#shes disassociating cause of vision

[baby-tini]

Can you write where Dabi captures the reader and fucks her. But she thinks that if she would fight back it would hurt more so she just tries to close her eyes and disassociates. But Dabi sees this and not having it. He's like 'thanks for not fighting but your gonna stay with me while I fuck you. And since your so submissive I'll make you feel REALLY good'. Kisses her nose softly and proceeds to fuck her to almost a mind break.

A/N- sorry I've been M.I.A, I had the flu 😞 but thankfully it's gone and I'll be able too put out more content

TW- NONCON, abuse, brief mention of panic, self-blaming, blood, brief mention of a wound Being a hero was something you've always dreamed of, your whole family were heros. Your father was a pro and your mom was low-ranking but still amazing nonetheless. She only quit when she became pregnant with you, but your mother was an inspiration to you, always had been. So, when you graduated from UA and got your hero license it was the happiest day of your life. Your father took you to his agency, put in a good word for you. You were the shining star of his agency, climbing ranks pretty quickly and gathering a fan-base even quicker. Now, this wasn't your first patrol, but it was a new area. It sounded easy enough though, plus this was your first patrol without your father even though he had basically pleaded to come with you.. but this was your chance too show him you didn't need to be babied and you could protect yourself so you declined his offer and shut off your phone. You hadn't heard or seen any major villains in the area anyway. So, what could be so hard about walking around the city looking out for danger. Tokyo was so beautiful at night too, lovely pink sky tonight, no clouds in sight with birds soaring and chirping. It was so peaceful, you highly doubted that anything bad would happen

The air smelled pure, a nice beautiful breeze blowing your hair around, until... it started to smell smokey and your view of the rosy sky was obscured by azure flames, the extreme heat too close to your skin causing you to stumble backwards into a hard chest as a hand claps tightly against your mouth and nose. Cutting off the air flow to your brain and squeezing your cheeks together as your dragged into an alleyway away from the quiet street. You try to struggle against the man but you can't breathe and you're starting to panic, your nails clawing at his hand gather blood under them. You hear the man hiss in pain before your thrown into the brick wall, hitting your head off of it and falling to the floor as blood drips from the the on your temple. Trying to stand up proves to be more difficult then you thought as your vision turns blurry and your wound aches. You're gasping you realize, trying to suck in as much air as possible before you're kicked in the stomach and thrown a couple feet. You can't breathe in anymore as you groan out, the air coming out in choked huffs. Then he's on top of you, fisting at your hair as you try an' catch your breath, pushing at his chest but he just shoves you back down effortlessly. When your eyes do finally open, they're met by heated sapphire, staring you down and observing you. You quickly recognize the man, from the burn scars and blue flames, this probably the worst possible situation for you, you've heard of Dabi and he doesn't [lay very nice with people. "It's best if you stay down little hero, unless you want to be in the burn unit for awhile... that is if you don't turn to ash first." He laughs in your face, staples stretching as grins far too wide for it too not hurt. Your thrashing ceases at the threat and he hums at you, running a hand down your face wiping the blood from your head. "That's all it took to get you to behave? That's pretty sad, so obsessed with that pretty face you won't fight me?" You try and turn your face away from him but he just moves it back and stares you down, his eyes getting darker as he does so. "If you're.. gonna kill me just do it, I'm not giving you information," you breathe in between your sentence, trying to slow your heart rate. He mockingly pouts at that, before leaning towards your ear and breathing down your neck. "Oh, you are gonna give me something.. just not information doll." He counters, pulling away and sitting on your thighs and pulling up your shirt. You swallow, knowing exactly what he's insinuating, letting your head fall back on the concreate as you squeeze your eyes tight and go limp. He coos at you, pulling up your shirt above your breasts and pulling down your bra, so it sits below your tits. 'It's best too let it happen, maybe he won't kill you if you behave and keep quiet, he can't be for long since there will be other heros coming to patrol the area soon, it'll be over quick.' You chant in your head as you try to block out the sound of him unzipping his pants and the jingle of his belt being undone. Trying too escape into your head doesn't work for you though, when he notices that hazy look in your eyes as you go quiet, he slaps you across the face.

"I don't fucking think so, you think you can escape me using that little head of yours? You're gonna look at me while I fuck you and your gonna thank me after, you understand me?" You nod at him as you cradle your red, stinging cheek. Tears clouding your eyes as they become leaky with salty tears as you attempt to muffle your cries. He finishes undressing you, pulling your panties to the side and spitting on your cunt before pumping his cock and slipping inside. He sucks in a breath through his teeth as his head falls back and he growls out in contentment. His hands shoot to your hips as he maneuvers one of your legs from underneath him and over his shoulder. "Fuckin' Christ you're tight, soft little pussy sucking my cock in so good, don't worry I'm not going anywhere," he mocks, a dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he starts to fuck into you. His pace has no rhythm as he just humps at your cunt, a spit-coded finger coming down to rub at your clit in messy circles, slapping at the sensitive bud a couple times when you try to look away from the intensity his eyes provide you with. He leans down and coos at you when you whine, kissing at your cheek and nose, grinning when you make no attempt at moving away. He's so rough, pounding at your cervix and panting in your ear, biting down on your neck. "Just like that, squeeze me tighter baby.. mm fuck- best pussy I've ever had, 'ts fuckin' crying for me... mmph, you might not like me but she sure does, I'll make sure to give 'er a little gift, hm? You think she'd like that? I think she would, I'll cum in you just for her, yeah?" You can't think anymore, head too cloudy as your senses become overstimulated from being fucked like a toy, fuck you really should' ve listened to your father and let him come with you, this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been so quick to go off on your own and act like a pro, your eyes start to close before you can pity yourself anymore and everything goes black.

[nahoney22]

hi! since I saw requests were open might i make a request? i understand that this may be kind of a heavy topic. disassociation/dpdr is mainly caused by trauma, and makes your world seem not real, like you are in a video game of sorts. its pretty scary, speaking from experience. i was thinking tech x f!jedi reader after order 66, with him comforting her and when she feels afraid of it

Half The World Away 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Tech X FemaleJedi!Reader

word count: 1.4k

prompts: none

plot: When Tech notices that you are not yourself, he recognises symptoms from a study he had read a while ago. But all you need, is just some comfort.

warnings: safe for work, angst, reader dissociates and experiences depersonalisation/DPDR, can be read as platonic or romantic, comfort, Jedi female reader but can be read as GN as gender isn’t specified, Order 66 flashback/vision.

authors note: sorry for the wait on this request, I hope this is okay anon 🩵

Flying, traveling through space, was one of your many enjoyments in your life. But as the stars outside the cockpit blurred into streaks of light, you hardly noticed them.

Your mind was somewhere else—somewhere far darker. A common occurrence, lately.

The hum of the Marauder’s engines faded into the background, replaced by the sharp crack of blaster fire and the chaotic shouts of men you once trusted with your life.

Order 66.

The memory hit you like a tidal wave, dragging you under and forcing you to drown. Your senses become overloaded with the sights, sounds, and smells of what happened that night at the temple. The acrid scent of burning metal, the sharp tang of smoke from the blasters…it all felt so real, too real.

You could see your Master who to you, was everything. Everything you aspired to be; wise, compassionate, a beacon of strength. Only for you to watch in horror as they fall to the ground, cut and left in the rubble. The sight of their lifeless eyes, once so full of purpose, haunted you.

You remembered how you’d frozen, just for a heartbeat, as the clones turned their weapons on you. Panic gripped your chest like a vise, your heart pounding so loudly it drowned out all other sounds. You remember shouting, ordering them which borderlined on begging for them to hold their fire.

But instinct had taken over. The Force had surged through you, guiding your movements as you deflected blaster bolts and cut down the clones advancing on you. The men you had fought beside, laughed with, trained with—they were no longer comrades but enemies, and you had no choice but to defend yourself.

You had escaped, barely. The image of your Master lying dead on the ground burned into your mind, and the faces of the clones you had been forced to strike down followed you like shadows.

However, even as you fled, you could feel something inside you fracturing, splintering like a cracked mirror. Reality began to blur around the edges, the world losing its solidity, its clarity. It was as if you were drifting away from your own body, your mind disconnecting from the horror of what had just transpired.

Now, in the quiet of the Marauder’s cockpit, that same sense of disconnection overwhelmed you once more. It was like being trapped in a loop, the memories replaying endlessly, each time pulling you further away from the present, from yourself. You tried to focus on the here and now, on the feel of the seat beneath you, who you were here with, the distant hum of the ship, but everything seemed distant…unreal.

You couldn’t escape. The panic rose in your chest again, suffocating you. It was like drowning, like being submerged in cold, dark water with no way to break the surface. No matter how much you tried to ground yourself, the memories dragged you back, distorted and surreal, until you didn’t know what was real anymore.

Your breath came in shallow gasps, your hands gripping the armrests so tightly your knuckles turned white. The walls of the cockpit seemed to close in on you, warping and bending as your vision blurred. Was this real? Was any of it real? Or were you still trapped in that moment, forever reliving it?

“Are you all right?”

A voice cut through the fog, pulling you back.

His words were distant at first, like they were coming from underwater, but they gradually became clearer. You blinked, trying to reorient yourself. Slowly, the cockpit came back into focus.

You turned to look at him, the weight of the memories still pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. Tech’s expression was as composed and analytical as ever, his eyes sharp and focused on you.

“I’m fine,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky, and the words felt like they belonged to someone else.

Tech didn’t seem convinced. He rarely was when presented with an answer that didn’t add up. “You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet,” he observed, his tone as matter-of-fact. “Is there a reason for your recent detachment?”

There it was—that word, detachment. It was exactly how you felt, like you were floating just outside your own body, disconnected from everything and everyone around you.

“I’ve just been... thinking,” you tried, but the words sounded hollow, even to you.

Tech tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as if he were analysing a complex equation. “Thinking often precedes a change in behaviour, but your recent conduct suggests something more significant. Are you experiencing symptoms of depersonalisation or derealisation?”

His precise diagnosis startled you, almost grounding you in its specificity. “I... I think so? I don’t really know what those words means,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It feels like I’m not really here, like I’m watching everything happen from a distance.”

Tech nodded, as if confirming something he had already suspected. “I can only assume DPDR as my conclusion.”

You raise a brow at him, gesturing for him to explain further.”

He sits forwards and grabs one of his devices, tapping on the screen as he begins to speak. “Depersonalisation-derealisation disorder. It is a condition that can arise after experiencing severe trauma…” he gives you a poignant look, as if reading your mind. The loss of your General, the Jedi Order was very recent.

“So, it’s not surprising that you might be experiencing these symptoms.”

His tone was calm, almost clinical, as he explained the mechanics of what was happening to you. There was no judgment, no pity—just facts, delivered with the same precision he applied to everything. He continues:

“It is characterised by a persistent or recurrent feeling of being detached from one’s own body or thoughts, as well as a sense that the world around you is unreal or distorted,” Tech continued, eyes glowing from the light of his datapad. “It’s a coping mechanism, essentially, wherein the mind attempts to protect itself from overwhelming stress or trauma by creating a sense of disconnection. In your case… Order 66”

You nodded slowly, and swallowed the tight knot in the back of your throat. There was a feeling, a strange mix of relief and despair. Relief that there was a name for what you were experiencing, that you weren’t just losing your mind. But despair, too, because even understanding it didn’t make the sensations you were witnessing any less terrifying.

“It’s quite a horrible experience.” You mutter, playing with the soft fabric of your robes.

Tech processed your words with his usual efficiency. “There are potential coping strategies that could be beneficial,” he said, pinching his chin as he continued to scroll on his device. “Grounding techniques, mindfulness exercises, and certain forms of therapy have shown to be effective in managing the symptoms. I could compile a list of resources for you—”

“Tech,” you interrupted softly.

He paused, looking at you expectantly.

“Could you just... sit with me for now?” you asked, your voice tinged with a vulnerability that you hadn’t intended to show to him. “I don’t need solutions right now. I just need... someone here.”

Tech hesitated, his mind briefly conflicted by the request. Offering solutions and taking action was his default response, but the directness in your voice, the subtle plea, made him reconsider.

“Of course,” he said finally, placing the datapad aside. He wasn’t entirely sure how to be emotionally supportive, but he understood the value of proximity, of simply being present.

He sat beside you, maintaining his usual composed demeanor. The silence between you was different now—less empty. But more grounded.

As you sat together, Tech’s gaze drifted briefly to the stars outside, then back to you. He couldn’t fully grasp the depth of your pain, the way your mind had fractured under the weight of your memories, but he understood that sometimes the most effective action was inaction. He learnt that with Omega, and now he learned it with you.

It was a small act of support, perhaps, but for you, it seemed to make a difference. You leaned back slightly in your chair, your breathing slowing as if some of the tension had begun to ease. You weren’t sure how long you sat there in the quiet of the cockpit, but eventually, you spoke again, your voice softer but more certain as you reached across to him and rest your hand in his.

“Thank you, Tech.”

Glancing to the hand that now rested in his own and then to you, he nodded, his response soft. “You’re welcome. If you need further assistance, I’m here.”

You smiled faintly, the first hint of warmth you’d felt in days. “I know.”

You lapsed back into silence, the hum of the Marauder the only sound around you. And for now, that was enough.

🌊 Masterlist is Pinned 🌊

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets s @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @tentakelspektakel l @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @yunggoblin @photogirl894 4 @the-bad-batch-baroness @lulalovez @green-alm0nd

[randomfoggytiger]

Mulder's Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part XII): A Campaign of Disinformation

Mulder's in a bit of a pickle.

His partner is in the hospital, and his spy-turned-act-of-mercy mission has bellied up. So, how does he extract himself from the case-- especially considering his expertise and experience is an asset?

By feigning blind ignorance, of course.

FORGING A FALSE FRONT

The scene opens on Mulder, feet up on his desk, pencil in his mouth, eyes glued to a casefile. So engrossed in his work that he doesn't notice Agent Reyes's approach.

“Agent Mulder?” 

At the sound of her voice, his head snaps up; and Mulder stares, warily, as she draws closer.

Here, we catch a glimpse into Mulder's state of mind: strung taut and busily at work... at finding a way out of the case.

“I was looking for Agent Doggett," Reyes explains, inadvertently questioning why he, the man who discovered then was booted from the x-files, is down here (and comfily at home) when that could cause trouble.

Mulder waves his pencil at her, friendly, and answers, “Well, that makes sense-- it’s not my office anymore." He smirks, trademark self-deprecating smile sliding into place.

“But old habits die hard,” he says, unwinding his legs and sitting upright. Yet, he scans the desk instead of looking up, seemingly searching for something.

“What are those?” Monica asks, still not quite sure how to read the situation.

“Cases involving images like you described.” Mulder appears open and pleasant; but, in hindsight, it's easy to see he's already made up his mind and is enacting an exit strategy. “People close to crimes who experienced visions of death disassociated from reality.”  

"And what did you find?” she asks, excitedly. 

There’s a split second where we see his face up-close, a twinkle in his eye, before Mulder tucks his head and pronounces, “Absolutely nothing.” When he raises his head again, the veneer has dropped and his disenfranchisement is on full display-- a two-fold weapon in his campaign of misinformation. “These visions are so random as to have absolutely no significance to the cases they’re supposed to pertain to.”   

At first glance, this episode seems to forget (and clash with) previously established canon. Mulder and Scully have already investigated visions of the dead (Elegy, for example.) Perhaps that's a fault with the script; but regardless of authorial intent, David Duchovny's acting saves this scene. Mulder is dripping with fronts and feints, faking and dodging and pretending in order to shake Monica off his back. As he says later to Scully, Doggett doesn’t want to believe, and Mulder can’t make him. Therefore, he has decided to walk away-- why would he stay in an office that is no longer his, on a case his replacement practically shoved him off of? As Mulder sees it, the olive branch has been slapped away. Overture rejected, he is reminded of his displacement and resentment of the position he's been forced into since coming back from the dead.

Reyes immediately senses what he’s doing, calling his bluff with a smile: “You’re wrong.” 

Mulder is amused at her audacity, in spite of himself. “I think I know these files.”

“And I know what I saw,” Reyes insists. 

He listens, tense, as she continues to insist what she experienced was real. What Mulder is doing, here, is looking for an opening to deny, deny, deny-- to get her so annoyed or so frustrated with him that she backs off and leaves him alone. It’s a technique that has worked countless times before: he butts heads with his colleagues, his superiors, and gladly becomes the punching bag of their jokes so long as he’s left alone. When Monica concludes, “And it all began with the man killed in the car crash, Bob Harvey,” he reacts as if she’s nuts, looking aside with judgment, pulling away from her space. If there were a security camera he could look angle towards, Mulder would be pulling a Jim Halpert from The Office.  

Monica Reyes, however, is nothing if not equally stubborn. 

“I think….” And he has to steel his face for this lie. “That's a coincidence.” Leaning back, he adds, “I think life’s full of 'em.” 

“And full of patterns,” Monica pursues. “Things we see, but can’t comprehend. You believe that, why can’t you believe this?”

She’s got him there; and Mulder quickly looks to the side, for a split second, while trying to drum up a reason. 

Coming up with none, he resorts to the old reliable: deflective humor. “I think there’s an opening coming up in this office that you might wanna look into.” 

Two important things stand out:

Firstly: Mulder grins over his joke; however, his mirth doesn’t last long at the thought of permanently losing his office.

Secondly, Mulder speaks about Scully’s impending motherhood as if he’s privy to her plans-- as if he knows she’s leaving the office, permanently, after the baby’s born. We know he’s correct: Scully does leave the basement, in Alone; but how much of that did he intuit or influence, or did she decide and relay?   

As discussed in this post, Mulder and Scully must have had a talk of some sort between Three Words and Empedocles: he and she were bantering and seemingly on the same page (if not quite up to speed.) He knew enough about her doctor to rattle off Dr. Speake’s name and correct gender; and was surprised when he wasn’t listed as Scully’s emergency contact. Further, Mulder doesn’t fuss when Scully goes back to work after her abruption-- only when she sneaks in after being put on maternity leave, after he tried to reinforce that she’d “paid her dues” to the files and after he was sacked from the FBI. 

However: a point against this theory remains. Mulder wasn't interested in the work because Scully would be going on maternity leave soon, anyway; and he knew and she knew (and Skinner knew) that the higherups were waiting for that moment to close down the files (they'd already tried to broker a deal with Doggett after Mulder's return, after all.) So, they may not have had a conversation so much as everyone strongly suspecting Scully would leave, anyway.

Despite that speculation, a verified fact circles us back to his behavior post Three Words. As discussed in this post, Mulder didn’t want to return to the FBI after his resurrection. He wasn't motivated to go back to work (he still isn't, at this point) because he was in stimulus-reaction mode. He didn't want to fight for his position or to discuss work-- to discuss anything, really, because it was hard enough to survive. It was a suspicion of Doggett-- that he was another Krycek 2.0-- that bounced Mulder off the couch and back to work, by his own admittance. And it was the same suspicions that led him here… where Mulder had experienced a change of heart, then been literally pushed off the case. It’s a consistent new (and unaddressed) pattern since his return: Mulder struggles simply putting one foot in front of the other, head down and unmotivated; then a force stronger than himself sweeps him up into the next crisis: Doggett "betraying" Scully, the DOD silencing abductees, Monica Reyes calling for help, an oil rig infecting the workers with an alien virus, Scully insisting they help find Doggett, another mytharc plot threatening Scully and her baby, and on, and on. He woke up, was slammed in the face with PTSD, and hasn’t had a chance to breathe since. Finally opening up to Scully? Bam, abruption. Finally finding a path back to himself on the files? Bam, shoved up against the wall. Finally connecting with his future child? Bam, almost losing it to an explosion on the oil rig. Finally finding himself again in the work? Bam, fired. Finally finding a path forward with Scully finally by his side? Bam, Doggett goes missing. Etc., etc.

In short, Mulder is set up for a massive burnout-breakdown-- one that should have either hit in Existence or, if not given an immediate and prolonged timeout, right after it. (Another reason why his “hiding out” arc in Season 9 didn’t make sense: he’d have fallen apart within days or weeks.)

(On a sidenote: comparing this episode to the script really, really highlights how David elevated his character's scenes. In the script, Monica Reyes impresses Mulder with her can-do, unbeatable, sunshiney optimism... which DD portrays up to a point, always working to retain a tragic, calculating layer underneath Mulder's friendliness. The Mulder in the script is more likely to believe in "coincidences", whereas the Mulder in Empedocles is play-acting disbelief. This, then, changes the dynamic of the scene: Reyes is discredited not because Mulder is blinded by a dislike of Doggett or a waning interest in the case-- or worse, an inability to see like Monica does-- but, instead, because he can't find a way to progress the human angle forward. And, because of the fragile, disconnected state he's recovering from, this roadblock and the lack of immediate danger to himself or Scully quenches Mulder's ardor; and, thus, he retreats.)

Raising his eyebrows in patronizing skepticism, Mulder begins to rise before Reyes, frustrated at his obstinacy, calmly asks, “Is that why you won’t help him?” She knows this leads back to Doggett, knows Mulder is pulling back because of the exchange they’d previously had; and hates but understands (what she believes to be) his stubborn refusal to dig further. 

In answer, Mulder slaps the files proprietarily shut, as if to imply she didn't get a passing grade. However, he is affected: his shoulders sink, just a tad-- a sign he knows Monica needs his help, and that he's giving up. Guilt gnaws at his conscience; and, again, Mulder does his best to deflect with humor, bluff annoyance beginning to transform into true annoyance over his conflicted feelings. So, again, he hides this behind a superior smile. 

“I have,” he begins, avoiding Reyes’s eyes while closing up the files on his desk, “A, uh, sick friend--” Mulder adds, flinging a bit more of his irritation her way, “--in the hospital.” His mouth and lower cheek twitch at the word hospital. 

As Mulder stands to leave, he purposefully keeps his eyes pointed away (underscoring his disinterest in Reyes’s case.) He faces her intentionally only once, pauses slightly to give her one last You’re on your crazy own, Bucko while he dumps the files on her and waltzes away. 

Or so he meant to. 

"I hope she gets well,” Monica adds, disappointed but still fishing for one last hook. Reyes doesn’t bother to pretend she doesn't know who his friend is. “This office down here needs at least one person with an open mind.”

That’s a barb he can’t ignore (and she knows it, judging by the intent in Monica’s eyes.) Mulder tries to keep walking but ends up doubling back, almost against his will. It’s a deserved jab based on his outward behavior, but one Mulder thinks isn’t technically correct. Although, it’s also true on a level Agent Reyes didn’t anticipate: Mulder, a man who only returned to the headquarters of belief not to believe but to avenge his own pain. Even if Doggett’s accusations and Monica’s insinuations aren’t correct at face value, they are on a technicality. 

And even if Doggett and Monica aren’t trying to muscle him out or make him feel unimportant, they are exposing a truth Mulder isn’t ready to ace, yet: that he already feels worthless, useless; that he’s already muscled himself out. 

He comes back in, unmoved but curious to hear what she’ll say next. 

“You’ll say anything, won’t you?” Mulder baits, poking her like a specimen, donning his coat like armor. Pleased that he recognizes her spirit, even if he won’t respond to it. 

“Only when I think I’m right,” she declares, glowing with righteous purpose. 

He nods; then dismissively, genuinely, laughs, turning away and walking back down the corridor. 

It’s interesting that a man who based his life off of his strange convictions would then laugh at another’s. There are two possibilities here: Mulder is in another atheistic arc, sloughing off Cassandra Spender’s (and Scully’s) claims because he believes there are no aliens, only myths. That isn’t plausible-- or not completely: Mulder believes in aliens, but perhaps he’s lost sight of miracles. As we will see in the next part, that is not the case. So, what is this a symptom of? 

Mulder is dismissing through encouragement: saying No in every way possible to light a fire of rebellion, an I’ll prove it to you resolve in another person. He continuously discourages Monica here and in the rest of the episode, which makes her more and more determined to rise to the occasion and prove she’s right. Mulder’s flexing his profiler skills, figuring out how Monica ticks so he can direct her energies away from himself. In effect, he’s become the old guard who figures his time is up but wants to keep the spirit of the system he fought for going. 

Does that mean Mulder wants Scully to run away from the files and leave it to Doggett and Reyes right now, right this minute? Perhaps not. But it might mean that Doggett won’t be able to shut down or dismiss cases he would deem (Mulder thinks) absurd if Monica were around to continually pester him about it. 

But make no mistake: Mulder isn't behaving altruistically-- this is a selfish, self-protective measure. Mulder pushes Agent Reyes away first and foremost because he wants to leave the case, not because he wants to jedi mind trick her into becoming Scully's replacement or a thorn in Doggett's side. The latter would be a bonus; and she has the potential he recognizes in his past self.

All told, Mulder doesn't escape quite yet (though I think the next scene would have better served the episode if it had been a previous one.) But he's inching closer to freedom.

Conclusion

Mulder may be going through it, but a few of his preconceived prejudices are being turned, healthily, on their head.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[skkfujoshi]

Talking about Fem Beast SKK because Rhaenicent and “Married in Red” have me in a chokehold

-Toxic yuri.Like…Seriously toxic.Embodying that one “Wanna be sexed up,abusive lesbians?” quote from Class of ‘09 all day,every day.Except…worse somehow.

-Not dating but a very codependent friends with benefits relationship.

-Chuuya might date Dazai if she weren’t such a complete ice queen outside of bed.Not to mention she often disassociates and just seems to mood swing (due to her visions of other timelines)

-Chuuya likes to think she can let go at any time and she has tried to end things(read kill Dazai),but the small glimpses of who Dazai was before she got the boss position keep her coming back.

-As for Dazai her affection for Chuuya is very obsessive.Like before she started seeing glimpses of other timelines,she was like regular Dazai levels of Chuuya attracted,but once the visions kicked in…Things took a turn.

-She is so obsessed with Chuuya because she’s the one thing that seems to stay consistent across all timelines and she clings to that one constant and certainty with a death grip.Also why she kills anyone who so much as tries to flirt with Chuuya.

-Dazai never lets Chuuya pleasure her,it makes her to vulnerable.

-Chuuya has purposely fucked up with the razor while shaving Dazai’s legs.

Things they have done in bed include.

-Dazai carving corruption markings into Chuuya’s flesh cause all Dazais have a thing for corrupted Chuuya.

-Chuuya putting out cigarettes on Dazai’s throat and near her eyes.

-Chuuya trying to choke Dazai out while she sleeps with her own badages

-Chuuya cumming while she was choking Dazai just as Dazai was starting to pass out.

-Dazai spilling Chuuya’s wine all over her and then licking it off.

-Dazai taunting Chuuya about breaking her legs so that she can keep her in her bed indefinitely.

PS Do y’all want me to write smut for these two cause ngl I would?

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 13: The Record Player Song

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter

Summary of chapter: Who are you? Who do you want me to be? Am I good at playing pretend?

Author's Note: I've had this song in mind for Tobi/Obito for about as long as I imagined him being in the fic. The song is The Record Player Song by Daisy the Great. Record Player with AJR? I don't know her. I'm using the OG iteration.

Minor content warning, perhaps, for disassociation.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I've got a record player that was made in 2014

Dyed my hair blue, it came out a seasick sort of green

I like vintage dresses when they fall just below my knees

I pretend I scraped them climbing in the trees

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The hands return tonight. She’s weightless with their touch, and yet she is reluctant. There’s such vast difference between them and herself, and it both awes and frights her, like witnessing God. Release me, she prays. Let us, they answer. But how?

The amber ring approaches from her left, laying beside her on the infinite beach of her dreams. His shadowed, undetailed body presses, and though gentle he is yearning. The figure’s sharp teeth hide until their mouth opens. Lips create shapes meant just for the dreamer, but to her ears she hears nothing. Just the waves. Just the breath of the sea.

In…

…

Out...

A body…? There were no bodies last time.

Another head rests against her shoulder in a small, affectionate rub much like that of a cat. Long bangs are not needed to hide a face with no features, and an arm crooks in the chest of his cloak like a sling, red gem slipped over a finger that dangles. He’s so relaxed, like he’s nearly ready to die in peace by her right side.

Ghostly vocals drift above the sea, phantoms that speak from behind, saying something that is supposed to be her name but is not. They’re distant but getting closer. They sound urgent, they sound lost.

In the depths of siren calls and caresses, a movement of her own is finally forced. Her head is tilted back by the skull, one hand cupping each cheek. It keeps her still, a thumb trailing down her skin from temple to chin, pulling it underneath its print, making her lips part to feel the mouth that weeps her melodies. The stranger doesn’t see the man himself, much as the others, but she does see his form: large, jagged spikes against the sky so pale and wispy. Though it wasn’t felt in the dream before, it is known that he was standing behind her the whole time.

Her eyes squint, the weight of a bright world so blinding. The water draws closer.

In…

“Takara-chan!”

Out the dreamer screams, an orange swirl filling her vision. Against her nest of blankets the woman writhes but only traps herself in deeper among the pillows and fabric. In her panic, there’s no choice but to shove off whatever is on top of her. The intruder flies across the room, far further than her strength could have caused, and she has a second to get her bearings with each heavy breath she catches back.

Against the attic wall, her house guest is still. What? There’s no way she knocked him out...right?! She feels a furrow in her brow until he sits straight up like a puppet on strings.

“Oh, goodness me! Takara-chan is easy to scare when she’s asleep, huh?”

Oh.

Right.

It’s this guy.

With no other choice, she blinks away her pride until her lids hurt and she can manage to apologize. “I— geez, I’m sorry!” Concern hits as she sits up herself, adjusting her frilled pajama collar so it no longer twists. “Is everything okay?!”

“Okay?!” he repeats, sounding like the end of the world, throwing his head forward. “How can it be okay when you’re missing BREAKFAST?!”

The last word repeats dumbly back at him.

“Yes! I made you breakfast! You’re gonna love it!” A pointed pause. “...You will have it...right?”

The one thing she can’t get over— beyond the bells and whistles of his loud personality— is how hard he is to read. Is that a threat or puppy dog eyes that eyehole hides?

“I…” The ritual of breakfast hasn’t really been one. Itachi prepared food and they went and ate it. That’s it. Kisame was pretty private about chowing down and the chef himself didn’t eat very much, so everyone said thank you and went their own ways. But she decides to play ball: “What did you make?”

“Your favorite!”

She frowns. There is no memory of her saying she has a favorite breakfast. “I’m sorry, I—” A finger wag interrupts a foolish girl.

“It WILL be your favorite!” The finger draws back into a hand that solutes. “Or my name isn’t Tobi!”

Something in her gut is a bit uncomfortable, a bit like a tummy ache the first morning of school, but, well...how can she say no to that? Since day one—yesterday, to be precise— he’s been nothing but eager to please, trailing in her shadow and jumping ahead in her vision, full of nothing but questions and interruptions. It’s overwhelming, yes, but its intent does flatter. She flickers a smile of gratitude. “I’ll hold you to it.”

What a strange man, thinks the strange girl as he takes her down the stairs.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wipe my eyes and cut me off

(Wipe my eyes, I'm crying)

I'm just crying for attention

(For attention)

Wish I'd been a teenage rebel

(A teenage rebel)

Never even got detention

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Zetsu must have thought it awfully funny to tease the arrival of two and only give one, not even one of which promised. A remarkable occasion happens again, everyone present in the home gathered at the dinner table. Or at least, about to be—

“Ah, here they are.”

Itachi follows Kisame’s acknowledgment with his eyes only, the traveler nearly tripping over her feet as Tobi pulls her by the arm.

“Hey, slow down, please—!” Her plea is answered, unfortunately, immediately. She bumps into the back of him as the masked man reaches an empty chair.

“Oop?” He freezes in dramatic horror as she begins to stumble. A hand grabs her wrist and the other catches her by the back. The black-clad man couldn’t have done a better dip of a dance partner even if he tried. Her eyes go wide.

“...Oh,” she whispers, having never been held like this before. Tobi chimes down at her.

“You can’t be so reckless! You’re much too fragile for that!” Her brow furrows.

“Tobi, that goes for you too, you know,” Kisame butts in before she can question. “Your excitement is appreciated but it is also a lot—” The shark glances at her, still dangling in Tobi’s grasp. “—For starting out with.”

On a dime and her brief shriek, she’s nearly flipped upright in half a second flat. The gloved hand still holds her by the back while the other interweaves its fingers into hers, raising it beside their heads. Though frantic at first, the pause that follows allows her to study him. It’s a carved mask, almost like a vortex; it curls and caves until it reaches a black hole. Can she see his eyes—?

A thought interrupted as he spins them around in this tango in finale, pulling back her throne and making her sit between the two other Akatsuki. Kisame chuckles.

As a breakfast of messy, runny eggs is served, Itachi says not a thing.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I don't really love you

I just said that for a change of pace

I'm sorry

Sometimes I don't recognize my face

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Well, if Kisame trusts him, then it’s worth a shot, the stranger reasons.

The next week-so is spent being dragged about from “adventure” to “adventure”. It’s nearly like a summer haze daydream, the sort of thing you remember doing when you’re little, playing around with the neighbor boy.

“Come on the swing, Takara-chan!” Tobi urges, putting her on the toy and pushing her without waiting for consent. There’s no ramping up, no questions of how high: the answers are fast and up to forever.

“Tobi, that’s—” a plea interrupted and punctuated by a shriek. At first, it seems that he mistakes her screams for those of joy.

“Oh my gosh, look how high up you are! I’m so jealous!”

“Eeeeughhhhhhh!!!”

Knees pin together and hands grip for dear life as she flies through the sky. There are too many branches overhead; if she gets any higher, she will simply get concussed. The playmate has no choice but to shout down:

“Tobi, please stop!”

“I—oh?” he peeps, and for a second that mask and silence leave him totally unreadable. Is he angry? Is he upset? There’s no way to know, especially this far away, until he screams himself: “TAKARA-CHAN!”

The noble prince commits the ultimate sacrifice. As the woman swings back down from a height so grand it makes the rope slack in its bounce, he jumps into her path. “I’ll catch you!!!”

He kind of does. It mostly smacks her square into him.

The two kids rock backwards like a tumbleweed with an engine, rolling over and over and over. It’s a lifetime and a couple of scrapes and bruises later, but they do eventually fall still. Reflexively, the woman attempts to remove herself, but bizarrely finds she is stuck. A heavy breath tries to catch itself in her ear, and she finally feels ten fingertips pressed into her back.

“...Tobi?” It is undeniable now. He is holding her in place. Why? She squirms, but not hard enough as he doesn’t seem to be alerted to her soreness.

“...Hew,” the swirled face exhales. “That was a close one!” Before her mouth can open again, she feels a chin on top of her head. “At least you’re safe now.” The sincerity of this statement, as they lay curled together in the grass...is baffling, and yet...

And yet…

The thought drifts away as another day comes to pass.

“Takara-chan!”

He says her name with such affection and poise, a bouquet of roses held in both gloved hands and swung upward like an ax. Her own palms are held next to her head, having been approached abruptly and to her surprise, and the tops of her fingers bend as she begins to analyze the object shoved into her personal space.

“...Huh?”

Tobi slinks. “Wait, you don’t like flowers?! Kisame-senpai! Did you lie to me?!” A carving knife in the blue man’s grasp stills and fish eyes walk over to where the orange stands.

“No, I didn’t,” he huffs, the slightest annoyance on the back of his throat. “It’s probably that you cut those straight out of her garden.”

It’s with this statement that Tobi’s body speaks before his voice, head cocking at a sharp angle and even more of him limping lower to the ground. The traveler is silent, but not for the assumed reasons; she’s thinking again.

His gestures—...it’s like he’s a mime.

And yet more days pass.

Thump thump thump thump.

With no proper door for the makeshift bedroom of the attic, a wrist peeks above the crawlspace door and knocks its knuckles against the floor. The woman opens one eye, glancing out her single window. It is night. The panic at first dampers as the seconds go by, as she recognizes the moonlight slicking fiery color in the dark, as she moves over to lay on the old wood and lower her face towards his. Fingertips holding the edge of the “door,” this hole in her upstairs room.

“T-takara-chan…” The voice behind the mask quivers. “I-I-I can’t sleep. Can I be up here? With you?” Even at night, not one bit of his attire is retired; he is fully dressed, scarf and mask and all. He’s met with a confused hum, half asleep.

“Tobi, I—...it’s going to be darker and noisier up here,” she tries to rationalize to the man. And if anyone knows how much scarier sound gets at night when you’re in a pitch-black abandoned attic, it’s her. But he shakes his head.

“But you’re up here.”

...So she is. Can’t deny that.

“...Tobi, I…”

His hands are held to his chest, much like how she has done before when she is afraid. His face is not visible, but the emotion— the expression— he wants her to see is obvious. An inhale comes slow through her nose before she speaks her decision:

“Okay.”

He scrambles into the storage space no sooner than her permission is given, and the traveler is grateful she sat up and backed out as now arms are thrown around her. The trembling from him is...rhythmic. It reminds her of a cicada.

“I’m safe now...I’m okay with Takara-chan…”

Who is he speaking to? It’s like he’s a narrator…

“I love you, Takara-chan.”

He says it by the seventh day, whispered and airy like sweet cotton candy. She’s done nothing to deserve it. Guilt and beguilement alike wrack her heart. He has a dandelion clutched in two hands instead of a stolen bouquet.

“Tobi...I…” The two words have repeated, over and over again but never lead to anything. Two brows above the same number of worried eyes curl. He bends at the knees and tilts his chin up. The message is clear:

Say it back.

But she cannot. This is so much— too much— and none of it makes sense. “Tobi…” What can she say to this? All week he’s been attached at the hip, like she’s the first person that’s given him the time of day, the only one that has ever said so much as hello, you deserve my attention. Not only is it not good for him, but she can’t discern the origin. Why is he so childish? Desperate? Pressuring?

It’s like he’s—

It hits her, and just as it does, that’s when Tobi presses forward with his script:

“...You don’t know what it’s like to be loved...do you?” The last two words have such a tinge to them, and it confirms her suspicions. “That’s okay.” He is so still, her stare locked on that one black hole.

“I can show you.”

Instinctively, she swallows and her eyes go wide. Too close, Tobi realizes. It’s time to back off. A few steps backwards, stumbling and tripping over his own feet on purpose. “Sorry! I— oh, sorry! I’ll just—” Don’t say too much. Weed in tow, he walks without looking until he can squeeze around the corner and out of her sight.

From one performer to another, she notes how well he plays the boy next door.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I need a dictionary

Someone look me up and define me

Please remind me

Who I'm supposed to be around you

So you will do what I want you to

I'm always winning the wrong game

I don't remember my real name

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The day has finally come, perhaps for real this time, and she is nowhere to be found. As soon as the traveler saw the cloaks on the edge of her horizon, she turned tail and ran.

“Takaraaaa-chaaaaan?” the saccharine call sing-songs. The others haven’t caught on yet, more wrapped up in the zombies’ arrival than they are the sound of the back door knocking shut. “Oh?”

A hand grabs the end of a green scarf as he passes a thick bramble of berries, the woman’s knees to her chest. He almost walked past. Maybe she should have let him. Her gut said no.

If someone can save her, it’s him.

“Takara-chan!” Tobi has repeated her name over and over and over again, and each time before she has at least shifted expression, gifted her recognition of his excitement. Now, however, almost like his disguise, her face doesn’t change at all, not even as he lowers himself to her level, holding his knees and getting right in her space. “Takara-chan, you gotta come back with me! Hidan and Kakuzu just came to see you!”

Hollow eyes, unblinking, stare up at him. How interesting. He cocks his head.

“Aren’t...you...excited?” After all, she was when the woman assumed Tobi was her old friends. Those eyes bore into him, and slowly, lips part. It is only now, perhaps, that it is clear that she is so tense she is afraid to move.

“Aren’t you tired?”

A question returned from the depths of her soul. The concealment of his tilts the other direction. “Huh?” But he heard what she said, and she knows it. Tobi is, after all, a caricature of herself.

“I’m afraid,” she explains, under her breath. It sounds calm but it is merely frozen. “That I’m losing myself.”

Tobi says nothing. The black hole gapes at her. She repeats herself, if only for emphasis:

“Aren’t you tired? Aren’t you tired of performing?”

…

…

…

An accusation of this caliber warrants a response. He must speak back.

“...I don’t know what you mean, Takara-chan,” he lies in a calculated cadence.

But the performer understands how hard it is to just stop, so she talks under a correct assumption: that he knows very well. “I can’t always tell what face I’m wearing, you know?” A confession, deeper and uglier than any love she could deserve. “How I’m supposed to act.”

Her words tumble one after the other, invisible masks slipping through palms she raises, staring so intensely at. If she stares at them hard enough, will her hands bleed? Will they show the real face they’re hiding from her?

“Who likes what. Who hates who. If-...if I take time to think, people get mad,” she confesses her greatest weakness. It is one that has existed long before the Akatsuki, since the moment the curse of consciousness entered her brain and told her she is bad, bad, bad.

“If I respond before thinking, I say the wrong thing, and people still get mad!” There are going to be so many balls to juggle now, one person to throw up in the air just to catch another. The more people there are, the less time she has to think. The less time she has to think, the more she will fuck up. If you miss one ball, the others will fall.

From one clown to another, how do you do it?

Existing is exhausting, especially when stakes are so high. Her head throws up to look at him, eyes nearly blinded with gobs of tears. They still do not blink, as if they deserve to sting.

“And it’s just so goddamn PATHETIC that I can’t figure out which one to wear for you!”

She’s not a liar, no. Just a people pleaser. That’s most certainly a worse thing to be. She needs advice and she needs it NOW.

“Everyone is so different...and they’re all counting on me to be happy. For me to keep the peace. Tobi...I…” As her throat chokes, she tries to gesture much like he does, much like Tobi needs to when he can’t express with his face. Her arms fling like the fool is trying to guide him into her heart. Help me. Help me. “How can I manage all that?!”

A desperate plea has no easy answer. Slowly, the man drops from his kneel until he joins her on the dirty forest floor. So curious he has been about the newcomer, about her spell. Each prod, each step in this dance, they’ve both just been circling around each other, trying to find the right pace, the right words, the right time. Are they waiting for the other to stumble in this ballet, or has he been enjoying a worthy partner? Who is she…? How did she get here, how can she bring the worst of men under her thumb? She claims she has failed to allude him, and yet, perhaps, the woman is more of a master of the masquerade than he.

If she can lie to herself so well, too.

He should have known all along. He should have recognized the traits he sees in himself. Perhaps it does not matter how on purpose her charm is. In the end, she is just a lost stranger with a bleeding heart, and others around her are starved of love. That’s a lot of responsibility for one girl, regardless of how keenly aware she is of the precarious sword she balances across the tip of. Maybe even more so.

It’s harder to keep going forward if someone tells you don’t look down.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, so quietly as to not betray his real voice. “I’m sorry.”

The masked man wants to speak stronger, so painfully much about a chord struck so loudly that it echoes in his empty soul, but his words must be reserved. If he does it now, they will arrive deep and hollow, and it is not yet the time for him to change his face for her. Perhaps in time, but not now. Even if there is knowledge his is fake, the other performer in their theater of two does not know what is real.

So only in secret, behind the swirl, is he actually another human being, reaching his hand for hers to take.

She doesn’t know the partner in her duet. Not at all. But she knows who he wants her to think he is, and that’s so much they already have in common, so much that can be relied upon.

An audience can only suspend their belief for so long; she cannot hide here forever. The situation will still exist, the dynamics will still need appeasing, failure and success alike will always come, hand in hand. Their fingers interlock as two neighbor kids end playtime, their secret real lives, going back home to names that are not their own. The prince can pretend he rescued the princess, twigs still stuck in their hair to prove it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sometimes, I think all I'm ever doing is

Trying to convince myself I'm alive

Sometimes, I think all I'm ever doing is

Trying to convince myself I'm alive

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[clovermarigold]

Hi, it's me again (^_^)/

Your HC was so cute *-*

Can I ask for another one? Maybe how the characters react when they get anxious? Do they hide and try to get over it alone or are they searching for help? (Do you write for Beckman too? I rewatch opla and I really start to like him)

Absolutely, I love it when yall request fics. Sorry it took so long to reply, pretty backed up with work rn.

One Piece Character Dealing with Anxiety

Luffy

Luffy is a very carefree person and doesn't get anxious easily. In the few cases he has been anxious it has always been over losing someone he loves. I head cannon that Luffy has slight abandonment issues but has learned to handle them pretty well.

On the off chance that he does have an anxiety triggered episode, Luffy is what would be considered both a fighter. He lashes out to do whatever he can to fix what's causing him anxiety. But his senses become very narrowed and blurred when he's in this state.

The most common examples are shortness of breath, blurry vision, and tunnel vision, shaky hands/ tremors, and loss of hearing. Spoilers; As seen in Ace's death scene.

Sanji

Sanji has a gaggle of mental issues and experiences that spur on anxiety. Some of the main contributors to his anxiety are PTSD, childhood neglect and abuse, OCD, nicotine addiction (don't smoke kids), and an inferiority complex/need to prove his self-worth.

When Sanji's anxiety is triggered, he reacts in a way that would consider him a freezer. Sanji was raised with little actual parenting, and the small bit he did get was tough love from Zeff. As a result, he tends to play the tough guy act.

Most common examples being disassociation, tunnel vision, shortness of breath, and loss of motor functions. Spoilers; as seen in Pudding's deception (I know that was more betrayal, but I see it as attacking his self-worth issues, so to me it counts)

Nami

Nami is very much the stoic type that tries to ignore or deny that she has anxiety and mental issues, spoiler.... she does. I mentioned in my last post that she is the one most struggling and learning to deal with her anxiety (pt.1). The main perpetrator for Nami's anxiety is Arlong and herself. Nami suffers from guilt and self-worth issues (A trend huh)

Nami is without a doubt the very definition of a fighter. While now with the help of her friends she's learning to react in a healthier way, for years under Arlong her default reaction to anxiety has been to lash out and get angry.

The common examples are aggression, unstable heart palpitations (Fast heartbeats), shortness of breath, tremors, blurry vision, and confusion.

Zoro

Zoro is a man who uses humor to distract from his anxiety and problems. While he is a mostly serious guy, in the anime he has a tom of golden moments that make my ribs hurt. His problems all of course stem from the loss of his friend and rival as well as their pact.

So, it's no surprise that Self-worth issues are again at fault for a crew members anxiety. I think that in the rare case that his anxiety does take hold, Zoro would freeze. But not to the point that he becomes a statue. Instead, I think that the reason we don't see a lot of his anxiety is because he pushes past his instincts to freeze and keep fighting.

Main expressions of anxiety I think he has, are loss of motor control, tunnel vision, and tensed muscles.

Usopp

Usopp tends to be made as a thoughtless coward with skin level character depth, but that ignores all of his character growth. Usopp is among the characters with less backstory in the trauma department. But I that doesn't mean he doesn't have any. Abandonment issues, paranoia being the most present. Formed from being without his dad and constantly afraid that his only friend would die at any moment.

Usopp is a runner, there's no doubt about it. When anxiety or panic attacks kick in, he kicks out. He's also what I would consider a hider, running as far from the situation and hiding until he can get his emotions under control.

Common symptoms include, shortness of breath, unstable heart palpitations, tunnel vision, restlessness, paranoia, sensory issues, namely noise and light.

Shanks

Ok, this one broke my heart to write. We don't have a lot to work with connon wise, so most of this are head cannons.

Shanks was extremely carefree and kept a positive mindset despite his upbringing and the death of his mentor. He was sad and it took a while to get over of course, but he did, and he didn't come out with anxiety issues. It wasn't until he lost his arm that his anxiety started to surface. The most common cases of his anxiety are night terrors and the occasional panic attack when in a situation he used to do easily when he had both arms. The main culprits of his anxiety are self-worth issues and phantom limb syndrome.

In my opinion, I believe that Shanks is a fighter. But not in the sense that he will lash out when he's anxious. Shanks is a fighter in the sense that he will force himself awake and out of his night terrors.

The main expressions of anxiety for Shanks are nightmares/terrors, shallow breathing, disassociation, and depression.

Mihawk

Mihawk is a character I have a hard time connecting with anxiety. Not because it's impossible for someone stoic to have anxiety. But because I just can't see him not having addressed it by his age. Shanks is believable because he prides himself on being upbeat, fun, merciful, and forgiving. Mihawk's childhood goal was to be the best, so I feel he would have realized a long time ago that he couldn't be the best without having addressed his problems and learning to handle or get over them.

In his youth however, I think he was a fighter similar to Nami. Getting upset with himself for being anxious and at the world for making him anxious.

Mihawk likely spent a lot of time working to address his main issues which I believe to be a god complex, narcissism, self-worth issues, and patients. he's still struggling with that last one.

Buggy

Buggy is all the issues compiled into a singular red nosed train wreck. I would need a week to list all the mental issues he still hasn't learned to cope with healthily. And NO, for all my Buggy stands reading this, you CANNOT fix him.

Buggy in my opinion is a fighter but is far worse than Nami or Mihawk. Buggy's anxiety tends to spiral to the point it becomes panic. For those who don't know, the difference between panic and anxiety attacks is that anxiety haunts the back of your mind and builds, panic will hit you fast and out of nowhere.

Buggy has probably the worst anxiety and symptoms due to being surrounded by a crew with a less than healthy mindset and power dynamic. Symptoms include, aggression, psychosis, delusions, labored breathing, unstable heart palpitations, and restlessness/tremors.

[dewdewick]

Shadows in the dust | Chapter 8

Pairing/s: Finnick Odair x fem reader

Summary: At the age of 18 you thought you’d soon be free of the hunger games, unfortunately fate has a different plan. You are picked as a tribute for district 2 and thrust into capitol life.

Warning/s: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Trust issues, Death, Torture, Mental illnesses, manipulation tactics, Weapons, Swearing, Canon typical violence, Mentions of psychological distress, Use of Y/N, Fem reader, descriptions of clothing reader wears, explicit descriptions of weapon use, Disassociation, exploitation of minors, underage drinking

A/N: HI BESTIES! I’m actually flying out to a different country tomorrow morning so I wanted to hurry and post! My beta is to thank as always for putting up with my nonsense. I’m also starting to post this on AO3 so if you’d prefer you can read it there! You can look up the title, my user or click the link in the masterlist!

Word count: 4.4k

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Cold air was a funny feeling after so long in the heat. It made her nose runny and her fingertips a bit numb. It made the skin on her arms prickle and the hair on her neck stand on edge. Cold air was even more uncomfortable with the blood on her skin, where did it come from again? She felt confused, fuzzy, not quite awake.

Medical staff rushed around her as they led her inside the aircraft, laying her on a cot. A light appeared in her vision quickly after, causing her to squint. A doctor held his finger in front of her face, moving it back and forth. Everyone sounded so far away, so distant even though they were inches from her. People surrounded her, strapping different medical devices to her arms. A sharp pain stabbed into her inner elbow, she flinched, pulling her arm away from the pain. The people around her shouted, doing their best to hold her down. She thrashed, panic bubbling up in her chest. What was going on? Why was she in pain? She cried out, gasping for air as she panicked. A similar sharp pain spread throughout her neck.

Everything faded quickly, the people, the sounds, the panic, darkness overtook her vision.

Weightless, that’s how she could describe the sleep she fell into. A dreamless scape of pure black. Was this death? Had she died and this weightlessness was all that remained? Her brows furrowed as she heard a faint beeping sound after what only seemed to be a moment of silence. The beeping got louder, she could begin to feel her body. First only her toes but soon the feeling spread up her body. A slight Pain invaded her senses, her eyes cracking opening to a squint.

The room was dim and quite blurry for the first few minutes. A clock ticked, louder and louder as her brain came back from its sleep induced stupor. a plain white hospital room only containing a bed, a small table and a chair came into view as her eyes focused. She blinked wearily, reaching up to touch her face. Her nose felt strange, it was smaller and much straighter than before. She rubbed her eyes, sitting up in the bed with a groan. Hunched over, she yawned and took a deep breath. Her hands felt smooth and soft, any trace of her once prominent callouses was gone. Small scars once strewn over her arms had disappeared as well, her eyes widened a bit as she held her arms up in disbelief.

“What in the…?” She questioned to herself, moving to sit on her knees. The soft blankets on the bed slid around her as she moved. the hospital gown on her body draping down over her legs. She lifted the flimsy gown a bit, looking at her knees. They were smooth, free of the childhood scars that she had collected alongside her siblings. A bit of fear rose in her stomach once more, who had done this to her? And why had they done it?

She stood on the freezing cold tile floor, a machine beeping loudly as she got off the bed. Wires connected to her body every which way, holding her in the immediate vicinity of the bed.

The door opened, a familiar face appearing in the bright light of the outside. Enobaria offered a bittersweet smile, slipping inside the room and closing the door behind her. “Hey Kiddo, It’s ok, you’re ok, you did it” she said softly, walking over and gently leading her back to the bed. “You need rest, lots of rest though. No getting up until you’re cleared by the doctor.” She lightly chastised. Y/N was made to lay back in the bed as Enobaria sat by her legs. “You did great, the capital loves you. Everything is gonna be ok now.” She assured, taking the younger girl's hand.

The next few days were slow, mostly filled with sleep and rehabilitation. She found that the scars she was allowed to keep were those she earned in the games. However they were as asaesthetically pleasing as possible, the spiraled bites of the glowing worms and the gash on her arm given by Dutchess now just a few shades lighter than her skin. Barely noticeable and yet a stark reminder of the binding consequences of a game she didn’t sign up to play.

As she grew stronger more people came to visit. Aerith stayed only enough time to tell her that she was going to have Hebe as a stylist, Aerith herself was being moved to District 1. She didn’t offer a congratulations, a smile or a kind word at all, only the information she was there to say before leaving. Hebe visited soon after, her motherly spirit comforting and caring. She brought simple homemade soup, easy to digest and incredibly delicious.

After about a week Y/N was able to leave the medical ward. She was brought back to the apartment that she and Finch shared before the games. It felt cold, lonely without another person to share it with. The room her companion had occupied was shut, the dark wood door that had barely been closed before the games was now locked. The emotions about Finch felt conflicting, she hated what he did, but at the same time she missed him.

Why did he have to kill Caspian? He was just a kid, a baby, a sweet boy who had done nothing but ask for help. Anyone else could’ve done it, but then she remembered the look in Finch’s eye, hatred. She sat on the bed in her room, the sheets had been changed. They were softer, better quality than those on the bed before the games. Figures, giving victors better food, clothes and bedding as well as unnecessary nose jobs apparently. She wondered if they would’ve done the same if she were a man, if she were Finch. They probably would, every victor seemed to be absolutely perfect.

A big part of her regretted killing Finch, it didn’t feel real. The entire game felt like a dream, something conjured up by a crazy person on the street. She pushed the thoughts of Finch and Caspian away, feeling emotions she didn’t want to deal with coming up in her head. She could be normal, she had to be normal again, she had to be as perfect as the other victors. Laying down on the bed, she closed her eyes, clearing her mind.

A beat of silence passed before a knock came to her door frame. She sighed, Furisha stood by the door as she opened her eyes. The tall woman smiled happily as they made eye contact. “Oh my dear, I’m so happy to see you again!” Furisha grinned, opening her arms and offering a hug. Y/N sat up, a tight smile on her lips. “Thank you Furisha, it’s nice to see you too.” She said with a small nod. “I’m here to go over your schedule, is it alright if I sit my darling?” Furisha asked, motioning to the foot of the bed.

“Go ahead” She said, scooting over just a bit. Furisha sat down quickly, folding her hands on her lap and crossing her legs. “I won’t lie, this week will be very busy. You’ll be exhausted by the end of every day and as bad as that is for your ongoing recovery, it’s a necessity.” She began, looking down at the younger girl next to her. “First you’ll be on Caesar Flickerman’s show again tomorrow night, you’ll watch a highlight reel of the games.” Furisha continued, sending a shiver through Y/N’s body. She had to watch the games? She had to watch all of the death again and relive the horrors? She grimaced, her hands wringing together in anxiety.

“You’ll be crowned as a victor by president snow at a ceremony and a party in your honor will be held after. It’s called a victory banquet. The game makers, stylists and a few different mentors will be there to pay their respects.” Furisha added as she gestured around. The whole thing sounded awful, all of the people who knew exactly why she was there. The people who made the games happen and the president placing a crown on her head afterwards.

“Finally we’ll go back to district 2, you’ll have dinner with the mayor and a few important people of the district. Your family will be invited too, you’ll meet them again as we get off the train.” Furisha finished, that sickly sweet smile returning to her face. That smile, that fake and perfectly crafted smile, she decided that she hated that smile. She let Furisha’s words register in her mind for a moment, looking down to her hands and offering a small nod.

She would get to see her family, feel the warmth of their embrace again. A thought seemed to gnaw at the back of her mind though, what if they were disappointed in her actions in the game? What if they hated her because of those actions? She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath. “I know it’s stressful but on the bright side, you’ll be in such pretty clothes!” Furisha tried to reason. The nerve of the woman, the frivolous and stupid woman. “You’ll be surrounded by important people, have the best food and company for the rest of your life!” The capital escort added, that practiced smile on her cheeks. She stood up, not bothering to look back as she left the room. She needed to get away, she needed a moment to not think so hard about the what if’s of her life.

Walking out the door of the apartment, she walked to the nearby elevator. The peacekeepers outside the door staying silent and still as she looked back at them. She had expected to be stopped, to be held in that stifling apartment. Pressing the button and boarding the small room as the doors opened, she pressed the button for the roof. Fresh air seemed like a rare treat, the cold air conditioned rooms of the capital almost made her skin crawl. The silence of the elevator was a relief, she seemed to have people following her around constantly demanding her attention. The ride only took a few seconds, the doors opening quickly to the warm summer night of the capital. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes once more as the fresh air swept over her. The lights of the capital looked beautiful from the roof, but the sounds of the city bellowing around the building seemed more calming.

The warm summer breeze wafted over her skin, she could feel her muscles starting to relax slightly. Horns from cars echoed below, dogs barking from balconies of surrounding apartments. The city seemed so loud in comparison to not only home, but the games as well. She was used to the chirping of crickets and howling of coyotes. Her heart ached as her eyes slipped open to see none of the things she was accustomed to.

The roof was relatively barren, some small sparkling lights and patio furniture decorating the space. It wasn’t much to look at, the sparkling view from below being the real draw of the space. She pulled her thin sweater closer around herself, crossing her arms as she came to stand by the edge of the roof.

A small shuffling sound from just behind caught her attention. a familiar bolt of panic and fear shooting through her body. She quickly turned, bringing her arms up in familiar defiance. Her breathing quickened as she saw a figure behind her. The figure shuffled closer, an old woman with long grey hair. She studied the woman, how she slowly approached and seemed to be less of a threat the more she moved. “Who are you?” She asked, willing her voice not to show any fear.

The woman said something in a thick jumbled accent, difficult to understand. She could surmise that the woman told her she was of no harm, her hands held up in a non threatening way. “Have we met before?” She asked, her shoulders relaxing a bit and her arms lowering. The woman quickly said another jumbled sentence, a certain word sticking out to her. Caspian.

“You knew Caspian?” She asked, more interested in what the woman had to say. “Mags” the woman pointed to herself. Mags, why did she know that name? She thought for a second, her brows furrowed a bit. She realized quickly that Mags was one of the oldest living victors. She was a mentor for district 4, a notoriously kind mentor.

Mags nodded, a bittersweet smile on her face. She could feel her throat tighten a bit, her eyes burning. Mags stepped forward, gently placing a hand on her bicep. That small touch, something about that touch broke all resolve to stay composed. Her eyes burned alongside her nose, tears welling up in her eyes. Her lips quivered the tiniest bit, her shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry” she murmured “I’m so sorry.”

Mags gave another bittersweet smile, wrapping her in a motherly hug. She cried in the woman’s arms, clinging to her for dear life. Somehow just a touch undid all of her self inflicted will to remain composed and adult like. She had barely spoken to this woman and yet her arms felt like those of a family member.

She cried and cried, tears rolled down her cheeks until no tears were left. She hiccuped, whimpered and shook, Mags held her tightly through it all, when all was quiet, Mags pulled away and cupped her cheeks. “It’s alright, I’m here now.” She said softly and slowly, making sure she was understood.

The two victors stood in the warm summer breeze for a few moments. Their short introduction didn’t seem to matter, Mags treated her like a grandmother would. She seemed to understand Mags better the more they spoke, the intricacies of her accent became more apparent. She held Mags’ hands, listening to any advice she was given. Mags promised to be at the banquet being thrown in the next few days.

Y/N could only give a small smile in return. Having someone in her corner, someone who really understood what she was going through, it was the best gift she could ask for. She gave mags hands a small squeeze, “Thank you” She sniffled.

The two parted ways not long after, a quiet goodbye on their lips.The elevator ride down seemed quiet, her footsteps seemed lounder. She walked back into the quiet apartment, curling up on the slightly uncomfortable couch.

Eventually she was found again by Furisha and Hebe. She was forced to eat, shower and go to bed, falling asleep to the whispers of those who unwillingly controlled her life. The next day was fairly slow, she slept in late and ate brunch at a leisurely pace. When afternoon hit Hebe came with a few garment bags and it seemed to cause a spark of chaos. Her hair was pulled in every direction as makeup artists smeared her face with cosmetics. She felt like the doll that children throw in the mud for fun, dragged around with no clear objective. She was taken to a car and driven to what she recognized as the studio where she would be interviewed.

Before she knew it, her legs shook as she stood on a platform. She could hear the crowds screaming above, Ceasar Flickerman’s enthusiastic voice encouraging the excitement. She smoothed her dress, a low cut leather thing. It clung to her skin uncomfortably, showing off every curve of her body. Dark sultry makeup painted her eyes, her lips glossed. Her hair was made to look wet on top with fluffy curls at the bottom. She wondered if it was a callback to her blood soaked hair in the games. Hebe had outdone herself, she didn’t look like a girl, she looked like a woman.

Enobaria walked up next to her, a small frown on her face as she approached. “You alright?” She asked, offering a small glance. Her hand took the young woman’s, squeezing it just a bit. “I’m…alright. I’m a big girl, I can do this.” She responded, her shoulders back and head held high. Enobaria grimaced a bit “Just know, I’m always here ok? I’ll be here.” She reminded, her hand squeezing her tribute’s again before slipping away. “I’ll see you on stage.” She encouraged, stepping back.

Caesar’s voice got louder, announcing Brutus’ name. The crowd roared, sending vibrations through the floor with their excitement. Her mentor gave one last glance before hurrying to her own mark. She balled her hands into fists. Her long acrylic fingernails digging into her skin. Too dull to cut, sharp enough to cause irritation on her palms. Her fingers rubbed together nervously as Enobaria was announced onto the stage. The audience cheered even louder than they did for Brutus’. Clench fists, unclench fists, remember to breathe.

The automated door above her opened, the voice of Ceasar Flickerman echoing down. Her head ached a bit, it was all so much on her senses. The platform below her rose, bringing her up into the stage lights. The screaming of the audience was deafening, shrill whistles breaking through every so often. Ceasar took her hand, holding her arm up and laughing giddily. “Our lovely winner of the 69th Hunger games!” He cheered. She gave her best smile to the crowd and Ceasar, allowing him to guide her to one of the chairs on stage.

Brutus and Enobaria sat on the loveseat to the right, Ceasar planted himself in the chair to the left. She was made to sit in the chair right in the middle. “My my! You look absolutely scrumptious my dear!” Ceasar grinned, his overly white teeth almost unnerving. “Thank you, I owe all the credit to my stylist Hebe though.” She replied, doing her best to sound smooth and confident. “Well darling, I must say, you are quickly climbing the ranks and one of the most popular victors. A star the likes of Glimmer and your mentor Enobaria here.” He bragged on her behalf. “Oh to be one of the greats..” She joked back, a charming smile on her face.

Ceasar gave an over dramatic laugh, taking her hand once more. “Our Diamond, so funny!” He chuckled as she tilted her head towards him, the same smile present on her face. “Now I have to ask,” He started, quick to get to his point. “What motivated you to win? And how does it feel now that you’ve come out alive and victorious?” He questioned.

Her smile dropped a bit and she looked over at her mentors. Brutus gave her an odd look, almost accusatory. Enobaria just nodded for her to answer the question. “I suppose…my family” She started, turning back to look at Ceasar again. “I just wanted to see them again, I couldn’t stop until I knew I would. How do I feel now though? If I’m being honest I feel exhausted.” She laughed “But most of all I feel lucky. I don’t think I was supposed to win, but I did and I’m so grateful.” She said with that same charming smile. The crowd gave a sigh, obviously happy with the bittersweet answer. Caesar placed his hand over his heart, giving a dramaticized fake frown. “Isn’t she humble dear viewers?” He asked. “Lets see how this diamond won the games shall we? A recap of the 13 days of the 69th hunger games!” He suggested.

The stage darkened, music playing through the speakers as the screens around them lit up. She saw herself at the tribute parade, waving with Finch. Ceasar commented on how much he loved the dress she had worn. The screen changed to her previous interview with Ceasar, the crowd made a bit of noise as her dress sparkled. Once again she saw herself, this time on the pedestal as the clock counted down for the games to begin. Her brain began to feel that fuzzy feeling again, she knew she wasn’t going to be present very long while the games replayed. She stuck a soft smile on her face as she let herself slip away.

In the blink on an eye, she was back in a car. Hebe held her hand and smiled as she looked over. “We’re on our way to have you crowned.” She explained. The new victor furrowed her brows, hours were gone, “Did I do ok in the rest of the interview?” She asked quietly. “You did great, smiled and waved like normal. We only noticed you weren’t really all there when you wouldn’t talk after you got offstage.” Hebe explained, squeezing her hand. “I’m sorry baby, I know it’s unfair.” She continued, her face falling. Y/N just nodded “I know” she murmured.

The two sat in silence for a moment before Hebe pointed out that they were close to the venue. It was the same as the tribute parade, however this time she was driven around back. Hebe helped her out of the car, leading her upstairs and into a room close to the balcony were she would be crowned. “Do you want a drink honey?” Enobaria asked, already sipping a glass of amber liquid. “Yes please” She replied as Hebe sat her down in a chair next to Furisha.

An Avox quickly handed her a glass of champagne, it was a light pink color with a sweet taste. The alcohol made something in her sinuses burn as well as her throat, but she gave a dry cough but drank another few sips anyway. Warmth settled in her chest as she wrung her free hand in a nervous fidget. “Y/n?” Enobaria leaned forward, waving a hand to get her attention. She looked up quickly, watching her mentor frown. “You can’t be doing that in front of the president, you need to be fully here.” She lightly scolded. “It’s not a long ceremony but he’ll talk to you and when he does you need to show you aren’t going to crumble.” She said with a frown, her brows furrowed. “I’ll do my best to keep it together.” The younger woman said softly, taking another large sip of champagne to ease her nerves.

A small announcement came through a small black box on the coffee table in the drawing room. “5 minutes till appearance, final touches stylists.” The male voice said before cutting off. “Showtime” Brutus said with a huff, downing the rest of his drink in one gulp. “Let me powder you one last time sweetheart.” Hebe said, reaching to get a compact while Furisha stool Y/N up at fussed over her already perfect dress. She took a few more gulps of her champagne, finishing the glass and handing it to a waiting avox. Her head felt a bit fuzzy but she blinked rapidly to keep herself present.

Hebe took a feather soft powder puff, applying the makeup to her face and pulling out a tube of lipstick to touch it up as well. “Remember to be careful, say yes sir and no sir, answer every question truthfully because he already knows the answer.” Enobaria whispered to her, seeming a bit paranoid but for good reason. “90 seconds till appearance” the male voice rang out from the coffee table as the doors were opened by Avoxes. Screams and cheers echoed into the room from the crowd below. “Smile darling, you deserve this.” Furisha said, that sickly smile on her face. The words made her chest burn but she ignored them, stepping forward.

“30 seconds till appearance” The voice said one last time as the drums below somehow sounded louder. This almost reminded her of getting into the tube before the games, but that wasn’t something to entertain now. The drums stopped and she stepped out onto the balcony. The crowds went absolutely wild, screaming at top volume and pushing against the blockades to wave at her.

She gave her biggest smile, waving to the crowd and even blowing a few kisses. Men and women alike swooned as she looked in their direction. Enobaria stepped out behind her with brutus, each taking one of her hands to hold them up in victory in front of the crowd. The people were cheering so loud she felt herself start to get a headache, she smiled through it. The two mentors held her hands and led her to a small podium where she stood alone. They stepped away to the wings as the process paused for a long dramatic moment.

The center doors opened slowly, two peacekeepers standing at attention next to them. President Snow emerged in all his grandeur, a smile on his face as he waved to the crowds. His smile dropped a bit, almost unnoticeable if she weren't looking, as he looked over at her, coming back just as quickly. He walked over to the podium set up for him, starting by calming the crowd. “Welcome! Welcome! I welcome you to join me in crowning our victor of the 69th hunger games!” He announced, the crowd roaring in excitement as predicted. “This year a brave young woman beat the odds and came out victorious. She is an example of how even our allies can be defeated.” He said, continuing on. “We all look forward to what a valuable asset our new victor will be not only to her district but to the capital as well. I’m sure she will continue to be an excellent example for all of us forevermore.” He grinned, setting his sights back on her as he gave a small applause with the crowd.

Walking over and picking up the golden circlet from its podium, he walked up to her. “Flawless my dear,” he congratulated as he set the crown atop her head “I have big plans for you.” He promised in all seriousness. “Thank you Sir, I’m honored.” She said, doing her best to sound confident and sincere. He smiled wider, “The pleasure is all mine.” He said as he took her hand to lead her closer to the balcony's edge. The crowds screamed as they walked closer, cheering for them both as they smiled and waved.

The entire ceremony only lasted about 15 minutes but it felt as if it lasted for hours. The President eventually parted from her, smirking slightly as they walked their separate ways. She was led back into the drawing room, her face falling from its smile. Her hands shook, she felt slightly dirty. “You did it sweetie, you did amazing!” Furisha exclaimed, fluttering around her. She took Hebe’s hand, trying to ground herself and keep calm.

What did he mean by “big plans?”

[minthe-lover]

FASTPASS SPOILERS

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I find it interesting that Kronos and hades are portrayed as two opposite ends of a spectrum. Kronos is evil, manipulative, vile. Hades is misunderstood, good, and charismatic. I find that ESPECIALLY interesting with this whole proposal situation. So, let’s do some reflecting on the Kronos vs the hades proposal shall we?

Kronos Proposal;

•Kore hits her head hard on the ground, and is possibly concussed

•Kronos ignores everything she says, and forces a ring on her finger when it’s clear that Persephone is not in the right state of mind for such a hefty life decision. (Unsteady on her feet, bleeding from her head, double vision, in tears)

•Kronos is horrible because he’s taking advantage of her hurt position and love for hades

Hades proposal;

•Kore has just undergone a horrible torrent of emotional abuse regarding a lot of fears her anxiety stems from. She’s in tears and seems to be shutting in on herself, unable to voice her feelings.

•Hades comes in a storm of moths, goes on a tangent about how Persephone is “perfect for him” and how she makes HIM feel. Rather than, idk how he feels about HER, for once. She’s visibly crying in some panels, emotionally devoid in others. She’s still in the prescience of her mother who is screaming at hades. Yet he drops a proposal on her anyway. And frames it in the guise of a deal made with a king (just in case that slipped past anyone)

•But hades is good for asking Persephone while she’s in a state of disassociation and distress from abuse. And he’s most certainly not taking advantage for her disdain for Demeter in the moment.

Yeaaaaah uh. Make it make sense.

it's the trope of assumed consent at it's most clearest, it's often shown in romance movies. Where we as the audience and the character can assume that despite any discomfort or even outright saying no that they must just be doing so cause of like.. romance? it's a shitty trope that lore olympus often uses.. having hades often not ask for consent... especially in the beginning when he and persephone weren't technically together. I highly recommend watching the pop culture detective video on the Harrison ford romances and stalking for love.

Again lore Olympus isn't as bad as most of these examples but I feel like it strengthens an understanding of why lo is bad

[kandadiff]

Van Der Wulff: I dream of death

~~ Warning : dark / torture / disassociation ~~

You don't remember how you got back, but when you opened your eyes you saw the gray of the ceiling above you. Your head felt fuzzy and your mouth was dry. Your eyes struggled to fully open, a wave of sleep threatened to overcome you.

You attempted to sit up but you couldn't move your arms. You attempted to move your legs, the wave of sleep quickly leaving your head when you realized you couldn't move them either. Your eyes shot open instantly panicking. Your eyes darted to whatever was holding you down. Ropes painfully dug into your wrists and ankles and you realized why your moth was so dry. You were gagged, a cloth shoved into your mouth. Your heart beat so fast in your chest you thought you might have a heart attack. You began to panic, pulling the ropes tighter around your wrists

"She's awake!" The voice of the the boss caused you to let out a scream and he laughed. His long fingers ran though your hair. "Relax, the more you struggle, the worse it hurts.... so I've heard."

You heard the crackling of electricity in the air and out of the corner fo your eye you spotted what looked like an electroshock machine in the corner. The wicked, red smirked that painted the bosses face made your stomach turn. You screamed out as he approached you, the two metal pads, crackling as he rubbed them once again. "I like you." he said as you were fully on panic mode. "Not as much as Abigail- not yet at least." He chuckled. You desperately pulled at your restraints screaming for help, but you knew no one was coming. "But you need to be broken and I will rebuild you to something better. Something great!" The closer the metal came to you, you felt and saw your hair start to rise with the electric energy nearing you. "Something wonderful." He placed the pads next to your head but didn't tough you yet. The heat coming off the metal starting to burn your skin. "Don't worry. I watched my father do it to my mother."

You let out a shriek, the hot painful wave of electrical current coursed through your body making it convolute violently. You heard laughter over the crackle of the electricity and your nostrils filled with the smell of burned flesh. Your temples ached painfully as you watched him pull back and rub the metal together. Tears clouded your vision and streamed down your face onto the table. “Aww, don’t cry.” He pouted before bursting out into laughter. A flash of the Joker popped into your mind and you wished nothing more then to see him. But would he save you from this?

“Shall we do it again?” The boss giggled, though before you could shake your head, he jerked the metal onto your head again. The scream you let out tore at your vocal chords barely muffled by the gag in your mouth and your body didn’t belong to you anymore. You couldn’t contain the covulsions that overcame you. You involuntarily bit into the gag, partially grateful it was there (otherwise you would have bit into your tongue). You were sobbing now as he pulled them off of you and rubbed them together for a round 3. You thrashed wildly on the the table, pulling fiercely at the binds. You needed to get free, you were going to die here. He was going to kill you. You couldn’t die like this, strapped to a table. A plaything for a psychopath.

“Stop!” You sobbed but it fell on deaf ears. He couldn’t hear you, even if he could - it wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t going to stop. “Please!” He looked down at you and moved the hair from your face, almost tenderly. You had to force yourself not to vomit.

“Shhhh.” He kelt down so his face was next to yours. His gloved hands wiping away your tears. “It’s okay.” His green eyes bore into yours and his voice was oddly tender. Like a parent speaking to a child. “You’re almost done.”

“Please.” The gag muffled your response but you opened your tear streaked face got the message across. You couldn’t do it anymore. You were sure you would die.

“Please what?” He stood up his face now directly over yours. His hands tenderly caressing your throat. “Do you want me to stop?” It disgusted you the way he spoke to you. Mischievousness in his tone, No longer sounding like a parent speaking to a child. But a lover talking to their partner. His touch left goosebumps on your neck and you swallowed hard trying to quell the nauseous ness that threatened to wash over you. He leaned down slightly so his mouth was over yours- you were once again grateful for the gag. “Tell me to stop.”

“St-“ you barely got out the sound when the burning metal hit your neck. Your eyes instantly shot shut as a wail of agony forced itself out of your mouth and your body flailed furiously about so harshly you felt a pop in each shoulder and an unbelievable pain in each. Your eyes shot open feeling something on your mouth and you were met with the green eyes of the sadist torturing you. His mouth was on your gag in a horrid kiss. You screamed and jolted your head away from him but he just smiled. The smile he wore burning itself into your mind. He yanked the gag off your mouth and the cloth from your mouth. You heard yourself screaming but could no longer feel the noise coming from your throat. Everything was starting to feel far away.

Your eyes struggled to stay open, the pain forcing your body to shut down in hopes of healing. A wave of fierce nausea cut through you and you heard yourself throwing up, the feeling of warm chunks spraying on your neck and cheeks. You heard the boss Tsk and force your face to the side so you wouldn’t throw up.

No. He wants to kill you. He won’t let your body do it. An unfamiliar voice chimed in. You forced yourself to open your eyes to plead with the stranger for help. But you weren’t met with anyone new. Just the boss with his wicked smile. Close your eyes. Force yourself to sleep you’ll need your rest!

“You have another one in you.” He said matter of factly. “I know you do.”

There is no point in trying to escape. Your his now. He burned himself into you. There it was. Another voice. You jerked your head to the left feeling the vomit on your face shift into the table as you desperately searched for the voices. If he wants to kill you, he will and you can’t stop him.

Seduce and destroy! Another voice. He likes you. Turn him against the girl! Let him kill her.

The voices swarmed around you. I wonder who will miss you? Maybe no one, maybe no one cares that you’re gone. They care and you need to find a way to contact them. Someone who can do something. Someone as dangerous as him. You need to think on how to get a message to them! How? You need to kill him yourself. Then you’ll get out of here. You closed your eyes to silence them but they just continued to yell. You need help! You need to think on how to get it! Your in this mess you have to get yourself out of it! I agree. But you have to do it yourself. This is not a puzzle it’s a fact. You’ll die here if you wait. Though it was the last one you heard that stuck with you as your world turned black. You should have stayed with Shawn.

“I know” you heard yourself mumble as you floated into the blissful darkness that was unconsciousness.

~~~

Like always, I was restless in my sleep, though the loud noise coming from the party made my dreams both terrifying and loud. But it was the pops of the fireworks that startled me awake. I jolted up, the TV still playing a mindless cartoon and the light in my room low.

The popping was still loud outside and I heard people cheering as I struggled to fully wake up. I had a mild headache and moved to the attached bathroom to splash water on my face when I realized I didn't see the multicolors splayed in the sky from fireworks. In fact, I didn't see anything but blackness and the cheers weren't cheers. They were screams and the popping was guns. Instantly, I felt awake, feeling just how I did back with Luther. Terrified and shaky.

No, I didn't have time for that. I had to think. I rushed to the window, trying to see what was going on but I just heard more screams and pops. I craned my neck and saw a man clutching his bloodied chest, the symbol of a red horned devil that was permanently edged into my mind, seen on his jacket. Was Luther here?! How did he find me?!

"Lloyd!" I ran to the door, stumbling over the boxes and kicking the various gifts out of my way. "Mom!" I yanked at the handle but it wouldn't budge. "Manny!" I yanked and yanked until I fell backwards into the boxes. "Fuck!" I cried out, freaking out. I felt my palms get sweaty and my breathing quicken. "Fuck! Fuck! I can't get out!" I felt myself start to panic and ran my hands through my hair attempting to calm down. "Okay, okay, think!"

I scrambled up and started going through the boxes of random gifts cursing at the useless stuff knowing Harley mentioned getting me a ceremonial knife from some sacred place. I went through box after box until I found the sharp, silver jeweled knife. It wasn't a gun but it was a weapon. I moved to the vanity and grabbing the bobby pins I had there and worked on the lock.

As soon as it unlocked, I was met with the surprised wicked smirk of a red deviled clad man. In an instant he was on me. His hands shot up, his fist colliding with my face twice before I fell on my back. The air leaving my body as I felt a burst of pain in my eyes and nose. I saw blood dripping on the tiled floor as I struggled to get up.

"Why do you assholes always go for the eye?" I groaned holding the knife under my hip.

"🌶You're her!" He chuckled, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture. "🌶You don't realize how excited the boss is to meet you. A knew whore for his collection - one that helped bring down De La Muerte-"

I kicked his hip and he grunted just enough to give me enough time to get the advantage. I quickly straddled him bringing the knife down on his chest. Blood spurted as he reached up scratched at my face trying to throw me off of him but I brought my hands down harder and harder. I kept stabbing until blood coating my hands and dress and he stopped twitching. His eyes glossing over as he froze in the permanent gaze of death. I watched the face morph like a artist molding clay. I didn't see the red devil man anymore, instead I saw Luther's face looking up at me, smirking. I stabbed at the mans face, cutting until the skin was in shreds and the bone of his skull was showing. I heard a sharp, loud note in my ear. I hadn't realized it was me screaming until I pushed myself off of him and it stopped.

I was shaking as I stood up. I had to go! Where was mom? Where was Lloyd?! I reached for the phone the man was holding and put it in the pockets on my dress, trying not to look at the picture of me with a bleeding nose on the floor. I moved towards Lloyd room in a haze.

I saw my body moving fast but I didn’t feel like I was in it. It was like I was in a fog or looking into a mirror, like I was watching myself doing things but I had no control over my body or what I did. I was just a passenger. Everything moved fast and everything was tinted in blood. I was swift and quiet, the nickname Cat never been more appropriate. Though the looking haze I was in. I saw flashes of the men my knife slashed, but they all turned into Luther. Each face worse then the next until I saw nothing but a huge Luther shaped monster in every person - no everything - that tried to approach me. I didn't hear their cries or my own screams of anger as the knife sliced through the men. I didn't feel the warm blood as it sprayed on me or the smell of copper and death that probably permeated the stone walls of the castle. The foolish invaders traveled alone up the stairs, cocky that they got away from the massacre of the party. I made my way to Lloyd's rooms attacking the men as they passed it. I clutched the knife close to me eyeing the door, ready and waiting.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

How do you know if your dreaming? Or dying? You dreamed plenty of times throughout your life. Some fantastical and full of whimsy, some dull and others nightmarish. But how can you distinguish dreams from entering heaven, or nightmares from hell or just slipping into purgatory? How different are those things from dreams? Do you see the Grim Reaper and does he take you wherever your supposed to go? Or do you just never know? And it’s up to you to realize it?

Does death act like a dream where you can see yourself in a third person perspective like watching a movie? Or does that mean your dreaming? And what is sleep walking? Was that what was happening to you? Or was this a dream? Or was this death?

Your confusion was in response to a scene that was playing in your head like a movie on a screen. It came in short burst at first, projected onto the back of your eyes while you watched curiously.

You saw Jake approaching a girl with pinned up purple hair. He was laughing maliciously, you knew he had a knife behind his back. You couldn't hear what he was saying just one of the voice that you heard before. It belonged to the purple haired girl.

"I want you to try something you pathetic waste of space." She said to him. He lunged at her with the knife. It made contact and sliced her arm, she hissed and grabbed at his hair yanking so hard she yanked out a tuff. He cursed at her and slashed the girl again but she used his height over her against him. Like a snake she quickly crawled between his legs gripping his junk and pulling as hard as she could. The pained look on his face made you giggle, her as well. He tried not to fall down, stabbing at her arms but she was quick enough to dodge it. Though his foot made contact with her back, throwing her into the rough stone wall.

He stumbled back trying to steady his breath but you saw what the girl was doing. She grabbed a fistful of dirt that littered the warehouse ground and when he was close enough she threw it in his face. You heard the grunt Jake spat out as he was forced to close his eyes and the girl took full advantage of it. She yanked the knife from his hand and quickly put it to use. She plunged the knife into his thigh. The howl he let out caused a tremor of anger to wash over you and you could tell it effected the stranger as well. She sliced quickly at his legs and kicked him as hard as she could in the crouch. You laughed when he fell down.

She quickly crawled over him. "Fuck you! You fucking bitch!" She yelled as she stabbed at his genitals over and over again. She wasn't even phased when he pushed her off. She didn't let it stop her at all, instead she climbed back on and stabbed at his face and chest. She did it until he just stopped moving. He wasn't twitching - he wasn't shoving her off. He died and the girl killed him. She looked up and seemed to look right at you. it scared you, her dark eyes boring into your own until she was interrupted.

You saw a blonde entering the ... room? movie? dream? She looked a little like the purple haired girl but her hair was blonde and braided and her eyes and skin were slightly lighter. She looked exhausted but determined. The lack of emotion that came on her face when she looked down at Jakes dead body scared you, then frightened you more when she grabbed at the purple girl "Katrina!" You recognized her voice as well she was in the torture room. "Stop fooling around we have to go! Now!"

"Whats the point?" You hadn't noticed the tired looking red head leaning by the door. You knew her voice as well - they were all in the room when she was being tortured. Before she passed out. "Even if we get out, we'll die of exposure. We have a better chance of survival here."

"Shut the fuck up Rosie!" Katrina (the purple haired girl) spat at the red head. She wiped the blood off her face with her dirty shirt and looked at the blonde. "I wasn't fooling around, Lily, its easier to escape if we have less people in our way."

"Its better if we slip out without notice." Lily, the blonde spoke poking her head out of the room. "Lets go quietly."

Katrina held up the knife and smiled. "Our goal is to get out. quietly or screaming I don't care. We'll get out." It was like you were following the three girls through the halls of the warehouse. Katrina held the knife so tight in her hand, you could see the white of her knuckles.

Lily acted as the leader, making them carefully walk through the hallways, hiding when appropriate and moving fast when needed. As you saw more of the space, you realized they were in the terrible warehouse you were in and they were escaping! but how?

As though reading your mind, Rosie voiced your concerns "What if he already woke up? He knows every inch of this place. and so does that Abigail woman. He'll kill us then, we should just go back to the bedroom."

"And wait to see what he does to us?" Katrina growled at her. "Hell no, we're lucky we got out when we did. Who knows how long he'll stay out for-"

"Or how long Abigail will leave him alone. Lets go!" Lily pushed forward, peeking out into the hall. You moved next to her, unsure if you were truly there or not, she didn't seem to react to you. "Hide!" She whispered quickly and though you went to move, you weren't fast enough.

"Adi?" Austin pulled you up. Your arms ached painfully at his touch. "What are you doing out here." His fingers ran softly over your face, you jerked back and he shook his head, his eyes not leaving yours and he frowned in disappointment. He was about to speak when he looked around and sighed. "Come on, I'll get you back to your room." You were shaking as he pulled you away, away from the progress you made. Deeper into the hell that was this torture chamber. You needed to get away from him, he might have been your friend once but now he was on the wrong side. You looked back hoping to see the girls who led you this far.

Your eyes darted at the spaces they could be hiding. The darkened threshold of a closet, behind a stack of boxes or under the cloth covered cart. You swore you saw the red hair of Rosie, behind the boxes. "Just go. Its easier that way. Maybe he won't kill you."

Lily poked her head out of the darkened room, a grimace on her face and she looked over at the cart. "Get him, Katrina."

"With pleasure." You heard Katrina smirked rising from the cloth on the cart like an ghost from an old movie. She clutched the knife in her hand and walked to the unsuspecting Austin.

She grabbed you, throwing you behind her. Austin didn't get a chance to react before Katrina plunged the knife in his back. The other hand covered his nose and mouth preventing him from screaming too loudly as she killed him. Blood splashed on you and Katrina and the smell of death filled the hallway, you wanted to throw up and look away but you couldn't turn away. Lily joined you on your right and Rosie on your left.

"You keep us safe," Lily said as the three of you watched Katrina turn Austin into nothing more than shreds of skin, blood and bone. "And we'll keep you safe. Understand?" You forced yourself to look away from Katrina, some of the blood hitting the three of you as she brought the knife up to plunge it back down each time. You nodded and Lily gave you a small smile. "Enough, Katrina. Grab the keys to the door and lets get out of here."

Katrina now splattered in blood, cleaned the knife with her hand, flicking it off and wiping her hand on the wall. She stood up kicking Austins corpse in the process and turned to face you. "Nice to finally meet you. Now lets get the fuck out of here."

~ ~ ~ ~

I didn’t know how long I was there but soon I felt the haze pulling me deeper. I no longer saw the stone walls of the castle, instead they were replaced with white plaster. The room shifted before my eyes and I was back in the basement in Luther’s hellhole. I couldn’t move, I was frozen in fear. Luther was here, I knew it. Lloyd never rescued me. The past few days was a mercy dream before I woke up in a forced marriage. This was it. I was waking up. I was waking up into a living nightmare.

My throat felt tight and my entire body broke out in a cold sweat, I heard a ringing in my ears, I felt tears running down my face but I didn't know I was crying. I didn’t feel much of anything. Just exhaustion. I was so tired.

Was someone calling my name? Was it him? I looked up at the door but just saw a faceless shadow lurking in the threshold like the boogeyman. It was death, it had to be. Death was finally coming for me. Maybe I was still in my room and that man who punched me actually killed me and here was death, lurking in the shadows waiting to introduce himself to me. Maybe I wasn’t ever in Harleys castle - I was still in that little yellow house, under the oppressive weight of Luther as he choked the life out of me. Maybe Harley's house was just a dream that God allowed me to have before I was snuffed out of the world forever.

My tears fell onto my hands but I ignored it. The shadow calling out to me, a dark hand coming from the shadow and reaching out to me. A chill ran through my body and I heard it in my voice. My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. I struggled to breath, gulping air like a dying fish. I felt Luther’s hands on my neck and I saw death getting closer. “I don’t want to die here.” My voice was shaking and hoarse from the screaming I had done. “I need to go home. I can’t die here. They don’t know where I am- I’m not ready. I won't go.”

“Give me the knife.” Deaths voice was familiar but far away. He extended his hand. I watched as his shadowy hands took the knife from my hand - then I saw him again. There was Luther behind death smirking. His brown eyes as dark as an endless abyss and his smile full of poison.

“You think death can separate us?” His voice boomed in my ears. Forcing me to acknowledge him. Forcing his presence on me. He was screaming at me, his face wolfish. “You’ll never be rid of me! I’m apart of you now!”

“No!” I screamed, shooting up and grabbing at the knife, except I grabbed the sharp blade. It sliced through my palm, the pain not registering in the foggy smoke that enveloped my mind. I held onto it tightly, fearing this was the only way to defend myself. “I won’t die with him!” The blade was snatched from my hands slicing my palm open.

"Let go!" I felt Luthers hand on my shoulders holding me tight, digging his fingers into mine. The shadow gone- Luther was my death and he was going to rip me from this dream and stuff me into his own. "GET AWAY FROM ME!" I screamed as loud as I could thrashing myself out of his tight grip. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" I pushed on his face, the my blood staining his face, making him look like a wild monster. He grabbed at my arms and hands but the bloode that coated me made his hands slip. All my thrashing made him loose his grip on me and the knife, the knife fell by my feet. I grabbed it and plunged it into the man as he grabbed for me again. It hit his hip and he grunted out. I pushed past him and ran and fast as I could.

I ran as fast through the hallways. The walls shifting from the protective stone of the castles to the cold sheetrock of Luthers prison. It just made me run faster. I felt light headed, and my lungs burned in my chest as I twisted and trend though the hallway. I felt Luther behind me the whole time, his hot breath on my neck, his big hands grabbing out for me.

I crashed into the garage door, throwing it open and quickly closing it behind me. Panic overcame me while I searched through the various drawers for keys, any keys for any car. I needed to leave. I needed to get out of here.

~~~

[isajynx]

Chapter 3 Part 2

            After the police arrived, the volunteer began to tell us about what event was going to happen next. She asked my granny what funeral home she wanted to use, so they can get on the way. All while I sat, disassociated from the conversation. Disconnecting from my reality to my safe space like I had done before in an extremely stressful situation. After all the professionals had invaded my home, I heard the Justice of the Peace pronounce my mother’s time of death and tell the funeral home staff,

            “This is going to be a hard one guys; she is a huge lady; we might need more help.” AT this point my anger that I was attempting to bottle up for the sake of my remaining family, exploded into rabid rage. As to me it sounded like they were poking fun at my mother. I lost my shit, for a lack of better words and stood up and ran outside. As the funeral home staff removed my mother’s body from the house, I knew I couldn’t see it. I took off down the rocky road in my night clothes. I didn’t know where I was going, I just knew I didn’t want to be where I was at. I began to run, and the sun of the new day had just broken the horizon, when I looked up to find myself at one of my few friends’ house. I knocked on her bedroom window and she woke up and when her eyes met mine, I began to cry again. I began having a hard time breathing, like my world had been placed in a vacuum. I couldn’t catch my words and she knew something was wrong.

            “What’s wrong Isa?” As she placed her hand on my face.

            She gone Whit…

            “Who’s gone Isa… WHO!?”

            My mom… I said stuttering, my vision growing dim. And before I knew it, I was unconscious on the ground. Whit is a friend that just moved to the Commune this summer. She and I connected immediately, having been bonded by a mutual level of previous abuse and tortured upbringing. I could confide in her when I couldn’t with anyone else.  She was tall, dark hair, freckles, tom boyish like me. We had a lot in common. We were meant to meet, there was no doubt about it.

            “Isa! Oh, thank God your awake.” She said with fear in her voice. I awoken to her shaking me. Again, all I could find were two words,

            She’s dead. I start to sit up when she grabs me tight and hugs me.

            “I know honey, I know, and I am so sorry.” We began to cry together. “We’re going to be ok Isa.”

            Of course, I didn’t believe her, I didn’t deserve to be here if my mother couldn’t be. My now smaller family spent the next few days preparing for the funeral. An ever-rotating door of,

            “I’m sorry for your loss.”

            “You’re in our prayers.” Blah, blah, blah…

            “Is there anything we can do to help you?” I answered that question one time. Frustratingly, I clapped back with,

            YES! You can bring my mom back from the dead, can you do that? Hmm? Can you raise the dead, cause if you could we could have used you three days ago! Granny looked at me like I had just lost my mind. I was angry, how could someone ask such a dumbass question like that. The funeral was shaping up to be as normal as you could imagine, viewings, more handshaking, and a few last-minute details such as, me sneaking my mother’s glasses onto her face because she was NEVER seen by anyone without them, why start now. I was taken aback by the number of people that came to the funeral. It was standing room only, every seat, every aisle filled to the brim with people. I didn’t know Viva knew that many people. They all had real tears in their eyes. We stood in front of the congregation of people and my granny spoke for my family. As I scanned the room quietly, I saw a man I thought I would never see again.

            “You’re father?”

            Nope, Dax. The one person in the world I blamed for killing my mother besides myself. I was convinced that the stress he put my mother under, and the gloom he brought to my home ultimately caused my mother’s untimely demise. His eyes met mine, and there I was clamped in concrete boots. He grinned at me and waved his hand to say hello. I felt like I had been dropped into a hole and the rest of the immediately faded away.

            “I can’t believe the balls on that guy.”

            I know, as I sat there in my pew, I could feel his gaze on the back of my head. I wanted to leave; I did not want to be there with Dax there. After the service was over, and Viva was loaded into the hearse, I kept a weathered eye out for Dax because I did not want to have to speak to him. It was now time to put Viva in the ground for her final resting place, thankfully Dax did not follow to the grave side. However, another man did show up. My father was easy to pick out in a crowd. There was never a doubt, that man was my father. I was a genetic copy of him. He came up to my brother and I. His eyes were sad, and full of regretful, painful memories.

            “Look kids, I known I haven’t been around but, I need to know if you and/or you brother are going to be coming home with me or staying with your grandmother.”

            “NO!” my brother exclaimed. Just a simple answer is all he gave my father. For me, the decision was a little harder. I remember good times with him. I remember I wished to run away. Now was my chance, I could go with my father and start over. But, as I looked at my granny and my brother, I knew I couldn’t leave them alone. Even if it was painfully obvious that my granny favored my brother over me ten to one. So, I gave my father my answer,

            No, I am going to finish high school here with them. My father could not hide his sadness to hear that he had lost his chance with his children. He wanted a second chance and with two resounding No’s he knew all the doors to a fruitful relationship were closed. He reached into his pocket, handing me a piece of paper with a name and a phone number. As he wiped his tears away, he said to me,

            “Here, you should have this. It is the phone number of your younger half-brother Matty. He knows all about you guys, and I told him I would tell you about him.” I took the paper and placed it in my pocket. At that moment I had now lost both parents and gained a brother.  My father went on to tell me that Matty was the product of the adulterous act that caused my mother to leave him. And with a kiss on my cheek and an awkward hug, my father had once again disappeared from our lives.

            Now with Viva being gone, the family had to figure out how to move forward with our collective future. Granny did not hide the fact that she was less than enthusiastic about being a parent all over again, who could blame her. She did her job as a mother, as she had now out lived every one of her five children and now, she must do it all again. She continued to lavash my brother with all the love, making her love one-sided and apparent that I was less deserving of it. I continued to fall deeper into my depression, releasing the stress in my self-destructive ways. No one ever saw that I was screaming for help, of how close I was to hitting my rock bottom. Before I knew it, our lives were business as usual. I pushed through and graduated from high school with the same classmates I started in kindergarten with. I did not graduate with honors, but I did graduate. I did not give up even though I wanted to so many times. I muddled through that year feeling unwanted, and unloved. In my granny’s eyes I could not and probably would never do anything of worth. And nothing I ever did would make my granny love me. It was one of the most disheartening years of my life.

            “I don’t understand why she wouldn’t treat you the same as your brother.”

            Well, Granny said it was because, “I had a father that loves you, your brother doesn’t have anyone.”

            “Wow… did she not realize that you didn’t have anyone else either?”

            No, my granny, like I said before, says what she means and means what she says.

            “Do you want to go for a walk, seems like a waste of a beautiful day sitting here on this bench?”

            Sure, why not…

[toa-kirhan]

First time watching ToH S1E10 (Escape of the Palisman). Thoughts below:

Detailed thoughts:

Learning the Bat Queen’s backstory almost got me to tear up. A very touching, humanizing moment for one of the characters I least expected to have one.

The tragedy of the Bat Queen lies in what she is: a palisman. Although its never explained to us, it doesn’t need to be: a palisman is a pal to its creator first and foremost and a talisman second.

The fact that the Bat Queen was abandoned by her creator, as if she was just an object, a broken tool that needed to be replaced, is heartbreaking. The fact that the Bat Queen found the strength to seek and protect other like her who were abused and neglected like her is heartwarming, and ties into the show’s ongoing themes of identity and solidarity. As Luz says in E1, “us weirdos have to stick together,” which is exactly what the Bat Queen does.

After what she’s been through, its impossible to fault the Bat Queen for not wanting Owlbert to go back to what seems to be a neglectful home life living w/ someone whose actions led to him being physically harmed. The Bat Queen sees who she used to be in Owlbert, and wants to protect them.

While I found the Bat Queen’s willingness to protect Owlbert from the start to be admirable, I have to extend that same admiration to Luz. At any point, Luz could listened to her friends and went back to get Eda, but to Luz, the Bat Queen’s trials are more than just saving Owlbert. Luz needs to show Owlbert and the Batqueen, prove to them, that she cares about him. More than anything else, it’s a matter of trust.

Thinking over the B plot w/ King, I can see that the writers wanted to create a parallel between Luz and King’s actions this episode, since both end up using one of their friends for their own goals, who follow their lead out of a sense of trust, only for them to inadvertently break it later on and spend the rest of the episode trying to regain it, but I’m not entirely convinced.

Luz’s actions do end up being more nuanced than King’s considering that Luz’s motive wasn’t entirely self-centered (as she also wanted to make things up to Willow and Gus, who would be missing the game because of her) and because she go to to get permission from Eda (although whether she actually believed King’s word that Eda approved or just rationalized that she did is less clear).

Speaking of Eda, there’s still a lot of mystery surrounding her curse. Considering that Eda's vision/memory is now causing her to disassociate in public, while the elixir can only bring her back w/ an emotional prompt, I have a feeling that we’ll be getting another curse-focused episode next.

General thoughts:

Bonesborough: home to a well-funded public library and children’s Slayground, but also a giant dilapidated track over the town. 2/3′s not bad.

Owlbert is precious ;v;

Eda made Owlbert confirmed! Owlbert’s a Palisman, made from the branch of an ancient tree. I suppose this confirms that witches make their own personalized staves (which reinforces the idea that Eda’s always been into owls).

Eda doesn’t know anything about her curse but has had it for “longer than [Luz was] alive.”

We’ve got the name of a new location outside of Bonesborough: Glandus High.

Hooray for sport!

When does Luz get her own school uniform? Sure she gets some Hexside pride clothes immediately after I wrote that, but I’m talking robes!

Living dragon longship bus.

Willow’s parents work. That doesn’t tell me much, but that + the comment about the abomination track having more opportunities seems to indicate that Willow isn’t from an influential family like Amity.

Eda needs to get more elixir considering she’s already down to one bottle again. Nevermind, the elixir doesn’t do jack anymore.

Owlbert ;_;

The Bat Queen returns! I forgot to mention it before, but the Bat Queen reminds me of Countess Ruby from Scary Godmother.

Spider demon w/ udders. Hmm...

The demon hunters work for animal control now? No one is safe from the economic pressures of capitalism.

Gus is halfway there to becoming an escape artist!

The Bat Queen is a palisman? ;_;

The boo-boo buddy club grows!

Owlbert a horrible liar confirmed.

[raspberrydemon]

Character Introduction: Milica

Warning: Mentions of Emotional and Psychological abuse, parental neglect

Origin Fandom: Genshin Impact

Full Name: Milica Morozov

Nickname: Mil

Fatuus Codename: M.C

Age: 20

Birthday: June 27

Vision: Cryo

Weapon: Catalyst

Contstellation: Ursa Minor

Affiliation: Fatui (formerly)

Familial ties:

One would think being related to the eleventh fatui harbinger would grant Milica a relatively easy life, however this is far from the case. Unlike young Ajax, who's parents were loving and supportive, only making the harsh descision to send their son away after he became violent; Milica's parents, childe's aunt and uncle, were cold and strict, pressuring their daughter to excel in everything, Milica could not find enjoyment in any sort of hobby or interest without her parents finding some way to capitalise and compete with it, effectively ruining any interests the young girl had, and also driving an enormous wedge into her social life.

When she was not attending a prestegious shneznhayan grammar school, her shedule was packed with back to back classes, lessons, tutors and competitions, from singing to dance, debate, figure skating. Her parents would barely seem to react other than a short nod when she emerged victorious, but would often damn her and proclaim their disappointment when she slipped up.

When young cousin Ajax was heralded as the newest, youngest harbinger, Milica never heard the end of it from her own parents. At the end of her own rope, she made the rash decision to join the fatui herself, enduring the harsh humbling that was fatuus basic training bootcamp and coming out the other side with a new appreciation for good, honest, hard work.

Harbinger material she certainly wasnt, hell, she would be the first to admit she had issues with combat, often finding herself disassociating during the ordeals, however, administration was a sector the fatui were severely lacking numbers in, and Milica happened to have quite the head on her shoulders, and so, after an invitation from her dear cousin to transfer to Liyue and work under him at Liyue's branch of the Northland Bank, she leaves her home country behind for a brighter future.

"I...don't really enjoy it. That's probably the thing that catches people off guard the most once they discover tartaglia is my cousin. It's never exactly come naturally to me...but one day when pulcinella was visiting the camp...he told me to just keep swining until my body told me that was enough...so I guess that's just how I do things." -About Milica: Combat

For most of her time as a Fatui agent, Milica is visionless, and turned down the initial offer of a delusion. When she does gain her vision however, she finds struggle in finding a use for it with most weapons. Even when she finally settles on a catalyst, her use of said weapon is rather...unconventional, those who have seen her in action with her vision have described her fighting style somewhat like the Anemo wielding inazuman detective, far more physical than most would expect, or the General Mahamatra hailing from sumeru in the way her powers manifest.

Normal attack: Milica's cryo powers manifest in the form of large, bear-like gauntlets of ice that she uses to physically attack her foes, dealing cryo damage on each swing. Every 2nd and 4th swing will grant her a cryo claw (up to 4) which decrease stamina consumption when using her charged attack.

Charged attack: Milica, with the use of some stamina, unleashes a larger, heavier slash, the accompanying cryo shockwave deals short AOE cryo damage.

"Back off!" "Don't touch me!" "Just try it!" - Voiceline: Elemental skill

Elemental Skill [Bruin's Diversion]: Darting backwards, Milica leaves an icy snow-man like construct in her place, this construct acts as a taunt as well as causes a short-range AOE effect, after it has taken sufficient damage/ sufficient time has passed, this construct will explode, dealing cryo damage in it's wake.

"Chill out!" "Try getting out of this!" - Voiceline: Elemental Burst

Elemental Burst [Ursid Frenzy]: Upon activation, Milica's Cryo gauntlets become larger and sharper, she gain's a buff to her Attack and Attack speed scaling off her max defense, as well as how many cryo claw's are active at time of burst activation. Each swing in this 6-swing combo also sends fourth short-ranged AOE cryo shockwaves.(Maximum duration 15s)

First Ascension Passive: Allows for a further 2 cryo claw stacks.

Fourth Ascension Passive: Upon activation of her Elemental Skill, the Party is granted a cryo shield, scaled to Milica's Max DEF.

Passive: Every hit with Ursid frenzy, Milica has a chance to gain back 10% of her HP, this chance is increased if she has fallen belot 40% HP.

Utility Passive [Engineers Mind]: When using Milica to craft gadgets, she has the chance of returning half the product required to craft it.

Voicelines of note

"My vision...? I uh- I dont...really like to talk about it honestly...but...you've heard about some of the reasons behind why people are granted certain visions...right? well...let's just say...mine came to me much later than I wish it had..." Voiceline: About Vision

Milica does not particularly enjoy attempting to remember the day she recieved her vision, and there are only two people who know exactly how it happened. Until she knows for sure a person is trustworthy with the information, she will take these secrets to the grave.

"Oh, childe? he was always my favorite cousin! It might just be because we were the closest in age...but he was always funny and made sure to include me in whatever strange game he was playing whenever my parents and I went to visit him...when he went missing in the forest for those three days when we were 14...i really did assume the worst...I'm glad he came back...but he was always...different after that.." Voiceline: About Childe

"Oh t-the consultant from the funeral parlour? he's fine I guess..." Voiceline: About Zhongli

"Oh, Mochi? they're great! honestly I have no clue how they can be so talented with a sword but also how they cook so well! I'd be living off of instant meals and take-out if it wasn't for them!" Voiceline: About her roomate

Please do not repost or rework. Many thanks to @ainescribe for the help/letting me steal some of her layout

[ragingbookdragon]

Until The Last Star Dies

Jason Todd x Tamaranean!Reader

Word Count: 2.4K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst, Mentions of Past Abuse

Author's Note: Old story I edited and am now posting again! This is technically the start to all those Outlaw x Reader ones. Guess I gotta work on those next! Enjoy! -Thorne

The all knew something was going to happen between the two Tamaranean sisters when the Titans and the Outlaws teamed up for a dual mission. Something usually did when the sisters got together, one of them asking for help for the last of their people, the other completely devoid of and inclination to help. Kory had brought up the conversation once during the mission when she was beside Dick and Jason, but the two had shaken their heads and reminded her not to do personal during a mission—else it risk the best outcome of said mission.

Kory hadn’t been impressed with the answer, but she’d relented at least until they were back in the Titan’s Tower, and the moment she brought it up with her sister, she knew she’d made a mistake.

***

Everyone watched as the two Tamaraneans stood at each other’s throats; Kory pointed a finger at her sister, her voice accusing. “They are our people, (Y/N)! You cannot just turn your back on them!”

(Y/N) scoffed incredulously. “Our people? You mean the people who turned their backs on us? Them?” A bitter laugh echoed throughout the room and most of them shivered at how cruel it sounded. “Damn them all.”

Kory reared back, emerald eyes wide with shock. “How can you say that, (Y/N)!”

“Easy! With my mouth!” She countered, then let out a sigh. “I have no desire or want to help them, Kory.” (Y/N) turned and began walking to the door. “They can die for all I care.”

When Kory spoke, her voice was low with disappointment. “Mother and Father would be ashamed of you, Kiyahnd’r.”

(Y/N) stopped dead in her tracks and turned around, her face and voice etched with disbelief. “What did you just say to me, Koriand’r?”

Kory stood up to her full height, imposing to most but her sister. “You heard me, Kiyahnd’r…they would be ashamed of your attitude and disassociation with our people.”

A crimson haze colored (Y/N)’s vision and she exploded in a fuming rage causing the others to step back in apprehension. “OUR PARENTS SOLD US INTO SLAVERY TO AVOID WAR! THEIR OWN CHILDREN! AND YOU EXPECT ME TO FEEL SYMPATHY FOR OUR PEOPLE?!”

(Y/N) felt an all-powerful energy surge through her, and an ominous white-hot aura surrounded her. “I HAVE NO SYMPATHY FOR OUR PEOPLE! I HAVE NO SYMPATHY FOR KOMAND’R! OR FOR OUR PARENTS!”

They watched as Kory matched her power, shoulders and back glowing green. “We have a duty to our throne as they did to Tamaran!”

“TO A THRONE THAT TURNED THEIR BACKS ON US BECAUSE THEY WERE TOO AFRAID TO FIGHT!” (Y/N) pointed at her. “HOW DARE YOU TRY AND JUSTIFY THEIR BETRAYAL! HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHAT WE SUFFERED AS A RESULT?! THE EXPERIMENTS?! THE ABUSE?!”

“Of course I have not! But we are heirs to the Tamaranean throne, Kiyahnd’r! We must—”

She was cut off as a bolt of ivory energy flew by her head; it slammed into the wall with a catastrophic explosion, putting a hole through the entire seventeen walls of that particular side of the building.

Kory turned to stare at the gaping hole in the wall before facing her, her eyes narrowed, voice twinging dangerously. “Did you just challenge me, Kiyahnd’r?”

(Y/N) bared her teeth as she took a menacing step forward. “Do not make the mistake of laying your hands upon me, sister. We both know full well who would win that fight,” she promised, then her eyes darted to the members around them, eyes either widened in worry, or narrowed in expectation for a fight.

She inhaled shakily and shut her eyes, and the energy around her began to fizzle away until all that was left was her. She opened her eyes, gazing sadly at Kory, then, she spoke, the words coming out pained. “I do not want to save them, Koriand’r. The day they gave us up was the day I cut my ties with them. You want to play the high and mighty Tamaranean princess? Be my guest.”

She spun on her heel and walked to the door, but as if remembering something, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder, affirming, “But do not assume that I will do the same.”

The group watched as she left; Kory sighed and hung her head.

“Kory?”

She looked up at Dick and Jason who each gave her a look of concern; she opted for a reassuring smile. “Do not worry for me, Dick. I am okay.”

Jason stared at the door (Y/N) walked out of, offhandedly mentioning, “I’m more worried for (Y/N).”

Kory nodded at Jason’s words. “As am I.”

Dick placed a hand on her shoulder. “What’s been going on?”

She collapsed down in a chair and sighed again. “Though Tamaran was destroyed, our people survived and started over.”

“New-Tamaran right?” Jason asked, though it appeared he knew more than he let on.

She tipped her head side-to-side at Jason’s question, not entirely sure how to answer the question in terms of a plain yes or no. “In a way. Our people are now considered nomads.” She paused. “Komand’r reigns as Queen, but she is not fit for it. I have tried many times to convince Kiyahnd’r to help them. We have a duty to them to do so…but she will never forgive our people or Komand’r for what happened to us.”

“Can you blame her Kory?”

Her head tipped to look at Jason. “What?”

He shrugged. “Can you blame her?” Jason repeated and knelt in front of Kory. “You both were enslaved and experimented on. Memories and feelings like that aren’t exactly erased…or forgiven.”

“I know,” Kory said, reasoning, “But…I just wish she could work towards it.”

“It’s not always that easy.” He answered, then nodded at Dick and rose to his feet. “I’m going to go find (Y/N).” The two of them watched Jason leave the room in search of her.

***

After an hour of searching, Jason eventually found (Y/N) on the roof, staring up at the moon, her legs dangling over the edge.

He walked over and stood beside her. “Mind if I sit next to you, doll?”

(Y/N) didn’t shift her gaze from the glowing, natural satellite. “Do as you wish, Jason.”

There wasn’t heat in her words, and he wasn’t bothered by the indifference as he sat beside her, quietly admiring the moon.

It was quiet until she broke it, murmuring, “Kory wants us to forgive our people and move on…as if nothing happened to us.” She paused and shook her head as if the very idea were incomprehensible. “We are a naturally open species when it comes to emotion, but I do not understand how she can let go of everything so easily…how she can turn aside years of consistent abuse and smile so easily.”

Jason observed her for a moment, mulling the thought on his tongue. “What exactly happened to you, (Y/N)?”

(Y/N)’s face morphed into an anguished expression; she breathed deeply before sighing and speaking. “When my grandmother ruled Tamaran, she gave herself up to appease the Citadel. When my father took the throne, he did the same…but instead of giving himself…he gave Kory and I away.” She swallowed thickly. “We were…tortured…raped and humiliated…for years.”

She rose as she felt the rage flowing through her again. “Then we were given to the Psions…and we were experimented on. Again!” (Y/N) shook with indignation and her hand shot towards the sky, a bolt of energy leaving her palm. “She expects me to let it go! To forgive the very ones who put us in that position!”

Her hand released a succession of star bolts, and Jason watched as she fumed with unadulterated fury. “I will neverforgive them for it! They will never understand what we went through! They will never know what it is like to beg for death because you know it would be better than what was to come!”

Jason’s eyebrows drew in sympathy and (Y/N) clenched her hand into a fist, energy gathering within. His eyes widened, and he worried, “Uh, doll? That’s a big star bolt.”

(Y/N) studied the night sky. “I know.”

She uncurled her fist, and the bolt released, slinging into the sky, then it exploded, and Jason was reminded of fireworks as it shattered into millions of gleaming shards.

(Y/N) sucked in a breath and her shoulders squared as she spoke adamantly. “I will never forget the time I spent within the Citadel’s captivity…or the Psion’s. And I will never forgive Tamaran for putting me there.” She turned to Jason and looked down at him, her fists clenching. “For as long as I breathe, I will never help Tamaran. I would soon rather die.”

Jason rose from his seated position and gently took her hands in his own, uncurling her clenched fists; he smiled sadly at her. “You don’t have to, (Y/N).”

She wasn’t expecting him to say that, and her jaw went slack. “…What?”

His smile widened a fraction, and he squeezed her hands. “You don’t have to forgive them. Not until you want to.” He paused and raised a hand, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Hell, and if you never want to, you don’t.”

(Y/N) gazed at him. “You will not think me ill-disposed and bitter?”

Jason voice took a solemn tone. “If anyone has the right to be bitter, (Y/N), it’s you. You’ve seen and experienced horrors that would break most people…and if it didn’t, it would leave them a shell of what they once were. But you? You’ve come out reining victorious over it.” He paused. “I know it doesn’t do much to alleviate the memories, and this might make me sound like an insensitive ass, but your past doesn’t define you, (Y/N). You aren’t what they made you.”

She dropped her gaze and side-stepped from his grip, her arms wrapping around herself. “…But I am.”

Jason tipped his head and walked with her. “Why do you say that?”

She stopped and turned to him, her hand gently rising into the air; her power flowed up her arm and into the air smoothly. “I am what they made me, Jason. I am literally a walking nuclear reactor.”

(Y/N) stared at him. “Tamarans do not possess the talents that Koriand’r, Komand’r, and I possess. We received them unwillingly at the hands of the Psions. We are different…and it is because of them. We were tainted by their heinous experiments…and my life is scarred from it.”

Jason gazed at her before taking her hand again, his thumb caressing the back of it. “Perhaps…but your past was a lesson, not a life sentence.” He met her eyes. “Don’t let yourself be bound to it, (Y/N).”

She regarded him for a moment before raising an eyebrow. “You speak of moving on, but you still allow your past to haunt you.”

Jason nodded. “I do…but I’m trying to work on it.”

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do you work on it?” She looked at their hands. “You will never forgive him for what he did to you Jason…so how do you move past it to better things?”

“You’re right.” (Y/N)’s gaze moved back to his. “I won’t ever forgive that bastard for what he did to me. And for a very long time, I did not and could not forgive Bruce for letting me die. But I had to come to the realization that I was partly to blame for what happened to me, and that Bruce tried his best to save me…he just wasn’t fast enough. And that wasn’t his fault.”

He paused and brought a hand to her cheek, caressing it. “It’s different for you, (Y/N), because you were forced into those situations by measures beyond your control. But you have the power and ability to say that this isn’t how you are going to be defined.”

(Y/N) took in his words and whispered softly. “Why have you always been so kind to me, Jason? I am underserving of it.”

He smiled. “Because I’m in love you.”

Her eyes widened and she felt the breath leave her lungs. “…What?”

Jason snorted. “I’m in love you, (Y/N).”

“You—I…What?”

Jason chuckled as she floundered. “Why are you so shocked? The Batfamily tends to lean towards Tamaranean women. I mean look at Dickhead and your sister.”

(Y/N) was still in stunned disbelief. “I—no…you—no.”

Jason’s hand let go of hers and wrapped around her waist. “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

“You cannot love me.”

He flashed a grin. “I can love you…and I do love you, Kiyahnd’r.”

(Y/N) gazed at him. “…Why?”

“Because you are beautiful and strong and the literal walking definition of goddess.” Blushing slightly, he added, “You’re also badass…so that…certainly factors into it.”

(Y/N) lowered her head and laughed, then looked at him. “You are something else, Jason Todd.”

He cocked a brow. “I hope you mean that in a good way, doll.”

(Y/N) snorted and wrapped her arm around his waist before rising into the sky; Jason’s grip tightened, and she smirked. “Do not be afraid, Jason…I will not drop you.”

Jason grunted. “I wasn’t afraid of you dropping me, (Y/N).”

“So…the steel grip around my waist is just…because?”

“Yep.”

“As you say.”

The two of them rose higher until the sight of the building and ground below them was a shrunken image.

They stared up at the stars. “Beautiful…are they not?” she asked.

Jason nodded in wide-eyed astonishment. “Absolutely.”

(Y/N) glanced at him. “Your eyes reflect the stars so clearly.” Jason’s eyes moved to hers and they gazed at each other; she lowered her head and sighed. “I do not know if I am the best person to love, Jason…I am…damaged.”

A hand curled under her chin and coaxed her up; she met his eyes again and he smiled. “Yeah, you are.” He paused. “But I don’t know a single person who isn’t. You aren’t alone, (Y/N).” Jason leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. “You have me. Until every last star in this universe dies. You have me.”

An easy smile grew on her face, and she leaned in, lips stopping just before his. Her eyes narrowed in adoration and she whispered, “Thank you.”

[reikuto]

SONGS FROM “INSIDE” THAT REMIND ME OF THE AOT CHARACTERS

WARNINGS! — mature content, cursing, sensitive topics

CHARACTERS! — eren, armin, connie, jean, reiner, historia, hange

A/N! — just cause bo’s special has been on a constant loop since it came out and i felt this needed to be done <3 these are just songs that i thought radiated their energy, but it’s purely a joke!

EREN —

all eyes on me: “you say the ocean’s rising like i give a shit. you say the whole world’s ending, honey, it already did. you’re not gonna slow it, heaven knows you tried. got it? good, now get inside.”

goodbye: “am i going crazy? would i even know? am i right back where i started fourteen years ago? wanna guess the ending, if it ever does. i swear to god that all i've ever wanted was a little bit of everything all of the time.”

ARMIN —

how the world works: “the simple narrative taught in every history class is demonstrably false and pedagogically classist. don’t you know? the world is built with blood! and genocide! and exploitation! the global network of capital essentially functions to separate the worker from the means of production.”

unpaid intern: “who needs a coffee? 'cause i'm doing a run. i'm writing down the orders now for everyone. the coffee is free, just like me, i’m an unpaid intern!”

that funny feeling: “total disassociation, fully out your mind. googling "derealization," hating what you find. that unapparent summer air in early fall, the quiet comprehending of the ending of it all. there it is again, that funny feeling.”

JEAN —

30: “when he was 27, my granddad fought in vietnam. when I was 27, i built a birdhouse with my mom. oh fuck (oh), how am I thirty? (oh!).”

face-time with my mom (tonight): “i told my boys i need some space, yeah, imma face-time with my mom tonight. she’ll hold her iphone five no further than six inches from her face, yeah, imma face-time with my mom tonight. ”

CONNIE —

comedy: “the world is so…fucked up. systematic oppression, income inequality, the…other stuff. and there’s only one thing that i can do about it. while—while being paid, and being the center of attention.”

sexting: “i'm getting hot at just the thought of what i’d do to you. 'cause in my head, i’m in your bed and getting through to you. they made the internet for nights like these. i love you, baby, send a picture of your tits, please.”

REINER —

all time low: “from the moment i wake up, i, uh, i just get this…feeling in my body, way down deep inside me! i try not to fight it (describe it!). alright! a few things starts to happen: my vision starts to flatten, my heart, it gets to tappin', and i think I'm gonna die!”

shit: “wake up at 11:30, feeling like a bag of shit (oh no!). all my clothes are dirty, so i’m smelling like a bag of shit. go to pour my coffee, and i miss my cup, omg, that is just my luck. look in the mirror, say, "what's up, you useless fuck?"

HISTORIA —

white woman’s instagram: “a dreamcatcher bought from urban outfitters, vintage neon sign, three little words, a couple of doves, and a ring on her finger from the person that she loves. is this heaven? or is it just a white woman, a white woman’s instagram.”

HANGE —

welcome to the internet: “here's a healthy breakfast option, you should kill your mom, here’s why women never fuck you, here’s how you can build a bomb! which power ranger are you? take this quirky quiz!”

[folktaylor]

didn't realize you watched yellowjackets! it's been a hyperfixation of mine for the past two months lmao. what are your thoughts on it?? how did you feel about the finale??

ugh yes when i was on winter break i binged all the episodes that were available it was SO GOOD

it’s as twisted and messed up and buried and traumatic as anything and i love that you never know if things are supernatural or if it’s the trauma of the situation that’s causing them all to go kind of mad because lbr in the 1996 timeline none of those girls can be considered a reliable narrator bc they’re starving and isolated and traumatized and you can see the remnants of everything leak through their lives in the present and the show shows it as like a dramatic descent in the current timeline esp for tai who has some kind of disassociate identity or fugue state thing happening and im so fascinated by it like her murder altar??? (rip biscuit) did “the bad one” make the sacrifice to win the election?? does she just revert to who she was in the woods because her fugue identity doesn’t realize she ever left?? I’m fascinated. and LOTTIE!!!! i knew there had to be other survivors but i was convinced Lottie was pit girl from the premiere so that shook me. and her emergence as antler queen? so well done because you have a group of girls who mostly have no hope and lottie has visions or is just off her meds and who knows which and her visions offer protection and hope and something that can be clung to esp for people like van who almost died but felt she was saved by the talisman.

and MISTY. listen i know objectively she’s a bad person but as a character i love her she’s unhinged. christina ricci is an icon. misty is def probably playing both sides and probably always has been since the woods because that girl has only ever wanted to feel needed so she’ll do whatever it takes to feel that way. i love her. chaotic. messy. terrible person excellent character.

as for the finale i thought it was great. it was a great set up for s2 because it kinda left you with more questions than answers but still tied up a few plot lines. you had a big death (Jackie) and a huge set up for the cult/clan shit that we got the preview for in the premiere. the murder of adam will probably be a thing in the second season. taissa’s dark side. lottie being alive and probably the leader of the group that just kidnapped nat. also i think it’s safe to assume travis didn’t actually kill himself so that’s tied to the group who took nat so there was A LOT of set up for s2 and i didn’t mind that. the show strikes me as the long game kind of show so i’m okay with not getting that many answers and more set up

ANYWAY long winded rant over thanks for coming to my ted talk

[pastelsandpining]

congrats on 200 followers!! my request: botw zelink with Selfless by the strokes :)

this turned out a tiny bit more of a Zelda piece than a Zelink piece but it's still there! I hope this is to your liking volt my beloved

Selfless

words: 1806

warnings: read with caution; grief, death mention, vague disassociation

Masterlist

------

It was quite the feeling, to be everything and nothing all at once. Zelda couldn’t recall what it was like to be physical. She couldn’t recall much more than the blank space she existed in, and the horrible sounds that encompassed it every time she was so painfully reminded of where she was. Only in those moments of remembrance, of realization, was she able to get glimpses of the land she’d given up so much for. So much of her kingdom had been lost: children, buildings, the very friends she swore to fight alongside. The Calamity claimed everything in its path and it devoured her, too. It was only fitting, fair, even that she should suffer in the void of existence with nothing but a demon and whispers of hatred as her companion.

Zelda was not in Hyrule, not really. Her body might’ve been, but she was elsewhere, using every bit of strength that she’d failed to have before, in the hopes that her one connection to her home would find his way back to her. But for a very long time, he lay buried deep inside a shrine on a hill. The only evidence he was there at all was the warm, very small, and very dormant ball settled in her chest, pulsating softly with every breath he took in his endless slumber.

It was like that for one hundred long, lonely years. The rhythm of his heart, slow but stable, was what kept her from losing touch completely. Goddess powers or not, corporeal or not, someone could only take so much of corruption, of malice, until it started to gnaw away at her peace of mind. It was a good thing that peace of mind was not an essential part of the sealing power, but she’d already lost everything. It would be too easy to lose herself as well... No, he would come, she just knew it, and she would live against the odds, for him.

So Zelda waited, ever patient, watching the land of Hyrule pass in bleary, half conscious moments. A flicker of a new birth here, a wave of grief there, a family settling down, a crack of lightning, a call of a bird, all things once insignificant—common. Now, it gave her the assurance that people were still fighting on, continuing to push forwards despite a devastating loss. They were still Hylia’s people, after all, and the Goddess herself put up many good fights.

The kingdom was as still as ever, as silent as the heavy night, when the hero finally stirred. It was nothing more than a twitch of the eyelids, a strengthening of a heartbeat, but she felt it like a fire burning through her chest, sending hope to the tips of her very fingers. He was alive, to what extent, she didn’t know. But she took that warmth and reached out with it, surfing across Hyrule until finally, at last, he came into focus.

“Link,” she called out, into the void of nothing. His eyelids fluttered. If she was corporeal, if she had any physicality at all, she would’ve sobbed. Instead, she tried his name again, begging in a whisper, “open your eyes.”

Whether he was truly hearing her, whether he recognized her voice or not, his eyes opened. They’d never looked more blue.

But she was not the only powerful being with the capability to sense an awakening. Calamity Ganon could feel it too, and for a moment, Zelda was fearful that it would get to him before she did. It would cry out, loud and obnoxious and horrible, and get into his head like the monstrous thing it was. She couldn’t let that happen, not again. Link did not deserve the horrid fate of facing him twice, though the cards had already been dealt. So she did all she could, instructing him from afar until he emerged at last from his grave. The light was brighter now. She could see him better, all of him, from the scarred skin to the shaky limbs and anxious stature. He was lovely, still.

Zelda wanted nothing more than to burst from her prison and accompany him on his journey. She wished to heal his mind and heart, tell him everything so that he was no longer in the dark, and warn him about the horrors he would face. She wanted to feel his arms again, hear his voice, hug him in those moments she knew so well: those moments when it all felt like too much. But sealing the Calamity, caging its physical form in the very midst of Hyrule Castle, a mere few meters away from where her father and mother’s thrones once sat, took a great deal of power. She could not watch him, protect him as much as she wanted to. She wouldn’t last forever, and so conserving was key. Zelda did not rush him, she did not plead or beg. It was his decision to make, it was his readiness to determine, and she’d already waited a century. What was a little more time?

She lended him something else instead, with every break he took to confront the Goddess. She gave what she had plenty of: strength. Every bit of drained power, every little increase in difficulty to contain the demon, was worth it to see him thrive. Link would come in his own time, and she would be ready for him when he did. Besides, she didn’t mind waiting. She enjoyed those moments when clarity hit, when she could see his progress from her spot in the realm of nothingness. A naturally gifted boy in many ways, but there was something so precious in the way he worked. In the years before, Zelda had come to understand him as this hard working and duty driven boy, but it was so much more intimate to see his efforts herself. Oftentimes, she felt it was something she shouldn’t have been seeing, but she was proud nonetheless. Link would always come to be the hero he was meant to be. Courageous, determined, selfless.

And when he stormed the castle, the warm pulse in her chest thundering in time with his the closer he came, she’d never seen him look so angry. Of course, he’d lost as much as she, if not more. He had every right to be angry. For one bitter but sweet, satisfying moment, she felt for the Calamity. It had its victory, and Link would not let it get another. He was vicious and cruel and precise, and it seemed now, he was returning all of what she’d lent him. Perhaps it was just his presence that made her feel stronger in the midst of the first break she’d gotten in decades. It took hardly any effort to restrain the beast to Hyrule Field, and she took great pleasure in decorating it with glowing targets for the hero to strike.

In a brilliant moment of intensity, Zelda could feel the world around her again. She could feel her body grow solid, the golden glow encasing her with a divine power her mortal vessel shouldn’t have been able to handle, and she faced the Calamity head on for a second time. With a strained cry, with the fury of a thousand lost souls, with the hunger for revenge for her friends, her father, her kingdom, her hero, the princess took her duty upon her shoulders and swallowed the darkness in the holy light of the Goddess. She willed her magic to carve into every crevice, tear it apart, cause it to feel the very pain it rained down upon Hyrule tenfold, but it would never be enough. The Beast was gone too soon. After a century of holding everything hostage, it was reduced to nothing. That was perhaps the worst part of it all. They would never be able to cause it the pain it had caused them, because it was not human. It was not a thing that could feel pain or regret. The only thing it knew was hatred, and for a moment, as Zelda collapsed to her knees and dug her fingers into the dirt, she worried if she was too similar.

She hated Calamity Ganon, hated all it had done and all it had taken from her, and she hated that she didn’t feel satisfied. She was angry, so incredibly angry, that it got to crawl back into its coffin until another ten thousand years had passed, but all of those lost to its claws could never return. She was angry that she couldn’t cause it the pain that it caused her, that it could take everything away from her and no amount of revenge could ease her pain.

She was shaking. She didn’t realize she was crying. But Link, ever the kind, patient, selfless man that he was, did not leave her stranded. His feet came into view, prompting her to lift her head and blink hard to clear her vision just enough to see him kneel before her. He extended his hands to her. They were trembling just as hard. Zelda slowly pulled her fingers free of the dirt, uncurling them just enough to hesitantly slip her hands into his.

Once upon a time, she couldn’t read his expression. A century later, on the battered ground of Hyrule Field, his eyes were misty and he looked like he would crumble at any point, but he looked relieved. She grasped his hands tighter, more desperate than before, and sobbed out a “thank you.”

His thumbs brushed against her, gentle as ever, and she had very little composure left. Her anger, her dissatisfaction in the truth that the Calamity would never truly die, dissipated like it had never been there at all. She found she didn’t care anymore, at least not in that moment, because she had something. She had hope, she had courage. She had Link, if he wanted her. It was an ache in her chest, nagging in her brain, and before she could think better of it, she whispered, “May I ask…do you really remember me?”

She didn’t want to know the answer. He was quiet for what felt like an eternity, and she wasn’t sure she had another to give. But then he answered, quieter than the wind but as sure as the sky, “yes.”

He tugged her hands, pulled her forwards into an embrace, and she clutched the back of his tunic with eager fingers. She could cry again, but she realized with a start that he was the one sobbing instead. Zelda held him tighter, buried her face in his hair, whispered into the wind that she was here, that they were okay, that it was over.

And when they finally lifted their heads, when Link smiled at her, she had no trouble believing it.