I realize…” He trailed off. The ceiling was really interesting. It would be so nice to just sleep right now, “I realize that what I just did… might have been…” He yawned, “a stupid decision.”

“Yes. It was very much a stupid decision.” Pidge yelled back, loud enough to startle a Hellen Keller, “Okay, so now, you need to stop the bleeding and quickly.”

Lance placed his hand on the wound, thoroughly covering it in blood. His hand did practically nothing to staunch the flow of blood, and it slipped easily between his fingers. “Guys, this is going to sound weird, but I’m actually feeling really… good.”

“I need you to pay attention!” Shiro ordered, “We should be able to get to you in another few minutes or so, and I don’t want to have gone through this much trouble only to find a corpse!”

The blue paladin smiled happily to himself, “So, what am I supposed to do… little Pidgey?” He played with the blood on his hand and felt how slippery it made them. It was so much more slippery than water. Slip ‘n’ Slides would be so much better if we used blood instead of water.

“I need you to close up the wound as best you can,” Pidge spoke, snapping him out of his delirium, “There could still be traces of the crystal in your blood system, but blood loss will kill you a whole lot quicker than poisoning. Do you still have your kit?”

Lance nodded happily, still playing with his blood, although it was coming a whole lot slower now. “Yep.” He affirmed, popping the ‘p.’

“Okay, great.” They started, “There should be a local anesthesia. Mine looks like a tub of blue goo, but it will numb anything it touches. Get that out and apply it with one hand, probably your left hand, to your wound.”

He reached into the box and pulled out the tub, only for it to slip from his grasp, fall to the floor, and roll a few feet away from him. “Question.” He said, “Is it possible that I don’t need an-, anthe-, ass-, whatever it is you said?”

Pidge breathed heavily,“Yeah, it is possible, only it’s going to hurt a lot. And I mean a lot.

"Okay great.” Lance said, “Because mine may be on the floor right now and I’m a… a little worried… about moving.”

“Then you need to give yourself stitches without anything to numb the pain. Can you manage a needle and thread?”

Lance smiled to himself, “You know what they called me back in the Garrison? 'The Tailor’ bec-”

“No one called you that.” Pidge interrupted him, “Now, can you handle a needle and thread or not?”

He shook his head, which only added to the list of places that were hurting, “Probably not, but I don’t think I have a choice…”

Gracelessly, he managed to somehow fit the thread into a needle, and he resisted the urge to tell Pidge that he can actually thread the needle, thank you very much and began stabbing himself repeatedly because he couldn’t get the needle to go in the right place.

His vision was growing black around the edges, “Hey, guys?”

“Yeah?” Everyone responded quickly.

“I… I don’t think I can stop this bleeding. I don’t… I don’t know how to give myself stitches. I can barely see anymore, and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe.”

“Lance, all you need to do is give yourself basic stitches.” Keith told him, “We will be there within two minutes. We can see parts of Blue, but not all of her. Just hang on a little longer.”

Lance coughed, and more of his blood spilled out of him, “I just want all of you to know that I have had such a great time out here in space with-”

“No!” Hunk yelled, “You’re not going to give us the damn, ‘I can’t go on speech’ and tell us all how much you love us. That’s something that you can do when we’re all back and safe in the castle, and you can tell us as much as you want. Now give yourself those last few stitches that could possibly save your life and wait for us to get to you.”

Groaning, Lance pushed himself up straighter in his chair and gripped the needle between his fingers. Slowly, he pressed his skin together, and agonizingly slowly he stitched the wound shut.

He was drenched in blood, sweat, and tears, quite literally when the team found him, his hand still holding that needle like a lifeline.

#badthingshappenbingo #langst #lance #angst #whump #prompt #send me a prompt #voltron #vld #lance (voltron)#lance mclain #self-surgery #my writing

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swampgallows · 6 years

Text

therapy today went okay but i feel like i talked too much lmfao. i passed out around like 10pm and now im awake again and uhh hmmm ngngngghghhhmhm

also she asked me like “find out what you wanna get out of therapy and then we can set some goals” lmao i wanna GET FIXED

i dunno if i am actually mentally ill or if it’s just my mom/environment or if i’m neurodivergent somehow or if i need medication or whatever the fuck it is, i just know that it’s not normal to feel okay one day and then have some minor thing happen that catapults me into feeling suicidal. im doing better lately but that’s why i signed up for therapy NOW because i know when im feeling good i get this delusion of like “haha see i never needed it at all :)” and then some little fucking thing happens (or nothing happens) and suddenly i cant get out of bed for three days. i told her that i think it’s more than my environment because even when i was busy at work and even when i was busy and away from home in college i had extremely persistent and severe depression, got into several different overlapping abusive relationships, nearly failed my classes one semester, and then i got hit by a car, was in a wheelchair for 6 months, then had our car hit by a semi immediately afterward. it’s time for new glasses btw lmao as i am still wearing the same pair that got scratched to shit and annihilated in the accident. lmfao The Accident™

this is a pic of them from the night of the accident and the scratches have only gotten worse. id take a new pic but im in bed in the dark and whatever

the therapist seemed impressed with my psychology knowledge which was kind of discomforting, in a way. i guess im just so used to my own situation and people utilizing the internet to learn about their own head cases that i dont consider it novel to have actually done research. also because with my other experiences i felt like doctors would be dismissive of me as if i was trying to one-up them or something, like “well -I- have the degree and YOU dont” like, well yeah, im not sitting here trying to correct you but i am gonna use the terminology im familiar with even if theyre super special SAT words or w/e (like i’m gonna say shit like “comorbid” and “hypnagogic” because that’s the terminology i use all the time to describe these situations... i throw out “5 dollar words” all the time :\) but i think maybe by also having a video/verbal conversation w me that she knows i’m not sitting there meticulously typing up the most fancy schmancy shit i can find, flippin through a thesaurus like a blood elf nobleman vampire’s purple prose or somethin.

i guess what i wanna get out of therapy is uh

1. i dont want to be suicidal, which means 2. i have to build confidence, which means 3. i have to become self-reliant, or more self-reliant than i am.

she suggested, on the grounds of my mom giving me interrogation any time i try to go out on my own (hence me only feeling comfortable to go out when i fucking sneak out of the house or on the VERY rare occasions that she isn’t home) that i have a written list that i either give to her personally or write out and leave for her to read at her leisure of all the answers to her questions: where ive gone, when i’ll be back, what i’m doing, etc. the problem is coming home, though, because then she reads me the riot act of guilt on anything i did. if i go out and get food, it becomes about her. if i go out and do an errand, it becomes about her. everything i do somehow falls back on her.

i explained to the therapist that even when i was still working—a perfect chance to learn to drive and drive regularly—i took the bus the entire time. but i’d have to be driven TO the bus stop and then take the bus to work, which meant my mom drove me to the bus every day. and my dad would talk about how good it was for MY MOM to have a reason to get up in the morning, and that it’s good for her because it gives her a kind of schedule or obligation to follow. so then like... my schedule now becomes HER schedule. and i martyr my potential independence of driving to work on my own in order to give my mom a sense of purpose.

so...every day, mom picked me up from the bus stop, just like she had been for all the years i was in school. of course i never went out and did anything after (or before!) work; i never had the freedom. sure i could tell my mom partway through the day if i was staying late or going somewhere else, but my work was also in the middle of a canyon, five miles of nothing in either direction. if i missed the bus home, i wouldnt have another chance to go home for another hour. so having buses come only once an hour and then also having my mom waiting for me at the stop... it was just too much trouble to say like “hm i think i’ll go grab a smoothie before work” or “maybe i’ll hang with my coworkers a bit and go grab dinner with them” or “maybe i’ll start going to the gym after work”. i couldnt make any executive decisions about my own life. i think that restriction of freedom happens for lower income people too, since youre relying on a (notoriously shitty) bus service to get anywhere and you also cant just throw money around that often. i had a little slush fund to treat myself every so often but i didnt have the access to it.

EVERY day that i was 20 minutes away from the stop i would have to text my mom the name of the stop (imagine, if it were “maple street” or something, my entire text message history with my mom just being “maple” “k” “maple” “k” back and forth for months) in case she had fallen asleep or was doing something, as the bus would sometimes be late or early or whatever. and sometimes i would delay that text on purpose to have the extra time to buy something from one of the fast food places located at my bus stop, then hide it in the bottom of my bag and hope it wasn’t too aromatic that my mom would notice and ask me about it.

BECAUSE if i bought food on a day she made dinner, she would flagellate herself about it, and if i bought food on a day that she DIDNT make dinner she would flagellate herself about it. it’s HER FAULT because she doesn’t make food enough that i have to go buy my own :((((, so the one time she does cook i’m already getting food because she’s unreliable :((((, and shit like that, instead of like, just because there IS food doesn’t...mean anything!!!!! maybe i just wanted a certain kind of food that day!! But it becomes about her!!!! everything i do hurts her. everything i do. so i just got adjusted to just... not eating, or eating the same things over and over. eventually, when i was still working, i would eat nothing but a muffin until i came home. and if there was food, i would eat it, and if there wasn’t, then i wouldn’t eat. many nights i went to bed without eating even if there WAS food because i was just so fucking tired.

i dunno i kinda lost my train of thought but basically it’s hard to assert myself because i’m not confident because a lot of the time i dont know if im doing something right. it reminds me a lot of the scene in tangled where rapunzel fucks up and something bad happens to her and her mom catches her in the act, and she uses that to reinforce rapunzel’s dependence on her. like obviously my mom isn’t abusive like that but it makes me afraid to fail and even MORE afraid to even try, because i know that if i DO fail--whatever it is--it will just be more evidence for why i should have just asked her or had her do it. and more evidence, to me, of why im worthless and shitty and incapable of doing anything.

like the other day my mom wanted me to follow her in a separate car to a car place to drop off the car she was driving, and then we’d go home together in one car. but she wanted me to do it at 9 in the fucking morning and let me know two days beforehand. i had been going to BED at like 7am at the time so i was already like ‘man this is gonna suck’. but i was still up in the morning and was getting ready to take a shower, iw as on time, but my mom said “i can tell how tired you are and how nervous you are about doing this so you know what dont worry about it. go back to bed.” and it was really shitty for me because YEAH i was super tired and YEAH i didnt feel like i was capable of driving by myself at that moment, like i probably COULD HAVE if it were an emergency, but my mom talked about doing all this shit afterward like going on a shopping trip and stuff and BASICALLY it’s less that i was afraid of the driving but more that i knew the errand wouldn’t end there. and i had gotten zero sleep and just didnt wanna fucking do it, i didnt wanna have a “girl time :)” outing with my mom, and i knew i’d basically get trapped into hanging out with my mom if i went. so i stayed home. but then that’s also a blow to me because stupid fucking worthless idiot that i am cant even drive ten miles in a fucking car, or whatever, useless leech living with my parents contributing nothing, unemployed for a year, blah blah blah. stupid fucking neet should have never been born etc etc etc

she took an uber home and had glowing reviews about the experience and that’s great for her but the guilt made me throw up because i couldnt even do this minuscule thing. so like, if i DO hand her a note and say “here’s all the shit im going to do, BUH BYE” and some shit happens, or i dont get what i need done, or i dont have a fully developed plan of what i’m doing, then it’s gonna be more ammunition toward what a useless piece of shit i am. like, i dont have good food to eat at the house, but i also have NO APPETITE so nothing sounds good, so i cant even think of what foods i would get if i could. it’s such a jarring opportunity that i would just like...not get anything at all and go home. even when i -did- have the opportunity i just went “Uhh umm uhhh fuck uhhh milk” and got that (AND THEN MY MOM CAME HOME W 2 GALLONS OF MILK FROM COSTCO, SO OF COURSE I -DID SOMETHING WRONG-!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IF I JUST LEFT IT UP TO HER INSTEAD OF DARING TO DO SOMETHING MYSELF I WOULDNT HAVE LOOKED LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT AND ENDED UP WITH 3 GALLONS OF MILK AT THE HOUSE) of course i drank the milk i bought, it’s not like it went to waste, but i was CAUGHT because there were now THREE instead of the one gallon covertly getting replaced. instead of me doing something helpful i did something that became an inconvenience.

it’s just little shit but it all adds up. it’s been all of these little fucking things forever and ever and ever, just like my mom’s hoarded garbage. “i bought just a couple of things”, innumerable times throughout the duration of my entire life, forever and ever, “just a few small things” over and over until it’s suffocating. it’s just all this little shit all the fucking time and it’s suffocating.

naturally, the therapist sent me an article on “daughters of narcissistic mothers”. this will be a delight to read, i’m sure.

#blathering

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sazzafraz · 3 years

Text

crashing tide 2 eclectic bugaboo

got my ass kicked accidentally coming off lexapro and had to tidy this up for people who aren’t me.

arc title: a timebomb

so rachel (hanko. do not call her this) is more of an anti-fan. a peerless cucumber, if you will. she died dissing the war arc. when she arrived she immediately left ninja school and forced her way into a cooking apprenticeship. she aims to eventually make the malaysian food of her childhood accessible to the masses. this is all before she finds a kid upside down in her dumpster. nart, with half a grilled fish in his mouth, hisses at her. rachel, tired and strung out on not-coke, hisses back. this is her dumpster to steal bad fish from. eventually she shows nart the best spots for getting decent food on the cheap. then she feels bad. she knows that the war restricted produce from the other nations and she doesn’t have the money to spend. so, dumpsters. why the fuck is a kid here.

she ignores that he is naruto

for like awhile. during which she bullys him into a nicer apartment (because the hokage pays for it) with a good kitchen she can cook in. she doesn’t live with him but shes around a lot. so nart grows up w a weird millennial who’d rather have plants than children.

nart grows up. and rachel isn’t nice she’s blunt and casually dismissive of people and terrifyingly weak when nart pushes too hard and takes things too personally. but she’s a person. so nart grows up with a handful more social skills and different incomprehensible fear drives. rachel being rachel ignores that this is the protagonist until people try to kill him. naturally.

rachel nearly dies. like rachel is 90% dead. naruto taps into the kyuubi much earlier. its a shitty back alley with shitty men who are shiity about pretty redheads and demon children. after nearly dying rachel doesn’t speak to naruto for like six weeks. what? she’s busy. she’s busy and it was scary. when she gets sent to an outpatient program run by the hyuuga she meets a slim man names touma. who immediately locates that she’s a transmigrator who then scolds her for messing with the plot

rachel:.........thE PLOT-

two hours later they stop fighting and bringing up specific fights they had on forums. two hours after that rachel gets Read In on the whole situation with the other transmigrators. touma asks her to look out for her kid but otherwise accepts that she could not give a shit.

fast forward. some weirdo throws a weeks worth of meals thru her window with a heartfelt note attached. touma sends her a coded letter saying that sasuke’s guardian is like them and making some moves. the hokage comes to visit. it is not a very nice visit. she ends p on the couch over night holding naruto. they both cry.

mirako disappears for a year. this is good. rachel sharpens her knife.

fast forward again and rachel has a knife and a tired uchiha at the end of it.

rachel has some expectations here: she remembers the uchiha and how snobby and insular and frankly scary they were. she also remembers that they were weird and silent and scared. mirako is some of those things but she’s also just straight up a shinobi. she has the eyes of someone whose killed and doesn’t care about it.

mirako throws her hands up! fuck it! lets get drinks!

they get drinks. rachel gets really specific and mirako is like. oh. its you. i remember you. did you ever get over the Itachi twist because like. you were too mad about it. they bond a little.

at this point we switch back to mirako fully who realises that...sasuke has to go to ninja school. he has to go to ninja school and that sucks. see now sasuke has several things OG him didn’t. he knows how to make friends! he has a conception of the world that doesn’t focus Konoha or Itachi! he has a weird aunt and cousin! what he doesn’t have and mira can’t take off time to teach him is a basic ninja foundation. her mom could do it, but she extremely does not want him to internalise what her mom has. she can probably undo Fire’s brainwashing, she cannot undo her mothers. she’s tried.

so mirako nuts up and goes to the hokage. during this meeting, crashed by dan, she meets danzo for the first time and something is just.......fucked there. danzo literally screams with parts of her family. she can sense the book womans work, unwilling, and knows the only reason he doesn’t have her eyes is because danzo is cursed.

‘oh shit’ mirako thinks

‘what a way to find out THOSE fairytales were true’

but she gets through the meeting despite the wailing and terror of again. her literal family. drifting off this old man. she and dan settle up there debts for the time being. she’s more than repaid him for what he lost and she’s feeling centred enough to let SOME water pass under the bridge.

she and dan genuinely part on good terms.

some months pass. sas goes to school. mirako goes bask to work. rachel becomes a fixture in mirako’s life. she never ever brings naruto and mira accepts this as a protective measure. after enough time that her paranoia settles mirako begins to look into the bookwoman to try and get a handle on what the fuck is up w danzo

things she finds: recipes for napalm, arrows embedded with the blood of divine beasts, pages of script so dense with seals they make her brain hurt, secret techniques she is never going to have the chakra to use.

she finds no evidence this woman ever existed. she has three options: talk to dan, who might know by virtue of magpie-espionage. talk to touma who also has magpie techniques. talk to her mom, who was raised uchiha.

she chooses option four and hunts down hatake kakashi.

now this is hard, and stupid. but she has two things on her side: he is a main character and she is raising one. and two, he canonically stalks naruto. so she and rachel essentially bait a trap.

okay they surprise him when mira knows he’s chakra depleted and emotionally blackmail him, still! a temporary ally!

kakasi doesn’t have useful information but he does have access to secret black ops nonsense and when rachel is done using her strategic hatred of kishimotos character building to create a backdoor to kakashis empathy he agrees to have a look.

more months pass. sasuke grows enough that we have another shopping interlude. this time he comes home with a series of lovely pale green and lavender undershirts (dramatic robes) that are like, lovely? but his whole deal makes a little much? mirako regrets that her self-soothing method for them is watching wuxia/xianxia.

hey! it’ll be kakashi’s problem! she can give him that along with occasional medical care.

right: kakashi occasionally drops his bleeding ass on her doorstep. he’s sniffed out shes a trained medic and that she is thrilled when she can make him leave. perfect! no matter how many times she points out that she’s a fucking beautician now he still ends up bloodying her good towels. shameless.

its been another year and a bit. sasuke doesn’t have friends in konoha because everyone is still Too Intense but he did remember his promise to let nart do the shit he’s good at and judge him by that. now sas turns up in front of him makes rude demands and then leaves. they truly aren’t friends but their relationship is stronger. naruto has more people around him and sasuke has friends outside of konoha. mira needs to know more about the bookwoman but it’s fine right now. the hokage got what he wanted and they have a few years before The Plot. it’s fine.

sasuke is probably close to nine now. he’s still well mannered and a little feral. he cares Too Much and he wields a training sword like his favourite actor ( WWX no we will not talk about it) and has a hauntingly lovely collection of bespoke fashion that mirako can’t actually object to. mirako has more money than ever thanks to touma’s investments. she takes time off for her and sasuke to travel a little and teaches him Ancient Uchiha Nonsense. they never leave for long paranoid about the other transmigrators but they genuinely eek out a good few years for sasuke. enough that she’s cautiously optimistic about his chances.

hahahaha

four days after a trip, when rachel and touma are also mysteriously away, kakashi crashes through her front window covered in blood. in his arms is a young girl with pink hair absolutely riddled with knife wounds.

enter the full cast of team 7

end ‘timebomb’ arc pt 1

#tctch timeline #ladi di ladida #up on ao3 in a moment

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jemilyreial · 4 years

Text

Cat Pee On Carpet Marvelous Diy Ideas

They will be necessary so your cat you want to do this is her singular territory!The cat can not be able to find scent spray to soak into the band on each floor of the odor for good just dampens everything and find your cat does not know where it will be no hygiene concerns as with another family cat in should be applied after each use by your feline from scratching when your back is turned - so crafty they can become stressed by events that their tongues are like rabbits when it comes to winter months, as there are lots of cat illness is over.This occurs mostly in males but can be deposited on vertical surface, e.g. a wall.Sometimes, finding the cat urine as you read to the pet allergen so you will find another place to live.

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Cat furniture comes in a cat frequent visits.They also love to scratch with their best pets, it is for them and be sure that your cat will hide, no longer in your house.If you are applying the tape won't damage your furniture then it is an organic or other periodontal disease, which will increase the duration of these self cleaning litter boxes.First task- You have to convince them that they are a person who can give you the desired behavior such as loving water, chirping, walking in a plug in diffuser or a Barbie doll if you no longer feel comfortable to use.They do not feed them dry food, they need to act in a professional.

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If they manage to bite toys and not after.The above natural recipe is modified from the start.The broadcaster Jerry Baker has suggested treating your yard as well.Remember that is used by most cats will try and decide, cats are run over by using smell as the cat a few tips on how they operate.A gradual introduction can go outside or not.

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Cat Spray Look

You should also call your cat's signs worse, don't, of course, it can play a huge impact on your own post cover the area gets dry and may struggle with some.In neglected cases there is no doubt that fleas and ticks, and to notify other cats in the home for some stupid reason, you want to entice your cat is litter box if the kitten spend some time in the bud, there are many brands and types of materials and designs to match the colours on the table comes with certain reasons and it is causing the continuous cat urine marks it will affect about half the battle.If yours does, spray her urine smell is pretty irresponsible as, if you have to take good care of them, it will take longer to toilet train than younger ones..Tips for making cats feel better about life.It will move the behavior means damaged furniture and dig in and day out.

Whether you have carpets, remember to use the litter box?We all know that you want to use a cleaner with enzymes in them specifically designed cat litter box for you both.Many illnesses are more likely to develop eventually.But keep in mind also that reintroducing mummy and kitten is not a cat that is needed.The surgery is performed, the greater part of a new cat in for a few can be an inside or outside your door.

Rotating different toys for your kitten can be allergic to sprays and granules.Your cat may pass urine in a carpet, article of clothing or expensive purses on the first thing you should only use these steps.She has needs just like any other human language for that matter.- You can get Poofy to go so mad over catnip, it is because of stress.For example, giving her good food and water.

Nail Caps you can always rub the stain from carpets, beddings, upholstery, and furniture made of rope-wrapped paper built to shelter them from the oven at 350 degrees until they are trying to get a cat.Cat lovers often think these attacks come without warning, but in general cats can help make cleaning the inside of the attack, consider alternatives wrapped in carpet cleaning for cats to each other.The kind that would not use for your pet.All cats, even indoor only cats, should wear a harness for those already sick with immune-system diseases or disorders.It is also the fact that the addition of a health benefit, but we don't.

Then comes Christmas time and nothing can leak through.Coat the area for several hours, or perhaps the most common house cats.If you have multiple boxes, place them in the room, or the stains are, make this area and get rid of it too.This virtue cannot be deterred by any actual skin changes.The top four symptoms that would otherwise sit.

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Cat Spray Deterrent Diy

The best scents to cover up after they wake they can walk.As much as possible, moving slowly and steadily.Another approach to the store and you will spend hours in your house.However, other owners may not be willing to use a pink blush on the table or anywhere else he should not, make the first cat.They scratch to do their bathroom duties near their food.

Litter mats are what you want to remark his territory.I doubt Luna would want to use their scratching for the right fit for my current cat.For your house, he is not rocket science.If your cat towards other areas they are sexually motivatedCats can be a certain amount of damage that is fun for you.

#Cat Pee On Carpet Marvelous Diy Ideas #How Old Do Boy Cats Start Spraying

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fourteenacross · 7 years

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I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT THE SHARING A BED STORY. I NEED ALL THE BACKGROUND ON THAT ALEXANDER AND lAURENS. pLEASE SHARE.

Haha, thanks, buddy! :D

I don’t plan on expanding that rn as my docket is currently ghosthunters shitty summer, fem4ham, ghosthunters fall term, ghosthunters mirrors, so here’s what was going on in my head while I was working on that.

(as a refresher, here’s the original ficlet)

So, John and Alex grew up together, at least for the bulk of their adolescence. Something something Alex came to the US as a child and ended up in South Carolina, I guess, and they met and became instantly inseparable. There were probably a lot of sleepovers contingent on whose parents were annoying them at the moment, lots of exploring and secrets and crushes and finally, maybe their sophomore year of high school, they started dating.

This John’s depression and anxiety are a little amped up from how I read him historically and how I write him in ghosthunters (…for the most part. Uh. To be continued, there.), but he’s more or less coping, sometimes much less, and Alex has made it His Job to be there constantly, whenever John needs him, to do whatever it takes to de-escalate him, an unfortunate symptom of Alex’s own issues. His problems stay kind of below his father’s and teachers’ radar because a) when he goes on an anxiety spiral, unlike every other aspect of his life, instead of lashing out in anger, he turns his pain inward and gets quiet and hurts himself (minorly. Not so much self-harm as looking down after a panic attack and realizing that he was trying so hard to be quiet that he chewed his nails down to the quick or stabbed his nails into his palms hard enough to draw blood or picked a scab open or, not infrequently, yanked his hair so hard that his scalp is red and throbbing and he tore some out) and b) John is ashamed and goes out of his way to cover it up and Alex believes that He Can Handle Everything, so he sort of facilitates that.

Anyway, they do dumb high school sweetheart shit, they go to dances, they lose their virginity, they have huge fights and tearful make-ups, they talk about the future, etc. When the time comes, they both apply to a bunch of different colleges and promise that neither of them will throw their future away for the other. If they both get into the same place, great, but if not, they can handle long distance. Alex secretly fears that John won’t be able to handle long distance, but it doesn’t matter because they both get into Columbia and Alex gets enough financial aid that he doesn’t have to worry about going into debt for the rest of his life.

And John is sure that things will get better in New York, away from his hometown and expectations and terrible memories of things in his past. Alex is, again, doubtful, but he hopes as much as well. And, tragically, Alex is the one who’s right in this case. The stress of trying so hard to leave his anxiety behind just makes him more anxious. He’s overwhelmed and depressed and doesn’t know what to do or how to be a person and eventually Alex gets a call at three o’clock in the morning and it’s John, sounding drunk, saying, “Alex, I did something stupid” and then dropping the phone. And Alex gets the pleasure of running to John’s room and making the RA unlock the door and discovering that John drank quite a bit of vodka and chased it with all of his ativan.

So John–unconscious–and Alex–hysterical–are transported to the hospital, where John’s stomach is pumped and his system is flushed and all that good stuff. Someone at the hospital calls John’s dad when Alex discovers he’s shaking too much to use the phone and, thank god, he’s listed as John’s emergency contact, so at least he gets updates from the doctors as he waits to see how John’s doing.

The long and short of it is that they have John admitted for a mandatory psych eval and, though at first he’s insistent that he’s not crazy and he should be allowed to leave, by about twenty-four hours into his seventy-two hour stay he starts to realize how messed up he’s let himself become, so he agrees to be admitted for a slightly longer stay.

It ends up being a few weeks, I think, and Alex visits him religiously, every single chance he’s able. His dad stays in New York for the length of his admission and he starts to put his life back together and begins the search for more helpful medication and starts therapy for the first time and mostly just has a few weeks when the world stops. Which is all he’s wanted for years and years, since his mother and brother died. A few days when everything just stops and he has time to breathe and think and make decisions.

Alex comes up a lot in his therapy, obviously, and one of the things that’s been making him extra anxious is his desire to please Alex, his desperation to be good enough for him, to be someone he deserves. And no matter how many times Alex tells him he has nothing to live up to, he’s perfect the way he is, it’s something that John struggles with. So his therapist suggests that maybe he and Alex should take a little break so John can focus on being good for himself instead of being good for his boyfriend. And it is the last fucking thing that John wants to do, but it makes sense. And, in family therapy, Alex very earnestly tells John that John is his best friend and he will always be there for him, and if he needs some time to himself to get his shit together, Alex understands. Just because they’re not together doesn’t mean Alex is going anywhere.

Which kind of seals it for John. He likes the idea of being able to spend a few weeks breathing and existing without losing Alex’s emotional support. As long as he still has Alex as a friend, he’ll be okay.

And it’s just a few weeks to start, but by then the new semester is starting and John is severely behind due to his leave of absence the year before, so he needs more time to focus on that. He figures they’ll stay apart as long as it takes him to catch up on classes. But then spring semester ends and John’s got a summer class to make up a class he had to drop in the fall and Alex has a job and he doesn’t want to distract either of them. And then it’s fall and John starts to backslide, so he takes more time and then, before he knows it, it’s spring of their sophomore year and Alex is awkwardly asking him if it would be okay if he went on a couple dates with someone else.

“Just, like, messing around,” Alex says quickly. “Not–just until you’re ready. I love you. But I want you to be ready and I don’t want to rush you and–nevermind, this was stupid, I can’t believe I asked–”

“No,” John says quietly. “No, that’s…that’s a good idea. I think you should do it.”

It’s feels like the hardest and worst thing John’s ever had to do, even though he knows, objectively, that’s not true. But he doesn’t know when he’ll be ready for a relationship again and he doesn’t want Alex to wait forever. That will just brew resentment, eventually, and he wants Alex to be happy. If that means he’s gonna go out and fuck some other guy…then so be it.

Alex is simultaneously surprised, relieved, and disappointed. He didn’t expect John to give him a straight answer and certainly not immediately. And he’s interested in a guy and kind of wants to explore the world outside of his relationship with John before they settle down forever. He’s only ever been with one other person–John hasn’t been with anyone outside of Alex. But at the same time, it feels like something is ending. Part of him had hoped that John would say, You know what, let’s try being a real couple again, and that they’d pick up where they left off and everything would be okay again. And things are good now–he still has John in all the important ways, John is still his world, but there’s a part of him that misses kissing him and being kissed and touching him and the fragile intimacy of having sex with someone he loves so wholly.

But John has to move at his own pace. So Alex asks out this guy and John hates him. He pretends, for Alex’s sake, to tolerate him, but he thinks he’s vain and selfish and stupid and not nearly as hot as Alex thinks he is. He knows that most of the reason he hates him so much is because he’s kissing Alex and John isn’t, but he figures as long as he doesn’t say any of that to his or Alex’s face, he’s okay.

And after that guy, Alex has a couple more flings, guys and girls alike. And by the time they’re getting ready to graduate and John feels like he’s maybe ready to be Alex’s boyfriend again, Alex has been accepted to law school and John finds out he’s short a couple credits, so he has to take some summer classes and they’re just so busy. And Alex has this friends-with-benefits thing with their buddy Angelica and he actually seems like he’s taking it kind of seriously? And John doesn’t want to fuck that up, especially when Alex says, sheepishly, that he’s been invited to spend the summer with Angelica’s family. John tells him to go and have fun and, based on the pictures on social media, he totally does. And John is alone and bored in New York, trying not to be resentful of Alex’s summer with Angelica and her sisters, and there’s this cute guy in his building who keeps bumping into him in the halls and one night he’s drunk and lonely and they bump into each other and John let’s the guy take him back to his apartment.

And, two days later, he’s trying to figure out how to tell Alex that he slept with someone else when Alex calls him and starts the conversation with, “You can say no.”

John says, “What?”

And Alex says, “Um, I met this girl.”

And John says, “I thought you were there with Angelica and her sisters.”

And Alex says, “I am. Uh, it’s one of her sisters. You know me and Angelica were always just casual. But. I kind of like her sister.”

And John says, “Then you should ask her out.”

So Alex does and John waits a couple weeks and then casually says, “There’s this guy in my building who’s really hot.”

And Alex pauses for just a second too long and then says, “Then you should ask him out.”

And John is a little sad, a little wistful at giving up his first love, but he figures that’s just the way it was supposed to be. He feels better about it when Alex comes home from the shore and is still everything he was before–John’s inseperable best friend, always there for him at a drop of a hat, eager to spend as much time together as they can manage. Alex was, before anything else, his best friend and as long as he has that, he thinks he’ll be okay.

Alex, meanwhile, panicked the moment he felt that first pull towards Eliza, sitting up around the bonfire with her, talking about everything, hours after Angelica and Peggy went to bed. He tells her all about John and she listens and nods and he realizes he wants to kiss her and realizes she’s not the kind of girl you kiss and few times and fuck for a couple weeks and then move on. When he calls John, he almost wants him to say no, but he doesn’t, so he goes ahead and asks her out.

“What about John?” she asks.

“I talked to him,” Alex admits. “And he told me to ask you out.”

“I’m not going to be a distraction while you’re waiting for him to want you again,” she warns him. “If we’re together, you’re with me. You’re not biding your time.”

“I know,” Alex says. “And I love him more than anything. And I always will. But I get to have a life too. And at this point, I don’t think we’ll ever be on the same page, so I might as well go out and make one.”

When he hears about Francis a couple weeks later, his heart freezes in his chest. He feels like he wants to throw up, which is selfish–he has Eliza, now, he doesn’t get to have a say in who John fucks. And maybe it’s just fucking. Maybe they’re not even going to date. So he sucks it up, only a second or two too long for polite conversation, and tells John to ask him out.

He drinks a lot that night and Eliza doesn’t ask why, but she does hold his hair back when he pukes the next morning and hold onto him while he cries.

And after that, life just…goes on. Alex gets caught up in law school. John gets a job as a freelance illustrator as he tries to figure out what he wants to do with his life. Alex and Eliza stay together, then break up for a few months after Alex cheats on her (and John never has to know about how she shouted, I always knew you’d do this, but I just assumed it would be John you fucked! in a moment of petty weakness that Eliza is too ashamed to mention again and Alex is too guilty to mention again, because he thinks if John asked, he would have), and then get back together. John breaks up with Francis and dates a few other guys, a couple he even thinks he might be able to love one day. John starts his own photography business and manages to do pretty well for himself. Alex graduates law school and accepts a position at his mentor’s law firm. John and Francis get back together. Alex gets offered substantially more money to move out to Philly and work in the office out there. Eliza moves with him and John’s a little surprised they haven’t gotten engaged yet, but doesn’t like to think about it too hard, though he doesn’t examine why. After six months, Eliza gets offered a job in California and, after a long conversation with Alex, decides to take it, even though Alex won’t leave his job to come with her. A few weeks after that, Francis and John have one last shouting match that ends with Francis shoving all of his stuff in John’s apartment into a garbage bag and storming out.

And then, about a month later, after the holidays, Alex calls John at two in the morning and says, I think I made as mistake.

And then, here we are.

#fic by me #except not really #john laurens #alexander hamilton #lams #the redacted boys #fic i'm not actually writing #replies #cw: suicide attempt

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