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prurientpuddlejumper · 3 years

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Being Fake Soulmates with Dr. Chilton (Part 6)

<- Part 5

Frederick Chilton x Reader | The Good Place crossover

Final chapter! Warning: The Good Place spoilers, and a timeline that makes perfect sense because Jeremy Bearimy, baby.

2,800 words

“No way. It’s too dangerous!”

“I thought you said we were in this together?” Chilton quirked a brow, eliciting a petulant grumble. You crossed your arms.

“Or maybe you think I’m expendable, so you’re willing to take risks with my life. Afterlife. Whatever.”

Frederick Chilton, who was not, as originally advertised, your soulmate, nonetheless clasped your hand with gentle tenderness. I would never do anything to hurt you is what a normal person would say in that moment, and perhaps his eyes said it, somewhere deep in their searching pools of green. But Dr. Chilton had a repressed way about him, tending toward overly clinical just stating the facts (or the sarcasm). Anything but genuine, vulnerable, sentimentality.

He guided you by your hand to sit down beside him on the baroque loveseat in one of his many living rooms, studies, and salons. After you settled yourself on the velvet cushion, he leaned his shoulder against yours in that quiet way he showed affection.

“After reviewing the town records,” he said, “I believe we may be the only two humans in the neighborhood. Some of the residents are far too dull—Chidi Anagonye, the moral philosophy professor who spent his life writing a single manuscript, Jianyu the silent monk—while others are too perfect—Glen, that one who is constantly volunteering, Tahani, the philanthropist. Real people have flaws, secrets, hobbies. I can only be certain of myself and you.”

“How’d you figure out I’m real?”

“I didn’t. I simply refuse to accept the alternative,” he said with a sad smile, and you began to think Dr. Chilton was sentimental after all.

***

Their voices were muffled even with your ear pressed to the door of Michael’s office—not that it mattered much what they were talking about. You were just waiting for the signal, and at that moment, it came. Their footsteps and voices grew louder as Frederick and Michael approached, and the door handle clicked.

“—which is why cannibalism loses more good-person points than defenestration but fewer than chewing loudly on a crowded bus.”

“Fascinating. I never thought about it that way,” said Chilton, looking genuinely disturbed.

You flattened yourself against the wall next to the door, thinking thin thoughts as the pair exited the office. A tall houseplant barely disguised your presence, and if Michael had any kind of peripheral vision, he would see you standing there plain as day.

But Dr. Chilton spoke animatedly, fixing him with a challenging laser-stare as he asked a probing follow-up question. Locked in Chilton’s eyes, Michael failed to notice the movement just behind his left shoulder as you slipped through the closing door before it could latch shut.

Safe.

Michael’s office was quiet and filled you with serenity in much the same way a teddy bear is filled with stuffing: forcefully and by no will of your own. Like the welcome room with its happy green plants and happy green words on the wall assuring you everything is fine, the office peeled your defenses away. Cream-colored walls yawned out around the perimeter, punctuated with bright windows, a portrait of Doug Forcett (a stoner from the 1970s who guessed, on a mushroom trip, how the afterlife really worked), and various artifacts of humanity enshrined like museum pieces, despite seeming perfectly mundane.

At the top of the room was a large mahogany desk.

Yesterday, Chilton watched Michael put away files in the desk that he wouldn’t let him look at. Chilton was certain they were the key to unraveling the mystery, so he suggested working together—he would distract Michael while you sneaked in to find the files. It was risky, but it might have been your only chance of discovering what was going on, and if there was a way to escape.

You began poking through the desk and found stacks of papers in an unreadable alphabet. The only thing you could read were lyrics to a genuinely terrible song Michael was writing titled “Love Train to the Cosmos.”

The last drawer wouldn’t budge.

Yanking the handle didn’t work. Banging on the side with your fist failed to unstick it. It was locked. Locked drawers were suspicious. The answers had to be in there.

You eyed a mountain of paperclips lovingly displayed on a pedestal labeled “Human Things.” Snatching two off the top, you unbent and re-bent the stiff metal wire, and inserted it into the lock. Faint clicks sounded as you turned and finessed the paperclip, feeling each pin in the tumbler slide into place. Then you gently turned it, and—pop. The drawer opened.

A single manila folder stamped TOP SECRET in threatening red letters rested inside, as if waiting to be found. You picked it up and opened it, and your breath caught. They were reports on “The Good Place.” The Good Place in quotation marks. Reports about you.

A pleasant bing sounded.

Janet materialized in front of the desk. For once, she was not wearing a cheery smile.

***

Frederick Chilton had always been a selfish man. Any opportunity that could advance his career and put him in the spotlight, he would take it no matter who it hurt. “Unorthodox therapy,” he called it in his private chats with Dr. Lecter. They bonded over their shared interest in unorthodox research before he learned Dr. Lecter was a cannibal. That would have been a clue to anybody else that it was time to change his ways, but Dr. Chilton spent the rest of his years just as selfish and petty—more so, even, as his disfiguring injuries gave him more reason for spite.

He could never accept himself as he was.

By the time he died, Chilton was an intolerable asshole who paid back the world’s cruelty with his chronic foul moods and acerbic sarcasm. He kept everyone at a distance.

And yet, here, in death, he found himself worrying over someone else.

The sun was shining in the ever-blue sky, dappled by lush green foliage before reaching the two men as they strolled the neighborhood below. Michael was built like a sapling with longer legs than he knew what to do with, making Chilton nearly jog to keep pace. He had a warm smile and an outgoing demeanor—always flattering Chilton’s ego and asking for his guidance. But something malignant hid behind those smiling eyes, and Chilton’s mind kept rushing back to you, hoping you were OK.

He hoped that you were safe. Not that the plan was going smoothly. That you were safe.

There was a difference, and Dr. Chilton noticed right away that his twitchy nervousness was not wrought of self-preservation. It was a new type of panic—worse than fear for himself, which he never thought possible considering the amount of terror he had experienced on his own behalf.

To distract himself, Chilton threw himself into the role of Michael’s assistant, focusing on his task of supposedly identifying psychological issues causing problems with the neighborhood.

“Our interviews should go in alphabetical order, under the pretense of a survey—a sort of afterlife census—to avoid suspicion. It should be feasible, with only three hundred residents—”

“We know,” Michael said coolly. His voice dropped from the usual friendly, flattering demeanor, slipping off like a mask.

“You know how you are going to handle the interviews? It is imperative the subjects do not suspect they are being studied.” Chilton swallowed, knowing full well that he was talking to the real Michael for the first time.

“Don’t play dumb.” Michael smiled an entirely different type of smile, twisted and clever with no warmth in it. “We’ve been watching you, Dr. Chilton. We knew you would figure it out eventually. It was only a matter of time before you saw through a psychiatric study.”

Chilton’s interest piqued at the same time his blood went cold. He wet his lips. “Is that what all this is, then?”

The pair came to a stone bridge that arched gracefully over a reflection pool. Michael stopped midway across, leaned one of his long, pointed elbows on the railing, and cocked his head at Chilton.

“You haven’t figured it all out yet? That’s disappointing. You humans really are so dense.” His tone was so mean that Chilton took an unconscious step back. Michael only laughed and told him there was no point in running away. “But I think you’ll want to hear what I have to offer,” he promised.

Most of what you had been told about the afterlife was true, Michael explained. There was a real good place, and there was a real bad place where bad people were tortured for all eternity. But the bad place had a problem: it was boring! Humans get used to physical pain after the first few centuries, no matter how creative the punishment.

“Once you’ve flattened a thousand penises, you’ve flattened them all. I’m trying to do something new here. Innovate!” said Michael with an energetic swoop of his hand. “Emotional torture can cause the same level of discomfort, but in a more sustainable and (more importantly) entertaining way. That’s what this neighborhood is for—to study you humans and find out what makes you miserable.”

And then he offered Dr. Chilton something that grabbed his attention. The opportunity to design bad place neighborhoods.

“You are asking me to help implement psychological torture?” Chilton turned over each word cautiously.

“Oh,” Michael scoffed, “Don’t tell me you’re concerned about the ethics? Doctor, I’ve read your file.”

Chilton winced. He had done truly amoral things in the name of discovery—things it made him sick to be reminded of. Strange, though. In the past, he would have been proud to be treated as a peer by a psychopath. Not ashamed.

“Think of it, the glory, the prestige. You would be designing the afterlife for billions of souls. You will be remembered throughout eternity as the man who reformed the bad place!”

“And my soulmate?”

Chilton blurted it without thinking. It sounded so childish and naive, and sure enough, Michael shook his head and had a long chuckle at his expense.

“There’s no such thing! I thought you knew,” Michael slapped his knee. “I made it up so you would torture each other! But once again, I underestimated the human libido. You people all think with your genitals, it’s—it’s gross. Humans are gross.” He made a face. “That’s why I need your help to design a better system. With your understanding of the human mind, we can make condemned souls miserable for thousands of years.”

Chilton couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for this plan, and Michael frowned.

“If it makes you feel any better, consider this the humane option. The alternative is going back to scooping eyeballs out with melon ballers and replacing them with live bees. What do you say, doctor? Join my team.” Michael extended a hand, and Chilton eyeballed it.

“Can my soulmate—”

“Not a soulmate.”

“—come with me?”

“This offer is only open to you.”

“So they will be tortured? Alone? For eternity? In a system I help design?”

“Nothing you can do will change that. They are going to be tortured—the only person you can save is yourself, if you decide to help me.”

Frederick’s brow knit together. He thought about refusing. He really did. Abandoning you seemed unthinkable, especially after your promise to each other to stick together. But he was a selfish creature, and choosing to be punished wouldn’t protect you. If he was lucky, by teaming up with Michael, he could design a more comfortable torture for you one day.

“Maybe this will help make up your mind,” Michael said. “Hannibal Lecter.”

“Lecter?”

“He’s here. In the bad place. So far, he has been especially resistant to traditional torture. I thought you might have a personal interest in taking a crack at him?”

***

On a floating, room-sized projection screen, Frederick Chilton shook Michael’s hand. Your head fell forward, shoulders slumping. The screen flicked off and dissipated into the office air.

“This is the 764th time he has failed,” said Janet, giving a sympathetic simulation of a sigh. “We were sure he was going to make the right decision this time.”

You shook your head. “Fame and glory? Revenge? He’ll never refuse those. Trust me—he died because of them and still never learned his lesson.”

“That is what we’re afraid of. Some people never pass their tests. Fun fact!” she perked up, “Hannibal Lecter’s test is working at a Burger King where he can only cook Impossible Whoppers, and his 19-year-old manager calls him pee-paw. He gets reset every time he eats a customer. His longest record is twelve hours.”

When Janet found you snooping in Michael’s desk, you expected to be dragged away, never to see Frederick again. Instead, she explained everything to you—the truth.

A long time ago, the bad place was exactly how Michael described it—a place where souls were sent to have their orifices filled with spiders for eternity. Then he decided to try something new. Originally, he paired you with Dr. Chilton hoping you would drive each other crazy. But no matter what happened, you kept falling in love. You kept supporting each other, and taking care of each other. The same happened with his other human test subjects—they kept improving and becoming better people than they were on Earth. Eventually, Michael changed, too.

He redesigned the bad place to be a test—a chance for human souls to earn their way into the good place. At the end of each test, you either pass and go to the good place, or your memories are erased and you start over again.

“So, what happens to me now?”

“You passed. You can go to the good place now, and spend the rest of eternity in paradise. The real one.”

“And Frederick? He’ll be alone?”

Janet nodded.

“Put me back in. Reset me, and make me his soulmate again.”

“Are you sure?” Janet asked.

“I’m not going without him.”

“He would leave you behind. You just saw that.”

“That wasn’t fair. Anyone would accept that deal. I would accept that deal!”

“No. You wouldn’t,” Janet said. “You passed your test a long time ago.”

For a while, a heavy silence fell between you as you processed this. Finally, you thought of the only question worth asking. “How many times have we had this conversation?”

“762.”

“Well then,” you said. “You know what I’m going to say.”

“I do. But you retain a vague sense of your memories from previous tests. At a subconscious level, you might realize you’re tired of this.”

You smiled. A big, genuine one that balled your cheeks and creased the corners of your eyes. “That’s not how I feel at all. I think I love him more every time.”

Janet nodded, but gave one last warning before erasing your memories again. “If he never passes, you could be stuck here forever.”

“Stuck falling in love with that insecure jerk over and over again for thousands of years? Sounds like heaven to me.”

“I thought you might say that.”

***

The first day, you really wanted to punch his pretentious snobby face for thinking he was so much better than you.

The first time you laid eyes on Dr. Frederick Chilton, he was waiting behind a mahogany desk with an ancient hardcover book in his hands. Not reading it—waiting, posed deliberately to be discovered that way, and give the impression of intellectualism.

“This is your soulmate,” said Michael, introducing you.

Chilton took a step back after shaking your hand and looked you up and down critically, as if he were appraising livestock. And right away, you knew there had been a terrible mistake. Who the fork did he think he—

Fork. Fork! Why couldn’t you say fork?!

***

Bright light streamed in through the open bedroom window. The weather was always perfect here, except when some glitch made it rain caviar and jelly beans. Or that time Frederick had a vivid nightmare, and organs began falling from the sky. Every day, something horrible seemed to go wrong in the good place. Things that challenged you and pushed your soulmate to his limits.

But most mornings were like this. Quiet. A time just for the two of you.

Your fingers lightly stroked his chest, delving into the soft hairs that rose and fell with his steady breathing. You pressed a soft kiss to his skin, then another, tracing a line of them lower, over a jagged, raised line down his abdomen. His scars let you know he was waking up. This was the good place—he didn’t have to let them show. Usually, he chose to appear as a younger version of himself, before all the indelible trauma. But on peaceful mornings like this, he would let them show just so you could soothe them. He never thought he would be that comfortable with anyone. That he could trust anyone so much.

Every day, you both knew you could overcome anything, so long as you were together.

#Frederick Chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #The Good Place crossover #my writing

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ruby-whistler · 3 years

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This is targeted at your dream apologist post, just to be up front. Just wanted to give my two cents in on some of the stuff w/o doing a whole rebuttal, since… I don’t really want to lol. To start off, I had an issue with how you framed the beginnings of Lmanberg. How Lmanberg formed wasn’t colonizing, it was just independence from the greater dsmp from a set of members that disliked the way things were ran by Dream (and by more direct extension, the rest of the dsmp citizens, namely sapnap.) Dream was protecting his power, not any kind of attachment made to the server, I’d argue, becuz in the end the way he relinquished control was by gaining more; by getting leverage over one of the original members, Tommy, via taking his discs.

Another thing, you shouldn’t be angry at ppl for not feeling sympathetic for a character that’s done such heinous things against other characters. You’re more then welcome to feel bad for him yourself, but no one else has to. After watching the whole of Tommy’s exile arc, it’s very clear to see the Dream was cruel and horrible to a child that hardly deserved it. Dream was dehumanizing to Tommy. Making him put all of his self earned items into a hole every visit and promptly destroying it all, telling Tommy that his friends don’t miss him, blowing up Logstedshire after finding Tommy’s secret room (that he hid from Dream to stop him from destroying it) filled with Tommy’s resources for escaping, not even allowing him to leave, these aren’t the actions of a good person put into a hard place, or a person with trauma dealing poorly with said trauma. That isn’t justifiable. Dream shouldn’t be allowed to hurt and inflict trauma onto another person becuz he has trauma. What he did to Tommy and to his friends (saying he didn’t care about them, saying he only cares about Tommy’s discs, Sapnap even had that sad moment of “you don’t think he meant it did you?” which. Yknow. Look between the lines methinks) was awful and doesn’t have to be forgiven by either the victims or the fans of said victims.

My opinion on the prison stay is…. I don’t really care lol. I definitely do see it as he deserves it, because what he did to Tommy was horrific. I don’t have any real sympathy for an abuser, especially one that does shit that I’ve had done to me before and done against a character I relate to heavily. So. Sue me if I think that Dream should have his shit rocked. Ignoring that Dream had very clear reasons as to why he was put into the prison and the fact that many characters have reasons to hate his guts and also not feel sympathy for him is…. Definitely the Dream apologist mantra. Noah fence ^^

One last bit since this ask is getting real long, but it was narratively cathartic to see Dream actually receiving punishment for his actions. Cathartic quite literally means “psychological relief through strong emotions” so. Yeah. Sorry ppl were getting it mixed up with catharsis, but there’s the word they probably meant to use. Didn’t realize it would be such a crime to mix up two very similar words but what can you do with a younger audience.

This isn’t meant to be an attack, or mean, so I’m sorry if I’ve been a little passive aggressive in my wording, but to be fair. Your post was as well ^^ Cant wait to hear your response, if you feel like giving one.

Alright, so first as a quick disclaimer, I’m going to out a summary of the original post’s points, just to ensure that we’re on the same page;

The post does say:

- don’t dehumanize c!Dream because it continuously hurts people who relate to and/or sympathize with him, also dehumanization in general is an inherently wrong mindset

- don’t attack people who sympathize with him because he’s a victim of abuse besides other things

The post never says:

- you cannot hate c!Dream and not sympathizing with him is wrong

- the things c!Dream has done are to any degree excused

- don’t dehumanize c!Dream because he’s a good person

- people who dehumanize c!Dream are real life abuse apologists

If you read the post and didn’t get these points from it, i advise you to reread it as I made pretty much all of these abundantly clear.

I don’t know why you’d start talking about L’manberg, but sure; I never said it was colonization. I said some people who have had their country colonized relate to him because he had his home torn apart and is desperate to return it back to its original state. This is a completely valid reason to relate to him as it is a pretty big part of the character.

Dream wasn’t protecting his “power”, because he didn’t actually have any power on the SMP besides technically owning it. Before L’manberg, all he’d do is walk around, fix creeper holes and the prime path, jump into conflicts and end them if they got too pointed - he even fixed Tubbo’s house once after Tommy burnt it down, he got unfairly mugged by Sapnap and Tommy because he had weaker armor etc. He never used his position as landowner unfairly and was on the same level as any other member; his only concern was too keep the community united and semi-peaceful. Of course he had an attachment to the server, it had been his home for months, maybe more on the SMP timeline.

Do you genuinely think listing the bad things he did is going to do anything to my empathy or the empathy of other c!Dream fans?

I saw the entirety of the exile arc live, and I saw what was happening, and I hated it, and I hated c!Dream. Yet I’m sympathetic to him when he goes through a similar situation, perhaps because I’m not a biased hypocrite.

I never said c!Dream was a good person. Saying “these don’t look like actions of a person with trauma” doesn’t make sense to me because, as you said later on, it isn’t justifiable either way. I’m not saying anyone has to forgive him. You don’t need to forgive an abuse victim for their prior actions to recognize their situation is messed up. You’re making up points to fight against in your rebuttal that I never actually said.

I’m not saying “don’t dehumanize c!Dream because he’s a good person”. I’m saying “don’t dehumanize c!Dream because he’s a person and dehumanization is wrong” and “people who relate to him shouldn’t be hurt or harassed”.

He didn’t even do “terrible things” to his friends, by the way. Tommy has said like five times that he doesn’t care about anyone but the discs but when he said that isn’t true his friends believed and forgave him. Dream says it once while something that matters to him is being threatened, so that it doesn’t get destroyed, and suddenly he’s hurting his friends (double standard methinks). As if he didn’t repeatedly try to help them and care about them up until that point and they abandoned him even despite his prior actions. He did things that might’ve hurt them, but that doesn’t compare to the amount of things he did for them. Saying he doesn’t care is blatant mischaracterization.

If you think (fictional) people who have done bad things deserve to be horribly abused and have their basic human rights violated, you know what, you do you. Be a fictional abuse apologist, be as bad as the people who say c!Tommy deserved it, go on. I disagree with you however, and I’m sure many people who are actually sensitive and care about/relate to fictional abuse victims (I have seen many c!Tommy apologists say the torture is awful and he doesn’t deserve it, thankfully) will disagree as well, so why should I care about your wrong opinion? If you’ve dehumanized him and are failing to see you’re incorrect and hurting people, bad for you. You’re just proving me right that this is a very real problem that this community has to do something about.

#tw abuse #tw torture #abuse apologism #c!dream neg #(in ask)#discourse #my asks #crit anon

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voorbeees · 3 years

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[ me, writing a decent fic? impossible! Anyway here’s a fic about Jesse adopting a kid that I got kind of carried away with but i don’t care.

you can also read it here . Also don’t forget I take commissions. ]

The sharp hunting knife plunges into the woman's temple. It's a faster kill than he enjoys. Usually he'll bide his time, watching, waiting until he's spotted a piggy that suits him. Typically it's a cat and mouse game, dragged out for as long as possible. Psychological torture is the game. That accompanied by true torture, eventually.

Jesse has found himself becoming far more annoyed by Preston than usual, which is saying something, considering that the man makes him consider driving a knife into his own eye in order to end the conversation faster. After the latest whining spree, he's decided he's just going to kill him. Preston offers no value to himself or his organization anymore. Only he wants an audience when he does it. Set an example. No other employees voice opinions like him, but Jesse wants to make sure they remember who's in charge.

Chromeskull twists the knife in a fit of anger. God even thinking about him pisses him off. Another turn for good measure then he yanks the blade from the woman's head. It's a clean kill and for that he's sorry. She'd have been perfect for slicing and butchering. Whatever. It's done. The night is still young and there's still plenty of piggies to find.

He swaggers back to his Chrysler 300 to retrieve a body bag. Once he's back, Jesse stuffs the body in the bag and slings it over his should as if he's done this a thousand times. (Probably because he has done this a thousand times.) He's not too worried about the crime scene, it's an abandoned warehouse for Christ's sake. The only people who'll be snooping around in here are your typical crack head junkies. No one in their right mind is going to believe that they found blood. Even better, they'd probably be convicted of the crime. Now that's fucking hilarious. Jesse laughs silently at the thought. The only indication that he's even doing it being the up and down movement of his shoulders.

By this point he's made sure his knives are tucked safely away back in his chrome briefcase, which he holds in his free hand. Jesse kicks the door open with enough strength to knock it off its hinges. He stands there on the stoop in the back alley for a moment before marching down the dimly lit alleyway to his car.

A scuffing noise coming from behind catches his attention. Jesse turns around with enough force to make the body over his shoulder whizz through the air and thunk hard against his back. Nothing catches his eye so he brushes it off. Most likely a stray cat.

The trunk to the car opens with a click and he throws the body inside. Better care is taken when he places his briefcase in beside it. The video has long since finished recording and he takes the time now to remove the tape, titling it Jacksonville. It's honestly not even worth keeping or naming but who gives a fuck. He caught the bitch and killed her, it's his fair and square.

Pocketing the tape, he slams the trunk shut. He's opted to keep his chrome mask on. No sense in taking it off just to reapply the adhesive an hour later. He whirls around, ready to jump into the car and drive off when instead he practically jumps out of his fucking skin.

There no more than a few feet away stands a small child, no older than six. Big doe-like eyes stare up at him and it takes Jesse a minute to regain his composure. What the fuck? He looks around but sees no one. Clearly she belongs to someone, which sounds stupid as fuck because she isn't a fucking dog. And yes. Now he can make out clearly that it is a little girl. He doesn't have many rules he abides by when the chrome mask is placed on his face, but killing kids is one of his top ones. They're still too young to understand the world or just how terrible their mothers are for leaving them alone long enough to get a fuck in.

The little girl takes a tiny step forward and Jesse wastes no time in yanking his phone from his pocket. He types furiously on it, black nitrile making hardly a sound.

'GO AWAY' . The electronic voice echoes off the brick walls of the alley. He can tell by the way she flinches back a step that his point is made. Good. Jesse brushes past her, ready to leave the situation behind. At least until he feels a tug on his black slacks.

The little girl clings to his designer pants, eyes wide but not from fear, more so curiosity. Jesse wastes no time in furiously typing on his phone again. 'GO HOME. I'M A BUSY MAN AND I DON'T NEED TO BE HELD UP. ' His only response is a slow blink.

'NO. ' He dislodges her tiny hands and pushes her on the back in the opposite direction. ' GO HOME. ' Jesse thinks he's finally gotten her to understand but it's the exact opposite. For some fucking reason that makes her want to be even closer to him.

"Why do you wear that?" She asks as she points to his mask.. She has to hold her head all the way back to even see his "face". It's actually rather comical and if anyone were to walk by at this moment they'd probably double over with laughter. The girl barely makes it up to his thigh, as to where the 6'7 man looks like a god damned giant looking at a pomeranian. "Are you hiding from someone?"

Yes that was obviously it! He, a known killer, was hiding from someone. What a stupid -- Jesse stops himself mid thought as his brown eye takes in her appearance. It's raggedy to say the least. Then again, anyone who compared his attire to another’s would consider it to be raggedy. ' HOME. LEAVE ME ALONE. FIND YOUR MOTHER. '

The girl's face seems to crumple at this and for a moment Jesse is dumbfounded. "I -I don't know where she is." The tiny voice squeaks out. Her lower lip begins to quiver and ohmyfuckinggod he's done it now. People could care less if they heard a woman on the streets yelling, but a kid? Someone would come bounding around the corner to the rescue. Which only meant he'd then have to kill them and whoever else came with them. "She leaves sometimes and doesn't come back for a while." His mangled lip twists into a snarl under the chrome mask. "She usually says it's because she has to work." Ah, so that explained it.

Jesse's eye darts to the trunk of his Chrysler 300. Of course the whore brought her kid to work. If he could talk, Jesse would have a mouthful of slurs to toss at the dead woman. He knows all too well what it's like to not have a mother, and knows even better the concept of a drunk for a father. Though something tells him there's no father in this situation.

"Can I come with you? At least until she comes back?" It's such an innocent question and it takes everything in him to hold back the sensation of snuffing out a life. Chromeskull is creeping further into the picture, just begging to sink his claws into her and kill her but Jesse smoothers that thought.

He's always had a fond spot for kids. It was actually something he was excited about when he'd found out his wife was pregnant but just like everything else that had been ruined too. He never talks about his wife. The only time he did was when Spann had the displeasure of explaining the situation to him. After that he'd made it clear to never mention her or the unborn baby again by destroying everything in his office. The room looked like it had been hit by a tornado when he was done, broken pictures, splintered chairs, holes in the wall. The scenario made his fiasco with destroying the mirror after seeing his own disfigurement seem mild. All of that accompanied with the unsaid "this is your fault" regarding her suicide has been eating away at him slowly over the years.

' NO. ' He shakes his leg free. Tricky little pest.

"But please?" She's latches on to him again and Jesus fucking Christ what the fuck about his current attire screams "I'm here to help you!". Because it sure as fuck isn't the mask or knives hidden away in his car.

By this time he's just decided to remove his gloves, throwing the used nitrile into the passenger seat of the open driver side door. The low light illuminates the tattoos that cover his hands. The letters on his knuckles moving slightly when he clenches his fists together. He's about to start typing again when the tiny voice breaks the silence. "Oh you painted your hands!" It's the stupidest fucking thing he's ever heard. They're tattoos, tattoos that decorate both arms from the knuckles up when he's not dressed for the job. But it's also the funniest thing he's ever heard and Jesse can't help the smile that stretches across his mangled face behind the mask. Children are so God damned innocent. A tiny hand removes itself from his slacks to grasp at his hand but Jesse moves it out of her way before she can grab it. A sad expression settles on her face but it quickly disappears as he hikes his slacks up by the knees, making it easier for him to bend down. He's eye level with her now and he sees almost instantly how her demeanor changes. Once more it's not fear (odd considering there's a giant man in a chrome skeleton mask right in front of her face), but rather elation.

She wastes no time in snatching one of his hands examining it. In the process his sleeve rides up to reveal more ink on his arm. "You colored your arm too?" She looks up to see him nod once slowly. This only sits off another tirade of questions. Jesse can't really answer them. Sure he could type them and let the phone do the talking but that’s too much fucking work. He's not sure if she understands sign language so no point in trying that. He settles for just nodding or shaking his head, short answers she's bound to understand.

"You don't talk much, huh?" It's not that he doesn't talk, it's that he can't talk. Most days Jesse would give anything to be able to express himself through voice, even if it meant giving his remaining eye. But he's always lived like this and there's no point in complaining about what can't be fixed. Plus it adds an intimidation aspect to him, something he rather enjoys.

"Can I come with you?" She asks again and this time Jesse studies her for a moment. He weighs the options in his head. She is alone and it would be awfully rude to simply leave her here by herself in the back of an alley. Seeing as Jesse is the perfect gentleman, he can't simply do that. It's hard to tell what will happen to her if he just leaves her here. Other people might say she's his responsibility because he obviously just fucking killed her mom, but from his point of view she didn't seem like a mother anyway. No loss in that department. He finally nods and there's just something about the way her tiny face lights up with delight that just wants to make him laugh. For having just met him, she seems very content to cling to him. Then an idea pops into his head. Wanting children and then having the possibility taken away, only to be rewarded with one. He can already hear Preston's annoying voice now, and honestly that's all the fucking push he needs.

Jesse stands to his full height with ease. The little girl follows him as he makes his way back to the car. She blinks at the automobile. "I've never seen a car like this before. Are you rich?" Very rich, he wants to say but settles for nodding. And if he has anything to say in the matter, she’ll be just as rich in a short time also.

---------

Jesse parks the car outside the warehouse his operation is currently running in, not bothering to make an effort to hide it. Besides he's not too worried about the police. He pulls open the back door and the little girl eagerly jumps into his arms, still talking a hundred miles an hour (something she's been doing for the last twenty minutes, but frankly he doesn't care). He walks them through the building's side door, being met instantly by Spann and then Preston, who's wearing that annoyingly fake 'happy to see you!' expression.

"Sir, we didn't expect you back until morning." Spann's soothing voice meets his ears. He responds with a shrug as he sees her eyes land on the child.

And then that voice grates on his ears. "Boss, you're fucking kidding, right?" It's followed by a nervous and unbelieving laugh. "I didn’t take you for the adopting strays sort of guy. Let alone, I think she's a little young for you." Preston laughs again but he's met with Spann's hard stare and Jesse's blood-curdling one. The implication that he has something planned is enough to make his mangled lip curl into a snarl under the mask.

It's then he places the girl in the other man's arms and begins typing on his phone. ' GET HER SETTLED IN AT HOME. ROOM. CLOTHES. SCHOOL. ' It's a clear statement and he doesn't plan on repeating himself.

"Might I commend you on how great of an idea having an apprentice is, Sir." Jesse makes a so-so movement with his hand then signs the word "daughter". Spann smiles widely. "Even better. I've always seen you as a family man." The both of them begin to make their way back to his office.

"Boss!" Preston looks between the kid in his arms and back to Jesse. "You're not serious."

The electronic voice meets his ears once again. ' DO IT NOW. '

"Boss!" The sound reaches his ears once more before he closes the door and sinks into his chair. A smile stretches across his face under the mask as Spann begins explaining plans to move the operation. Maybe Preston does have a use. Being the always available babysitter.

#voorbeees writes #slashers #slasher fandom #chromeskull #jesse cromeans #laid to rest #okay to reblog

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star-anise · 4 years

Text

An ask I got recently:

hi so i’m a transmed and i’m not sure if you’ll answer this because of that but i saw your post about transmedicalism and was wondering if you could expand on that? you seem like a genuinely kind and judgement-free person, thank you darling x

My response:

Heh, you call me “judgement-free” and ask for my opinion on a topic I’ve formed a lot of judgments about… I get it though, I’m not into attacking people for what they believe so much as providing FACTS. As a cis queer, my insight into transmedicalism isn’t really about the innate experience of trans-ness so much as using my education and professional experience to talk about social science research, diagnostic systems, and public health policy.

This ended up really long, so the tl;dr is, I think transmedicalism as I understand it:

Misunderstands why and how the DSM’s Gender Dysphoria diagnosis was written,

Treats the medical establishment with a level of trust and credibility it doesn’t deserve, at a time when LGBT+ people, especially trans people, need to be informed and vigilant critics of it, and

Approaches the problem of limited resources in an ass-backwards way that I think will end up hurting the trans community in the long run.

TW: Transphobia; homophobia; suicide; institutionalization; torture; electroshock therapy; child abuse; incidental mentions of pedophilia.

So first off I’m guessing you mean this post, about not trusting the medical establishment to tell you who you are? That’s what I’m trying to elaborate on here.

I have to admit, when you say “I’m a transmedicalist” that tells me very little about you, because on Tumblr the term seems to encompass a dizzying array of perspectives. Some transmedicalists believe in what seems to me the oldschool version of “The only TRUE trans people suffer agonizing dysphoria that can only be fixed with surgery and hormones, everyone else is an evil pretender stealing resources and can FUCK RIGHT OFF” and others are like, um… “I have total love and respect for nonbinary and nondysphoric trans people! I qualify for a DSM diagnosis of dysphoria but that doesn’t make me inherently better or more trans than anyone else.”

Which is very confusing to me because according to everything I’ve learned, the latter opinion is not transmedicalism. It’s just… a view of transness that acknowledges current diagnostic labels and scientific research. It’s what most people who support trans rights and do not identify as transmedicalists believe. But I kind of get the impression that Tumblr transmedicalism has expanded well past its original mandate, to the point that if a lot of “transmedicalists” saw the movement’s original positions they’d go “Whoa that’s way too strict and doesn’t help our community, I want nothing to do with it.”.

Okay so. Elaborating on the stuff I can comment on.

1. DSM what?

The American Psychiatric Association publishes a big thick book called The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, called the DSM for short. This is the “Bible of psychiatry”, North America’s definitive listing of mental disorders and conditions. It receives significant revision and updates roughly every 10-15 years; it was last updated in 2013, meaning it will likely get updated sometime between 2023 and 2028.

The DSM lists hundreds of “codes”, each of which indicates a specific kind of mental disorder. For example, 296.23 is “Major depressive disorder, Single episode, Severe,” and 300.02 is “Generalized anxiety disorder.” These codes have information on how common the condition is, how it’s diagnosed, and what kind of treatment is appropriate for it.

Diagnostic codes are the key to health professionals getting paid. If there isn’t a code for it, we can’t get paid for it, and therefore we have very few resources to treat it with. The people who actually pay for healthcare–usually insurance companies or government agencies–decide how much they will pay for each code item to be treated. They’ll pay for, say, three sessions of group therapy for mild depression (296.21), or they’ll pay for more expensive private therapy if it’s moderate (296.22); they’ll pay for the cheap kind of drug if you have severe depression (296.23), but to get the more expensive drug, you need to have depression with psychotic features (296.24).

Healthcare companies, especially in the USA where the system is very very broken and the DSM is written, are cheap bastards. If they can find an excuse not to fund some treatment, they’ll use it. “We think this person who lost their job and can’t get off the couch should pay this $1000 bill for therapy,” they’ll say. “After all, they were diagnosed as code 296.21, and then saw a private therapist for five sessions, when we only allow three sessions of group therapy, and you’re saying they haven’t had enough treatment yet?”

A lot of the advocacy work mental health professionals do is trying to get the big funding bodies to pay us adequately for the work we do. (This is a much easier process in countries with single-payer healthcare, where this negotiation only needs to be done with a single entity. In the USA, it needs to be done with every single health insurance company in existence, as well as the government, sometimes differently in every single state, and then again on a case-by-case basis as well.) Healthcare providers have to argue that three sessions of group therapy isn’t enough, that Medicaid needs to pay therapists more per hour than it costs those therapists to rent a room to practice in, or else therapists would lose money by seeing Medicaid clients. DSM codes exist a tiny bit to let us communicate with each other about the people we treat, and a huge amount to let us get paid. The fact that their existence lets people make sense of their own experiences and find a community with people who share common experiences and interests with them is a very minor side benefit the DSM’s authors really don’t keep in mind when they update and revise different diagnoses.

So when it comes to convincing insurance companies to pay for treatment, humanitarian reasons like “they’ll be very unhappy without it” tend not to work. The best argument we have for them paying for psychological treatment is that it’s economical: that if they don’t pay for it now, they’ll have to pay even more later. If they refuse to pay, let’s say, $2000 to treat mild depression when someone loses their job, and either refuse treatment or stick the person with the bill, then that person’s life might spiral out of control–they might, let’s say, run low on money, get evicted from their apartment, develop severe depression, attempt suicide, and end up in hospital needing to be medically resuscitated and then put in an inpatient psych ward for a month. The insurance company then faces the prospect of having to pay, let’s say, $100,000 for all that treatment. At which point somebody clever goes, “Huh, so it would have been cheaper to just… pay the original $2000 instead so they could bounce back, get a new job, and not need any of this treatment later.”

Trans healthcare can be kind of expensive, since it often involves counselling, years of hormone therapy, medical garments, and multiple surgeries. Health insurance companies hate paying for anything, and have traditionally wanted not to cover any of this. “This is ridiculous!” they said. “These are elective cosmetic treatments, it’s not like they’re dying of cancer, these people can pay the same rate for breast enhancements or testosterone injections as anyone else.”

So when the APA Task Force on Gender Identity Disorder (a task force comprised, as far as I can tell, entirely of cis people) sat down to plan for the 2013 update of the DSM, one of their biggest goals was: Treatment recommendations. Create a diagnosis which they could effectively use to advocate that insurance companies fund gender transition. Like when you go back and read the documents from their meetings in 2008 and 2011, their big thing is “create a diagnosis that can be used to form treatment recommendations.” So that’s what they did; in 2013 they made the GD diagnosis, and in 2014 the Affordable Care Act required insurers to provide treatment for it.

A lot of trans people weren’t happy with the DSM task force’s decisions, such as the choice to keep “Transvestic Fetishism,” which is basically the autogynephilia theory, and just rename it “Transvestic Disorder”. The creation of the Gender Dysphoria diagnosis, basically, was designed to force the preventive care argument. They didn’t think they could win on trans healthcare being a necessity because healthcare is a human right, so they went with: Trans people have a very high suicide rate, and one way to bring it down is to help them transition. One of the major predictors of suicidality is dysphoria. The more dysphoric someone is, the more likely they are to attempt suicide (source). Therefore, health insurers should fund treatment for gender dysphoria because it was cheaper than paying for emergency room admissions and inpatient psychiatric hospitalizations.

I have spoken to trans scientists about what research exists, and my understanding is: The dysphoria/no dysphoria split is not actually validated in the science. That is, when you research trans people, there is not some huge gaping difference between the experiences, or brains, of people With Dysphoria, and people Without Dysphoria. Mostly, scientists haven’t even thought it was an important distinction to study. The diagnosis wasn’t reflecting a strong theme in the research about trans experiences; that research showed that trans people with all levels of dysphoria were helped with medical transition. The biggest difference is just that dysphoria is a stronger risk factor for suicide. Experiencing transphobia is another strong risk factor, but that’s harder to measure in a doctor’s office, so dysphoria it was.

(I’ve seen some transmedicalists claim that dysphoria’s major feature is incongruence, not distress. And I’ll just say, uh… in psychology, “dysphoria” is the opposite of of “euphoria”, literally means “excessive pain”, and is used in many disorders to describe a deep-seated sense of distress and wrongness. As a mental health professional, I just can’t imagine most of my colleagues agreeing that something can be called “dysphoria” if the person doesn’t feel real distress about it. If you want a diagnosis that doesn’t demand dysphoria, you’d need Gender Incongruence in the upcoming version of the ICD-11, which is the primary diagnostic system used in Europe, published by the World Health Organization.)

2. Doctors are not magic

Medicine is a science, and science is a system of knowledge based on having an idea, testing it against reality, and revising that knowledge in light of what you learned. We’re learning and growing all the time.

I don’t know if this sounds painfully obvious or totally groundbreaking, but: Basically all medical research is done by people who don’t have the condition they’re writing about. Psychology has a strong historical bias against believing the personal testimonies of people with conditions that have been deemed mental disorders, so researchers who have experienced the disorder they’re writing about have often had to hide that fact, like Kay Redfield Jamison hiding that she had bipolar disorder until she became a world-renowned expert on it, or Marsha Linehan hiding that she had borderline personality disorder until she pioneered the treatment that could effectively cure it. Often, having a condition was seen as proof you couldn’t actually have a truthful and objective experience of it.

So what I’m trying to say is: The “gender dysphoria” diagnosis was written and debated, so far as I can tell, by entirely cis committee members. The vast majority of psychological and psychiatric research about LGBT+ people is written by cisgender heterosexual scientists. Most clinical and scientific writing has been outsider scientists looking at people they have enormous power over and making decisions about their basic existence with very little accountability.

And to show you how far we’ve come, I want to show you part of the DSM as it was from 1952 to 1973. It shows you just why so many older LGBT+ people find it deeply ironic that now the DSM is being held up as definitive of trans experience:

302 Sexual Deviation This category is for individuals whose sexual interests are directed primarily toward objects other than people of the opposite sex, toward sexual acts not usually associated with coitus, or towards coitus performed under bizarre circumstances as in necrophilia, pedophilia, sexual sadism, and fetishism. Even though many find their practices distasteful, they remain unable to substitute normal sexual behavior for them. This diagnosis is not appropriate for individuals who perform deviant sexual acts because normal sexual objects are not available to them.

302.0 Homosexuality 302.1 Fetishism 302.2 Pedophilia 302.2 Transvestitism […]

Yes, really. That is how psychiatry viewed us. At a time when research from other fields, like psychology and sociology, were showing that this view was completely unsupported by evidence, psychiatry thought LGBT+ people were fundamentally disordered, criminal, and incapable of prosocial behaviour.

My favourite retelling of the decades of activism it took LGBT+ people and allies to get the DSM to change is from a friend who did her master’s thesis on the topic, because she leaves in the clown suits and gay bars, which really shows how scientific and dignified the process was. The long story short is: It took over 20 years of lobbying by LGBT+ people who were sick and tired of being locked up in mental institutions and subjected to treatments like electroshock training, as well as by LGBT+ social scientists, clinicians, and psychiatrists, to get homosexuality declassified as a mental illness. And that was homosexuality; the push to change how trans people were listed in the DSM is very recent, as seen in the latest version listing “Transvestic Disorder”, a description very few trans people ever use for themselves.

Here are a few more examples of how people with a condition have had to take an active part in the science about them:

When HIV/AIDS appeared in the USA, the government didn’t care why drug addicts and gay people were dying mysteriously. Hospitals refused to treat people with this mysterious new disease. AIDS patients had to fight to get any funding put into what AIDS is, how it spreads, or how it could be treated; they also had to campaign to change the massive public prejudice against them, so they could be treated, housed, and allowed to live. Here’s an article on the activist tactics they used. If you want an intro to the fight (or at least, white peoples’ experience of it), you could look into the movies How to Survive a Plague, And the Band Played On, and The Normal Heart.

Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS) is a little-understood disease that causes debilitating exhaustion. It’s found twice as often in women as men. Doctors understand very little about what it is or why it happens, and patients with CFS are often written off a lazy hypochondriacs who just don’t want to try hard. There are basically no known treatments. In 2011, a British study said that an effective treatment for CFS was “graded exercise”, a program where people did slowly increasing levels of physical activity. This flew in the face of what people with CFS knew to be true: That their disease caused them to get much worse after they exercised. That for them, being forced to do ever-increasing exercise was basically tantamount to torture, so it was very concerning that health authorities and insurance companies began requiring that they undergo graded exercise treatment (and parents with children with CFS had to put their children through this treatment, or lose custody for “medical neglect”). So they investigated the study, found that it was seriously flawed, got many health authorities to reverse their position on graded exercise, and have made strides into pointing researchers to looking into biological causes of their illness.

Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) is a rare but debilitating disease that isn’t researched much, because it affects such a small portion of the population. The ALS community realized that if they wanted better treatment, they would need to raise the money for research themselves. In 2014 they organized a viral “ice bucket challenge” to get people to donate to their cause, and raised $115 million, enough to make significant advances in understanding ALS and getting closer to a cure.

A common treatment for Autism is Applied Behaviour Analysis (ABA), which is designed to encourage “desired” behaviours and discourage “undesired” ones. The problem is, the treatment targets behaviour an Autistic person’s parents and teachers consider desirable or undesirable, without consideration that some “undesired” behaviours (like stimming) are fundamental and necessary to the wellbeing of Autistic people. Furthermore, the treatment involves punishing Autistic children for failure to behave as expected–in traditional ABA, by witholding rewards or praise until they stop, or in more extreme cases, by subjecting them to literal electric shocks to punish them. (In that last case, they’ve been ordered to stop using the shock devices by August 31, 2020. That only took YEARS.) Autistic people have had to campaign loud and long to say that different treatment strategies should be researched and used, especially on Autistic children.

So I mean… I get that the medical model can provide an element of validation and social acceptance. It can feel really good to have people in white coats back you up and say you’re the real deal. But if you get in touch with most LGBT+ and transgender groups, they’d say that there’s still a lot of work to be done when it comes to researching trans issues and getting scientific and governmental authorities to recognize your rights to social acceptance and medical treatment.

Within a few years, the definition you’re resting on will turn to sand beneath your feet. The Great DSM Machine will begin whirring into life pretty soon and considering what revisions it has to make. You’ll have an opportunity to make your voice heard and to push for real change. So… do you want to be part of that process of pushing trans rights forward, or do you just want to feel loss because they’re changing your strict definition of who’s valid and who’s not?

3. Scarcity is not a law of physics

One of the major arguments I see transmedicalists push is that there’s only a limited number of surgeries or hormone prescriptions available, so it’s not okay for a non-dysphoric person to “steal” the resources that another trans person might need more. This makes sense in a limited kind of way; it’s a good way to operate if, say, you’re sharing a pizza for lunch and deciding whether to give the last slice to someone who’s hungry and hasn’t eaten, or someone who’s already full.

When you start to back up and look at really big and complex systems–basically anything as big, or bigger, than a school board or a hospital or a municipal government–it’s not a helpful lens anymore. Because the most important thing about social institutions is that they can change. We can make them change. And the most important factor in how much the world changes is how many people demand that it change.

I’ve talked about this before when it comes to homeless shelters, and how the absolute worst thing they can have are empty beds. I used to work in women’s shelters, which came about when second-wave feminists started seriously looking at the problem of domestic violence in the 1960s and 70s, It was an issue male-dominated governments and healthcare systems hadn’t taken seriously before, but feminists started heck and did research and staged demonstrations and basically demanded that organizations that worked for the “public benefit” reduce the number of women being killed by their husbands. Their research showed that the leading cause of death in those cases were when women tried to leave and their partners tried to kill them, so the most obvious solution was to give them someplace safe to go where their partners couldn’t find them. Therefore the solution became: Women’s shelters. When feminists committed to founding and running these shelters, local governments could be talked into giving them money to keep them running.

(Men’s rights activists, the misogynist kind, like to whine about “why aren’t there men’s shelters?” and the very simple answer is: Because you didn’t fight for them, you teatowels. Whether a movement gets resources and funding is hugely a reflection of how many people have said, “This needs resources and funding! Look, I’m writing a cheque! Everyone, throw money at this!” In other news, The BC Society for Male Survivors of Sexual Abuse does great work. People should throw money at them.)

When the system in power knows there are resources it wants and doesn’t have, it finds a way to make them appear. For example, in Canada, the government knows that it doesn’t have enough trained professionals living in its far North, where the population is scarce and not very many people want to live. Doctors and teachers would prefer to live in the southern cities. But because it’s committed to Northern schools and hospitals, they create incentives. For example, the government offers to pay off the student loans of teachers or health professionals who agree to work for a few years in Northern communities.

Part of why trans healthcare resources are so scarce is that for a long time, trans people were considered too small a part of the population to care about. Like, “Trans people exist, but we won’t have to deal with them.” Older estimates said 0.4% of the population was trans, which meant a city of 100,000 people would have 400 trans people. A single family doctor can have 2000 or 3000 clients, so the city could have maybe 1 or 2 doctors who really “got” trans issues, and all the trans people would tell each other to only go see those doctors because all the rest were assholes. And the cracks in the system didn’t really seem serious. A couple hundred dissatisfied people not getting the healthcare they needed? Meh! Hospital administrators had more to worry about!

But the trans population is growing. A recent poll of Generation Z said 2.6% of middle schoolers in Minnesota were some kind of trans. which is 2,600 per 100,000. That’s enough to make hospitals think that maybe the next endocrinologist or OB/GYN they hire should have some training in treating trans people. That’s enough to make a health authority think that maybe the state should open up a new gender confirmation surgery clinic, since demand is rising so much.

Or well, I mean. Hospitals have a lot on their minds. This might not occur to them as their top priority. They’d probably think of it a lot sooner if a bunch of those trans people sent them letters or took out a billboard or showed up by the dozens at a public meeting to say, “Hello, there are a fuckload of us. Budget accordingly. We want to see your projected numbers for the next five years.”

When you’re doing that kind of work, suddenly it hurts your cause to limit your number of concerned parties. Sure, limited focus groups or steering committees can have limited membership, but when you put their ideas into action, to protest something or lobby for political change, you need numbers. If you want to show that you’re a big and important group that systems should definitely pay attention to, you don’t just need every trans or GNC or NB person who’s got free time to devote to your campaign, you also need every cis ally who can pad out numbers or lick envelopes or hand out water bottles or slip you insider information about the agenda at the next board meeting. You need bodies, time, and money, and you get them best by being inclusive about who’s in your party. Heck, if it would benefit your cause to team up with the local breast cancer group because trans women and cis women who have had mastectomies both have an interest in asking a hospital to have a doctor on staff who knows how to put a set of tits together, then there are strong reasons to do it.

Basically: All the time any marginalized group spends fighting over scraps is generally time we could spend demanding that the people handing out the food give us another plate. If you don’t think you’re getting enough, the best answer isn’t to knock it out of somebody’s hands, but to get together to say, “HEY! WE’RE NOT GETTING ENOUGH!”

That kind of work is complicated and difficult! It’s definitely much harder than yelling at someone on Tumblr for not being trans enough. But if you do any level of getting involved with activist groups that fight for real systemic change, whether that’s following your local Pride Centre on Twitter or throwing $5 at a trans advocacy group or writing your elected representative about the need for more trans health resources, you’re pushing forward lasting change that will help everyone.

#staranise original #transmedicalism tw #transphobia tw #homophobia tw #my problems with sj let me show you them

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ziracona · 4 years

Note

Do you have your own headcanons for the newer characters? I try to imagine them interacting with the rest of the characters and after reading ILM everything you write is canon for me now (been dissapointed with the recent tome).

I have some! Though except for the Stranger Things kids, I don’t know any of the new ones as well and I haven’t written for them, so I don’t have a ton for most of them.

I think for Ash, being in the realm is weird, because he’s been through his share of hell, but like, Ash is from a Horror-/comedy/? And there’s a lot of overlap, but if you lived in a horror comedy world and went to psychological horror torture horror world, it would be some whiplash, even for a seasoned dude. It’s not that he hasn’t been through horrible stuff, it’s that it felt different before. The realm is such a grind. It’s an unending cycle. And Ash is used to not being able to outrun trouble, but he’s used to that meaning life is a fight. Now, there’s nothing he can really do, and danger means constantly running and struggling and failing. So I think that would be hard to cognitively get used to. Because of his personality (as I understand it--I’ve only seen Evil Dead, & I’d do more research before actually writing him) though, I think he would weather it surprisingly well, and be the kind who can crack jokes and be cocky and fun even there. Because of that, I think he and Meg would vibe really well and get along, and so would he and Ace.

Ash likes to tell stories about all the wild stuff he did before the realm. Some of them believe him (Claudette, Meg, Dwight, Steve)--or mostly do but think he exaggerates (Laurie, Quentin, Nancy), some think he’s super lying (Jane, Jake, Min, Zarina), and a lot fall in between. They all enjoy them though, because he’s a great storyteller and very engaging.

Ash isn’t exactly a support unit /at all/, but the fact he lost a hand pre-realm is surprisingly helpful to the group in a support area. Any time someone in the group is wounded outside a trial and has to recover, he’s way better than anyone else at helping them get used to operating without whatever they’ve lost, and just seeing how well Ash can carry his weight doing complex stuff like fixing a gen even down a hand alleviates a lot of fear for them about what would happen if one of them got /gravely/ hurt. This is wild for Ash, because he sure wasn’t much of a support member/usually isn’t, but he goes with it and is glad to help.

Ash greatly dislikes going against Rin. She hits way too close to home. He’s pretty desensitized to gore and horror and violence from his life even pre-realm, but his first experience with horror involved his sister and his girlfriend being attacked and then turning into monsters and trying to kill him, and he was a baby--like 21 at the time, super young adult--and it was extremely traumatic. He almost died because his girlfriend kept seeming like herself and the horror and gore would vanish from her demon-zombie form and she’d be her again, and he’d think he could save her, but she was dead the whole time. The way that Rin looks like a horrible smiling monster viciously hungry for your pain and then will suddenly flash to looking like a heartbroken teenager crying over what she’s done is way too reminiscent of that. It’s literally the only thing in the realm that /really/ shakes him.

(Nancy, Steve, Yui, Zarina, and Cherly HCs under the cut)

Nancy and Steve are really glad they ended up there together instead of alone (I mean, they aren’t happy the other is in hell, but like, it really helps them both to have the emotional support of person they knew from before with them). Nancy adjusts to the realm faster than Steve as in takes it in stride and learns faster, because she’s more cool headed, but it’s about equal levels of awful and slowly eating at them both. They depend on each other a lot to keep up their spirits and to talk about old memories and the loved ones back home.

Nancy gets along really well with Kate, Claudette, Yui, Jeff, and Laurie, but pretty well with them all. Steve also fits in just fine, but gets along especially well with Claudette, Meg, David, Quentin, and Min and Laurie (eventually).

Laurie and the ST kids bond and get a lot of relief from being from similar times. This is especially nice for Laurie, who hasn’t seen anyone from her time in a long time, and feels very lost and last-man-standing because of it. Since the ST kids are from only a few years after Laurie, they get to talk about a lot of the same stuff.

Steve tries to pick Laurie up because he’s bowled over by how cool and strong she is. She doesn’t even notice. When she /finally/ does like a week after he starts trying, she goes, “Are you trying to hit on me /here/?” bc dating in the realm is beyond wild to Laurie who has been in survival mood since 1978 and not even /thought/ about changing that setting. They’re in a group at the time and Steve is so embarrassed that even though he’s flirty, he doesn’t flirt with anyone for like a whole month. This is actually really good for him, because Steve is the kind of person who doesn’t really know how to /not/ be in a relationship, and solo time helps him build a lot of self-worth and self-confidence outside of any kind of relationship at all. Laurie feels kinda bad he took it so hard and tries to be nice to him, and eventually they end up p close friends and it’s very good for both of them.

Nancy is excited to learn fighting tips from David, Yui, and Laurie and pursues it with a vigor. They are all impressed but especially Yui is. Nancy’s very passionate and forceful when she has to be and has a lot of pride, but is also very willing to be humble when she thinks she should be/someone knows more than her about whatever area, and Yui really likes that about her and is interested by it, and she and Nancy kind of slowly become best friends. They vibe really well because they operate similarly.

One of the ST kids mentions a song Quentin likes and he gets really excited they might be into his kind of music, and then finds out Nancy isn’t deep into any specific genre and Steve likes top 50 hits and they’re both like “It sucks for you it’s us and not Jonathan bc you have the exact same taste” and Quentin’s like :’-] “damn it.” He definitely teases Steve for some of the bops he likes, but like, in a lighthearted friend way, and it’s a rapport they get--throwing not-seriously-meant-at-all jabs about music that always devolves into “That one’s actually really good,” “Oh yeah?” “Oh totally you’d really like it. The baseline is like--” “--oh is it crunch?” “Oh, /hell/ yeah.”

Yui is super unhappy about being stuck here, because she dedicated a lot of her life to being a spokesperson about violence against women and stopping it, and now she’s trapped in hell where she and everyone else get cut up and killed constantly and she can do very little to help them. That manifests as anger instead of depression though, and she is a /spitfire/ in trials. Girl will throw hands at the drop of a hat if it has even a small chance of helping the gang make it out. Some of the killers (Legion, Michael, Pig, Wraith) start to dread getting her because she /will/ kick their ass. Like, she won’t win, ever, because the realm is stacked, but she /will/ injure you. She’s like, the one killers start to request /not/ to get.

Some of the killers fight back at this though, and Yui ends up getting super tunneled and injured and soloed out to be hurt, and even tortured a few times, and that is really hard for her. I mean, torture and violence are hard on anyone. But not only does she get punished for fighting as hard as she can for her friends in a hopeless situation by enduring a bunch of awful violence, she also feels like she can’t be candid about how bad it was or ask for much help because she doesn’t want anyone to think she’s beaten or weak or will be deterred by this, or for them to see her any differently--she /really/ doesn’t want to be seen as a victim. She’s a fighter. And she keeps fighting, though she slacks off a little gradually with how aggressive she is both to help the team and because how much she’s enduring as punishment is unbearable, which makes her feel a lot of self-loathing and like she’s letting herself down.

A lot of people try to help her because they know she’s not doing so well, but this makes her feel worse because she doesn’t want them to notice at all. Quentin finally is able to get her to talk a little by just being /super/ candid about how he’s felt about stuff that’s happened to him, even the ugly feelings, and sharing details/vulnerability with her, and that helps her a /lot/ because there’s at least one person she can talk to some. She doesn’t have anyone she tells everything or most of everything to until much later though, after Nancy becomes her friend. Once they’re really, really close, she eventually tells Nancy the truth, then immediately wishes she hadn’t, but Nancy handles it really well and gives her good advice and is super honest about how much Yui’s strength and selflessness inspire her, and that hearing all this she’s been going through and how awful it’s been and that she’s still doing all this in spite of what a war that is inside her just makes her even more impressed and see how utterly outclassed she is in bravery and how much work she has to do to get close to where Yui is, and it helps a whole lot, and they were already best friends, but they are /incredibly/ close after that night. Yui also opens up more to some of the others and is more okay asking for help, although she stays pretty guarded about how hard things feel.

Once she hears what Rin is, Yui feels terrible for her. She tries to keep small gifts on her she has no idea if Rin would like or even be /able/ to enjoy, and when she gets Rin in a trial, she’ll leave them for her/in her pockets. She has no idea if this means anything, but she’s miserable for the Onryo and wants to be able to help, even if she really can’t. She’s similarly very sympathetic to any killer she finds out was lied to or is not in control of their own actions, like Lisa and Philip. Detests all the serial killer/torture killers to a level on par with the vicious hatred the creator of the “ i fucking hate jurgen leitner “ video feels towards Jurgen Leitner. Gets along really well with Kate, Tapp, and David bc they similarly want JUSTICE and cannot get it.

Zarina shows up in realm and is like “Un-fucking believable. I try to uncover the truth about a cover up and I get kidnapped by an eldritch demon. That figures.” She’s distressed life has yet again been like “No, f you in particular Zarina,” but she is determined to help the others stuck there, and /very/ determined to find a way to escape. Gets along well with Jane, Jake, Dwight, and Adam right away, because she and Jane have a lot of “Oh something like that happened to me!” kinds of stories to share with each other, Adam’s curiosity vibes with hers, and Dwight and Jake lead the “Escape Planning Time” discussions.

After she learns enough second-hand about Dwight to know he was way less cool before and fixed his life, she likes him even more and has a kind of kinship with him and mentions how she kind of hid from who she was and lost herself in even feeling shame about her identity and how hard but invaluable becoming who she is now was, and how proud she is of herself. It’s a super relief for Dwight to meet someone as cool and good as her who comes up to him and goes “Hey we’re the same!” because he still worries about himself and how he’s doing. Gives him a lot of peace of mind and they are bros.

When she realizes Caleb Quinn is a killer in the realm, Zarina is thrown for a huge loop. She’s still curious if the stories about him are lies, but uh, getting murdered by him doesn’t exactly make her feel very warmly towards him and she kind of loses a lot of enthusiasm about it, until she hears him mutter his old boss’s name (which she remembers from her investigation) hatefully under his breath while attacking Jeff, as if he is talking /to/ his boss, and she starts running observation point with some of the others and figures out that he’s hallucinating who he sees. Eventually she executes an elaborate mid-trial “Hey you’re being lied to” that works well enough he actually figures out the Entity has been manipulating him hardcore. It does not change much on their end, sadly, once he knows? Caleb is out of rotation for a while, then goes back into it with very little change in how he hunts them, although he is somewhat less brutal/isn’t excessively cruel, and is more scarred than before. He also definitely avoids Zarina specifically and if he has a go after this person or her choice, always goes after the other person. He’s a long time violent criminal so he’s ofc not like, reformed by being informed he was being used, but Caleb hates being used more than anything else, and it’s happened a lot, so in a “honor among” something way, he tries to pay her back by only hunting her when there isn’t someone else to hunt. She is simultaneously annoyed by this and curious/hopeful that maybe it means there is some slim chance the dude has some humanity left, but she remains unsure.

Zarina joins the support squad of Adam, Claudette, and Quentin during trials, and enjoys hanging with them and picking up skills from the more seasoned members.

She is also /super/ interested in trying to solve the realm and how it works, and asks people for detail on everything they know and takes copious notes. She’s fascinated by Benedict Baker, whom she hasn’t met, and starts collecting everything he has written that she can find, and begins journaling some in a similar fashion to record things she discovers or guesses. She likes to interview her friends about themselves, and they find it kind of awkward and odd at first, but get to really appreciating having their experiences listened to and recorded. It makes them feel more like their existences and suffering and hopes and pasts all matter.

Cheryl was traumatized before even /getting/ to the realm. She’s pretty closed off about her personal backstroy, because uh, it’s a /lot/, and it’s heavy af. She’s kind of nervous and paranoid people will want to use or hurt her if they know what she is, because it’s happened in the past, so she’s very skittish about deep relationships and divulging the truth.

This nature makes her click pretty well with Laurie, whose interests explicitly do not involve prying. They’ve also both been through a lot of trauma and don’t like people to know the details, so they are pretty happy just being silently in each others’ company.

After she has an especially bad nightmare she wakes up from screaming about the fourth time, Quentin hesitantly starts trying to get to know her and walk the balance beam of “I want to know what’s going on so I can help” and “I don’t want to pry.” He and she confide in each other some, albeit pretty vaguely, but it helps. They’ve both got a lot of guilt over stuff that isn’t their fault and endless nightmares and are very empathetic/altruistic people, and it’s probably that overlap that gets Min and Nea god-tier invested in Cheryl’s welfare after a couple months of her steadily proving she is not getting very close to anyone, and almost seems to think she deserves this hell and will never escape it.

On basically wild impulse alone and too much chaotic energy, Nea and Min decide to make looking out for and forcing Cheryl to hang w them a pet project. She’s super confused and nervous at first, and doesn’t want to drag anyone down with her, but the girls are nothing if not persistent, and she kind of slowly comes more out of her shell and starts to laugh and smile some and very slowly decides they don’t have any ulterior motives and so far nothing bad has happened to them because of her, so maybe it’s okay. David and Kate also like Cheryl a lot--initially probably because she reminds them some of Quentin, who they’re both very fond of, but then after they know her better just because they really like her herself as a person. Everyone likes Cheryl, but some are much better than others at trying to be friends with her. A lot of the high-energy ones kind of are overwhelming for her, at least at first, and she’s got so much despair and guilt and disappointment in herself that the less vocal ones she tends to read as not liking her even though they’re just quiet. This slowly improves though, and she ends up much happier and less alone.

When some of them finally get /part/ of her life story, everyone is overwhelmingly horrified for her. The whole group turns into a Cheryl Protection Squad for the next like 6 months. She is overwhelmed and confused and mildly distressed by this, but also happy and moved on a “I want to go find somewhere to cry alone” kind of level because after all she’s been through, it’s dragged back to hell again she’s the happiest she’s been since she was a kid.

I’m gonna stop here bc that’s a lot, but hope you enjoyed these! : )

#dead by daylight #long post #writing #dbd #nancy wheeler #cheryl mason #zarina kassir #yui kimura #ash williams #steve harrington #ditoworld #ask #headcanons #In Living Memory #In Living Memory (fic)#not sure if that's relevant but since I think of this in terms of in an ILM au I guess I'll tag it lol #: ) thanks for the ask!

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anarchy-in-the-pre-k · 3 years

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the general public, obviously, has no regard for the feelings and general wellbeing of the janitor, i get that and i’ve known it since i was a kid. the weird thing is though, how often people will physically intrude on me or my work, try to fight me and shit, argue with me when I tell them that they temporarily can’t use the bathroom because I have to clean it. almost always women too, I have only a faint idea of why that might’ve been, I guess it can be weird psychologically when a hairy guy walks up to the door of you bathroom every once in a while, and says, while you’re on line, that you can’t use it for a few minutes because he has to clean it. The park I worked at used to have one female janitor who the tourists would respond better to, then she quit. she was one of the only two people genuinely too good for that place. I can’t legally be in the women’s bathroom as I clean it, so I always have to force a line to be held up or barricade the door or something to make sure that i can actually make sure the place was healthy and sanitary and, yknow, not lose my job. the thing is that people didn’t seem to understand that in order for the bathrooms to be clean, i had to be in there sometimes, and in order for me to be in there, i had to not let people in sometimes. not only that, but the even harsher truth that i eventually had to close the bathroom because i don’t live at the goddamn park and i had to go home eventually. i cannot remember a single instance of any woman just calmly accepting this and walking away.

one time a mother told me that she and her daughter had to go and that it was important because they were about to be on a long road trip, where they wouldn’t have the opportunity for a bathroom. i told them i was sorry and that they would have to use the portable bathrooms while i cleaned and closed up the real one. i had already let three other people with “emergencies” go by, and i was already there 20 minutes off the clock, no longer getting paid, cleaning up human shit off the floor pro bono as it were. i was not telling her “too bad, no options”, i was not telling her that pooping was illegal, i was just saying that she couldn’t use this particular bathroom and that she would have to walk ten feet over to the other one.

she screamed and screamed and screamed her head off for the next fifteen minutes while i disinfected everything. she said that it was because she was jewish (something i did not even realize when telling her) and that i would burn in hell for what i’ve done. i cannot stress enough the dystopic image of me scrubbing human fecal matter off of a dirty tile, not getting paid, and having to listen to some lunatic describe in detail how i would be tortured and eviscerated because that’s what god wanted.

a woman cop asked me over and over while i was finishing up cleaning the bathroom, again about to go home, if she could use it before i left. i said no, over and over and over, and just as i picked up my mop and cleaning tools, ready to leave the place for good- she barges in and pushes me aside to use the bathroom anyway. this one, in some strange way, sticks with me more than the old jewish woman who described demons cutting my balls off and feeding them to me, because the cop kept insisting on her sanity while shitting and cursing me out. she said, and i will never forget, “i asked nicely, asshole. and i’m using this bathroom no matter what.” the memory is too hazy for me to remember if i actually said “if you can’t take no for an answer then you’re not actually asking nicely”, but it’s what i would have liked to have said. i had to stay another ten minutes on top of the other twenty minutes I was already staying because of other women who refused to exit the bathroom. I hate all cops on principle, but her determination to make me work more, without pay, on a mere whim of hers haunts me. The park is large and employs several police officers to do nothing other than sit in air conditioned patrol cars and do nothing while i pick up litter, scrub shit, and get yelled at by strangers under a hot sun. I am disturbed by how entitled everyone is to my time, thinking I wont mind, what’s another ten minutes of handling human waste, surely the janitor has nothing better to do with his life. I don’t know why the cop bothers me more than the screaming woman, I think maybe because the screaming woman was obviously crazy and couldnt be helped whereas the cop was doing something horrible but thought nothing of it, didn’t get worked up about it or make too big of a scene, she just wanted something she was told she couldnt have and decided to take it no matter the cost or inconvenience or work it would mean to somebody she would never even think of ever again.

capitalism really is dehumanizing, but it’s not all our bosses’ faults. it’ll be hard for any low level/minimum wage workers to make any progress so long as it’s constantly socially reinforced that you are less than human, that it’s okay for strangers to berate you for just following the health guidelines or the safety guidelines or just doing what you need to do to keep your job (without hurting anybody, obviously). I don’t know what it is that makes people scream at janitors about the ways they imagine they’ll be tortured in the afterlife, or as an obstacle to be overcome, not reasoned with or listened to, in the ultimate end goal of pooping at one particular toilet instead of a portapotty which is just ten feet away. i don’t know about anything. i just want to live in the woods and never talk to anybody who purchases goods or services ever again. if you buy something, fuck you. but seriously, i have no idea how this problem can be fixed.

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lordxgrinnyxboy · 4 years

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this is way too long and no doubt horribly articulated and i am genuinely sorry (for this post, and like, as an individual) but like, “She wouldn’t love me if her eyes could see”

i’ve mentioned before i don’t think this is Gwyn going “Oh no, Dea doesn’t understand that I’m not conventionally handsome. She probably thinks I look like Louis Maskell”, and i still don’t think this worry of his is entirely aesthetic-based, however,

the immediately-preceding lyric, “Dea loves the tale of what happened to me”

makes me wonder if there might be a little bit of overlap going on.

when Gwyn performs before an audience, shows them his face, they see the physical reality of his wound, but they don’t see him as a person. they see a character, an act. even when he drops the “happy with my affliction” facade in favor of essentially baring his soul to them in real time, everybody makes it about how it makes them feel. not one person gets it. if anything, they all revel in the idea of this kind of...tortured creature. not one person relates on a direct, human level. they’re not interested in how he might heal; they only want his pain.

with Dea, she understands the psychological/emotional aspect is real, but she hasn’t seen the visual of the physical part of it. and i think Gwyn might not think she fully grasps the psychological part, either.

i think that, while Gwyn might not be under the impression that Dea doesn’t understand that he’s disfigured, he might think that it’s just Beauty and the Beast in her mind. She knows, logically, that what he has is a physical wound. She’s been told as much. But she can’t see it, and as far as we’re shown, she doesn’t touch it until the end of the show.

the Beast puppet used in their story isn’t a Prince with a mangled face. It’s literally an animal. The Prince wasn’t injured by the witch, he was turned into a creature. Also, while we don’t get to see a lot of the characterization in Ursus’ version of the story, the thing is, the Prince is completely cured by love and love alone. When Beauty kisses him, he’s immediately transfigured back into his handsome self and there are no ongoing mental/emotional ramifications from having been cursed. He’s instantly made completely whole.

even during the part of the performance meant to reenact Dea and Gwyn falling in love, he has to sing to her that she’s mended his heart and ended his sorrow. which ties in to the fact that, up until he snapped and did Freak Show, all prior performances involved Gwyn pretending to be happy and at peace, presumably all due to finding love with Dea.

in reality, they are in love, but that love doesn’t and can’t heal him all on its own. his face will never magically heal, and he is still very much dealing with all the same sorrow and heartache as before. the ‘curse’ doesn’t break with a kiss.

which Dea knows, because Freak Show doesn’t shock her. she sees Gwyn’s turmoil and wants to help him heal, but i don’t know that he believes it’s truly anymore ‘real’ to her than it is for the audience.

Gwyn mentions that he doesn’t know if he can actually heal, that he wonders if the emotional turmoil is inescapable. he might think that, for Dea, the concept of his healing is just another beat in the story, and that his internal conflict is a plot device. Just the ‘curse’ that will be completely and utterly lifted in one fell swoop.

and on that note, he could well think that, though the emotional side of it is the only part that Dea can see, that she might not actually understand it, or at least not the full depth of it. because, in a story, it’s easy to love a character, flaws and all, to say you can look at someone most people wouldn’t even see as human, and that you could love that person. it’s another thing to have that person, and their brokenness, in front of you, and have it not be a curse that lifts with your kiss, and have it be a potentially permanent fixture of the relationship.

so, i think to some degree it might be that Gwyn feels like if Dea could actually see his wound, see that it is a wound- not something he’s been transfigured into, but something that’s been carved into him -then not only would the wound be real for her, but that then the brokenness would be real to her as well. at which point, really understanding that that wound will never go away, and subsequently facing the...at least belief or possibility, that the psychological/emotional aspects of what happened to him will never (fully) heal either, might not be something Dea’s willing to sign up for, so to speak.

while the narrative he believes exists in Dea’s mind, of prince-turned-beast-turned-prince-again, isn’t one he believes he can live up to, the audience’s version, where once transformed, the prince’s curse is never broken, and he’ll only ever be the Beast, is one he thinks he fits perfectly.

so, if he’s going to not be real to someone, then...between Dea loving the seemingly out-of-reach idea of him as this Prince, and the audience reveling in the cursed Beast...both wanting something he both is, isn’t, will always and will never be, the audience’s (and therefore Josiana’s) is easier to take, because it doesn’t come with any danger of letting them down.

( note that this is, of course, not fair to Dea, or giving her enough credit by far, but fear isn’t exactly rational and his headspace wasn’t exactly healthy at the time he was having (potentially ) these thoughts )

tl;dr Gwyn’s whole thing about Dea not being able to love him if she saw his wound might have less to do with the way it looks and more to do with the wound as symbolic representation of the fact that what happened to him is not a fairytale curse that can just be fixed by the power of love but rather something he will be dealing with for the rest of his life and it’s easier to face the idea of having no healing at all than the idea that he’ll never fully heal, but can still hope for a kind of healing.

#Gwynplaine i diagnose you with Anxious Bitch disease with a side of Chronic Dumbass and i prescribe 4000mg of Communication #i feel like he's kind of...clinging to the idea that if he finds out about his past and fulfills his vow to kill the man who hurt him #that that'll fix him. but as the story's playing out he's realizing that not only may those things never happen #but also that they won't actually fix him #and he doesn't know what to do in the event that that's the case #he wants full healing and doesn't know what to do with the idea that that's not going to happen #so it's easier to accept that he'll never heal at all #tgm #the grinning man

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the-madame21 · 4 years

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(tw) sorry if this is too much to ask but do you have any takes or headcanons on how far ayato's sadism can go? like maybe go into detail in the ways in which he would be possessive of a girl or something. he's one of my favorite characters and the fandom has really watered him down so it's nice to see some dark ayato content once in a while. thank you :)

Oh don’t worry it takes a bit to trigger me so you’re good ^^ I’m gonna say Yui instead of heroine or s/o because it’s just easier.

So Ayato is pretty interesting. I think he gets watered down so much cuz he’s kind of the “main” boy and he’s more playful with his pranks and what not. He kinda acts like a big puppy dog doing things and waiting/hoping for Yui’s reactions. Ayato’s big thing though is that he swears to never push Yui past the breaking point. Which again, is almost a sweet sentiment.

It’s that key trait of his that I think allows Ayato to go pretty fucking far sadism wise. Because if you’re constantly pushing someone to the edge, eventually that “edge” starts to move further and further back, and the tolerance level goes up. In a way Ayato is almost training Yui to be able to withstand his sadistic tendencies XD Of course instead of gradual building he just jumps right into it.

Okay so anyway enough of that. Ayato likes games. More so psychological torture than physical. I like to think that that’s mostly due to the fact that he only wants his fangs to pierce Yui. What he loves the most is the shock factor, seeing the fear in Yui’s eyes. So I think he’s willing to do anything/go as far as he needs to in order to see it.

So some rough headcanons that might accidentally be canon because my memory is mush:

One I really like is you know how he can like teleport? Him grabbing Yui and then teleporting to an absurd height so he can “show her the scenery.” Once her guard is completely down he just drops her. Doesn’t catch her until the absolute last possible second. He probably gets a hell of an adrenaline rush from the whole thing too. The blood curdling scream she gives probably gets his heart going, know what I mean?

Similar to Subaru except FUCK Subaru Ayato chaining her up in the dungeon or like somewhere equally as creepy (cemetery, doll room, torture room, etc) and telling her that when she says his name in a pretty enough voice he’ll come for her. He’d probably make shit move or send things hurtling at her to scare the absolute shit outta her. I can see him keeping her there well past the point of exhaustion because secretly Ayato’s favorite way to hear his name is on a desperate whimper of a whisper.

My favorite Ayato scene is when he keeps teleporting so Yui can’t find him and he’s like “behind you!” over and over again. So with that idea in mind, a similar kind of game but in a House of Mirrors. If she can guess which one is the real him, he won’t drink her blood to the point of passing out. But if she doesn’t...

Ayato is a possessive boy my favorite trait in a man and like I said everything is about building tolerance. He is also a bitey boi and so I can definitely see him drinking from her coochie. Not like period blood (idk why everyone jumps to that tbh) but like biting right on the innermost part of her thighs, licking up her juices and then fucking going for it and biting her right along those sensitive folds. The scream he gets from that would drive him to do it again and again.

If I’m remembering correctly, DL vampires have like healing saliva to ease the pain of the bite or whatever. Ayato doesn’t make use of that. He just lets the bites bruise, leaves the skin purposely tender. Those tie in with the hickies he loves so much as well. Wait yes, they totally do have healing saliva because I remember being PISSED when Yui gets hurt and Reiji fixes her hand with a first aid kit instead of his mouth

That’s pretty much all I could come up with off the top of my head. I wouldn’t exactly describe myself as a very dark writer, so I’m sorry if you were looking for something more gruesome or explicit lol. I do love my happy endings after all XD Either way, hope you enjoyed!

#anon asks #dl asks #dl shit #wow I forgot how much I love Ayato #thank you this was lots of fun!#he really is up there in my list of faves #I need a plushy of him

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cheryls-blossomed · 3 years

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1.1) I would like to comment with you, some critical points in my opinion in season 6 for Iris, 6x1 was all very fast, to explain the consequences of Nora's death for Barry and Iris1.2) 6x2 cut the scene where Iris is at Star Labs showing concern about her burnt husband, but left KF (🙄) drawing and shows Iris arriving at the end of the day at home, to see her husband and when Jay and his wife are already leaving, which makes her look like work is more important than her husband and his visitors

1.3) Barry and Iris 6x5 are going to travel and instead of saying that they went on romantic walks, they said they went to many beaches, because when the couple is a white man and the protagonist and his wife a black woman, they cannot speak on the Show, that they were having sex

1.4) 6x8 didn't give WestAllen a space alone for Barry to talk to Iris who saw Nora baby, since the directors were wrong to not allow them to talk more about the subject in 6x1, 6x8 would be a great opportunity to fix this, but no, they put Iris on the same level of importance as the Flash team when she went to talk to Barry with the others.

1.5) 6x9 (this episode seems like a joke to me), Barry and Iris spend 8 episodes practically without touching, then just because Barry is chosen as the paragon of love, the episode has more kisses than the entire season🙄😒😤

1.6) 6x10 Great episode (Candice was great), I thought now the journalist Iris will appear more, because Iris was in a vibe of Olivia Poppe and Annalise Keating, but they didn’t put her in the mirror and didn’t even make her explore the world of mirrors, she and kamila could have a parallel journalistic adventure that Barry was having outside the mirror, but unfortunately they didn't.

it was about these things from season 6 that I would like to talk like Iris, in my opinion it was impaired

Absolutely, nonnie, and seeing as how this is quite long and I’d like to give weight to your full discussion, it probably makes the most sense for me to respond to each of your points individually.

In relation to 6x01, I personally think the episode did a really good job in portraying Barry and Iris’s respective grief, especially Iris’s. There were issues in that episode, including Iris having to watch her jacket be swept into the Black Hole, and in this traumatic moment, she has to save herself and the attendant who was with her (meanwhile other white characters, whom are always coddled, are allowed to be saved). But I think the episode did do a good job in centering Iris’s grief and allowing her and Barry to have a really good conversation revealing that they’re not okay after losing Nora, and having them comfort each other. The issue is that the show just dropped the fact that they are grieving parents after this. There are nods later on to their grief over Nora, but given how well 6x01 had dealt with their respective grieving processes, particularly Iris’s, it was a real disappointment that the show didn’t continue writing conversations for Barry and Iris where they continued to deal with that grief, especially in the lead-up to Crisis, where Iris now has to deal with losing her husband so soon after losing her child.

I agree that it was ridiculous to cut the scene of Iris going to see Barry at S.T.A.R. Labs, as that looked like such a sweet moment, when there were certainly other scenes that could have been cut (that “art” sub-plot... could have been cut by one scene). However, I disagree that that was how that final scene when Iris returns home was framed. Iris was at work; she’s working during the days, and she was also meeting her newest hire. Iris met Jay and Joan earlier that day and was extremely grateful that they had brought Barry back to her. Barry was just chilling with Jay and Joan later that evening; they probably popped by when Iris was finishing up t work. Iris was shown juggling her work life and her family life, and she still has to work. I don’t think her returning to the apartment a bit later after she’d met Allegra and wrapped up her work, especially because she was investigating an ongoing case, had any implication that she puts work above her family life. She rushed back the moment Barry came back from Earth-3, and then when she was resting, she returned back to work, when she had this pressing ongoing investigation.

Wrt 6x05, I mean, this show never explicitly says anyone is having sex. They use innuendo all the time, and this is one of the most innocuous examples. Iris tells Cisco that they went to fifteen beaches. It’s not like she would tell him she and Barry had sex on those beaches, lol. So, I really don’t think that’s an issue. However, what is an issue is the fact that we didn’t get even one scene of Barry and Iris on their romantic getaway, especially because season 6A had completely neglected Iris’s feelings and POV on losing Barry. This would have been a great time to showcase Barry and Iris just spending time with each other and making every moment count.

I agree re 6x08. That episode is beyond infuriating.

6x09 was great, imo, nonnie! I get being frustrating that they had way more kisses in that episode than in any other episode before, but I don’t think it was simply because Barry is the Paragon of Love and so they wanted to emphasize his love story (although I’m sure that was part of it). That episode really showcased how deeply Barry loves Iris and that she is by far the person who is most important to him (Barry only caring that the wave is getting closer to Iris “Every moment that wave gets closer to my wife”; Barry’s last word being Iris; “I’ll always come running home to you;” Barry telling Iris what a superhero she is).

Yes, 6x10 was a great episode for Iris. And I agree that after setting up such a cool journalistic arc for her, it was beyond egregious that TPTB trapped Iris in the Mirrorverse and didn’t give her the investigative arc in the Mirrorverse that she deserved. The Mirrorverse opened up so many possibilities, and TPTB squandered that, instead focusing on random stories I definitely didn’t care about (like who really needed to see speedster! Grodd or Nash’s man pain drama, for that matter). It was beyond frustrating, especially because this story-line is Iris’s. Eva is Iris’s Big Bad. And yet, the writers trapped Iris, subjecting her to mental and psychological torture, and didn’t do anything substantial with the Mirrorverse. 7x01 was the first episode that we see Iris in other parts of the Mirrorverse, but 1) this plot deserved way more screentime, and 2) she’s undergoing mental trauma during this plot. TPTB frame Iris’s stories through her trauma constantly, and this is a misogynoiristic narrative construction.

Season 6 was overall a complicated season, in many respects.

#anonymous #replies

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strawberry-skies-xx · 4 years

Text

forget the bottle

C H A P T E R O N E

summary: Jaskier has always felt things on a deeper level than most, and more often, and he has gone through life this way. He has coping mechanisms, of course - drinking, talking, singing, etc. He can't be overwhelmed by his emotions all the time, after all.

After the mountain, Jaskier's coping mechanism is drinking. Turns out, there's something in it, and Nilfgaard knows exactly how to break the songbird.

words: 17097

tags: geralt / jaskier, yennefer, PTSD, post-s1e6, s1e6 fix-it, a fix-it of sorts, pyschological trauma, psychological torture, magical fuckery, mind manipulation, aftermath of psychological torture, emotional/psychological abuse, torture, nilfgaard, captured by nilfgaard, fringilla, fluff and angst, protective yennefer, yennefer ships it, idiots in love, love confessions, happy ending, solitary confinement

author’s note: alright, so here is the zillionth captured-by-nilfgaard fic in this fandom. and, yes, whenever i mention valdo marx + jaskier hate-fucking, i am passive-aggressively yelling at the fandom for not having more of it. it has massive potential, but i don't write smut. (aka, please link me to any amazing top/dom valdo and bottom/sub jaskier hate-fucking, i love it)

scheduled tuesday and thursday posting.

main masterlist | story on ao3 | next chapter >>

-0-0-0-

Jaskier felt too much.

He’d always felt too much. He spent his younger years raging at his parents, raging at the world, though he didn’t know what he was raging at, only that he wanted to get away, be free.

And when he was old enough, he went to Oxenfurt and learned - learned academics, learned the arts, and he flashed through emotions quicker than he did love. The world was new, the world was bright and big and bold and Jaskier wanted nothing more than to carve himself a place in it.

And he did. He went to an inn in Posada and met a white-haired Witcher, and he learned some more. Learned of the darker emotions - not just anger, but revenge, and not just sadness, but despair, oppression. The world was new, still, the world wasn’t quite bright anymore but it was big and bold and Jaskier still wanted to carve himself a place in it, by way of one grumpy, golden-eyed, white-haired Witcher.

So Jaskier went through the world, and he felt. He felt pain lance through him, sharp as any blade - pain of heartbreak, pain of rejection, pain of actual physical wounds. He felt happiness, like warm honey falling gently over him - contentment when he sat by the fire with Geralt and sang into the shadows, joy when he roused an entire tavern into singing and stamping with him and he danced between them all, singing his heart out to the world.

He also felt love, in a more permanent sense than he’d ever felt it. Love was…. a peculiar sensation for him. He fell into love hard, and fast, and deep - both literally and metaphorically; Jaskier did enjoy the finer things in life, and he wasn’t above flirting and taking everyone he met to bed, sometimes at the same time. He adored people, like soft warmth rising in him. Lust was sharp and primal, carnal in its intensity, and Jaskier sharpened it into something intricate, turned it into pretty words and meaningful looks and determined intent.

And he loved, loved with his whole being, loved with his entire heart. Jaskier gave a piece of his heart to everyone he met, and sometimes he took it back after a fleeting infatuation, sometimes it stayed with them and he yearned. Valdo Marx was one of those people - he had loved him as he did anyone, had ended up hating him, but Valdo was not a fleeting love. Jaskier still loved him, even if it was only for their sharp back-and-forths and the truly mind-blowing hate sex they had occasionally - Valdo knew him better than anyone, except for Geralt.

Geralt was different. For Jaskier, love shot through him like a lightning bolt - or, Cupid’s arrow. Sometimes it went out the other end and left, sometimes it stuck and bled and scarred. With Geralt, it had shot through him like any other person, except it had stuck, it hadn’t bled, and it hadn’t scarred. Jaskier loved Geralt, and he was never so selfless that he never wanted more of him despite having what he already did, but if he was truly forced to choose, Jaskier would have been perfectly content with the life he led with the Witcher, would have suffered through the pain of pining after him if he got to stay.

Jaskier hadn’t chosen, though. Geralt had chosen for him, and he had decided that he didn’t need him, didn’t want him, and Jaskier had granted him his oh so desired blessing, and left.

Heartbreak felt like needles, stabbing him, over and over and over, in multiple places, and when he thought it was done, he’d see something and he’d be pricked again, it would draw blood.

Jaskier had grown very good at coping with his feelings - he couldn’t go through life being overwhelmed by all of his emotions. He did this in all manners of ways - writing songs and singing them, putting on the optimistic act to simultaneously let out emotions while hiding others, and talking, constantly. One of his better - or, well, quite unhealthy but very effective - coping mechanisms was drinking, which was what he was currently using on the heartbreak needling at him.

He stared into the tankard of ale, which tasted more like piss than actual ale, and sighed. Even the damn ale reminded him of Geralt.

Maybe the Cupid’s arrow for Geralt had started bleeding. Jaskier wasn’t sure if it would scar.

He groaned and dumped coins on the table, ignoring the flirtatious looks some women were giving him. He would have accepted it at any other time, would have lost himself in pleasure, but he felt slightly dizzy and he wanted nothing more than to find someplace to sleep, without practically selling his body for it. He didn’t have enough coin for a room, so he’d have to sleep out in the woods. Which, dammit, was just like he used to do with Geralt. Minus the Witchery protection now, of course.

Jaskier’s head was thoroughly spinning by the time he got out of the inn, and he knew something was wrong. He was drugged, he knew what it felt like to be drugged, having been enough times that Geralt actually berated him for having to rescue him. He ran through in his head what drug it could be, landed distantly on the salty taste of the ale, and cursed under his breath. Or, maybe it was a curse. Jaskier’s head was too fuzzy to figure out whether it came out as an actual word or as incoherent noises.

He saw shadows out of the corner of his eye - black, large, vaguely terrifying considering the way he stumbled and couldn’t think straight. He was caught by two strong arms, Geralt flashing quickly through his mind before a voice that was decidedly not Geralt whispered in his ear, smooth and cruel.

“Hey, little songbird,” not-Geralt said. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier replied. Or didn’t. He didn’t know, his head was spinning and he felt a headache pounding and his limbs were growing slow and heavy, and the darkness dragged him down all too easily.

-0-0-0-

Jaskier woke up cold, and shivering, and very, very confused. He was laying on his side on a stone floor, feeling like he had been dunked in ice water - which, maybe he had, because his hair was dripping wet still and plastered to his face. His hands were behind his back, and at an experimental tug, they were tied together too. He wore nothing but his pants, and his bare shoulder pressed against the cold stone.

Jaskier cursed, both from his situation which had rapidly come back to him, and the very annoying strands of wet hair that had decided to plant themselves directly in his eye, and managed to roll himself onto his back with some effort. He lifted his head as much as he could and shook his hair out of his face, trying very hard to ignore the feeling of it plastered to his cheeks, his neck, just all over the place. He took the brief time to berate whoever had kidnapped him on hair care - honestly, did no one know how to dry hair? He liked to keep his hair soft and this was decidedly not the way to do it.

Of course, none of this was what he believed. He was ignoring the fear crawling up in him, feeling like spiders and making his skin itch, feeling like ice trickling down his spine and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. If he focused on anything other than the fear, then he wouldn’t be overwhelmed. It couldn’t do anything.

Jaskier rolled himself back on his side in order not to crush his hands beneath him, and after a long, heated moment spent mentally berating whoever had kidnapped him, again, on the best positions for singing, he actually started singing. The lecture went on, still - every time his voice cracked very much not artfully, or every time he couldn’t pull in enough breath, he took a second to come up with some particularly creative insult in his head about calling him songbird and then prohibiting his ability to sing.

He ignored the feeling of spiders crawling over him and the feeling of ice trickling down his spine.

It was an undetermined amount of time, measured only by the fact that Jaskier got through eight songs verbally before he started shivering uncontrollably, and six songs mentally before the door opened and a woman in blue robes and two men in black Nilfgaardian armor strode in.

He gave a dry laugh, ignoring the spiders crawling and the ice trickling. “Nice of you to stop by,” he said. “You know, it’s a bit contradictory when you call me songbird and then put me in a position like this, which is very much not conducive to singing, let me tell you.”

The woman in blue robes smiled and walked forward. She reached behind him and tugged harshly on the ropes tying his arms, pulling him into a kneeling position, before yanking him up to stand. Jaskier met her dark eyes, sensed the crackling undercurrent of magic around her, and supposed that this was Nilfgaard’s mage. Or one of them, at least.

She held his gaze for a long moment, searching, before letting go. “Untie him,” she said, turning around and standing several paces back as the Nilfgaardian soldiers descended on him.

Jaskier stood still, finding his heart suddenly pounding and adrenaline racing through him. This was his chance - he could try to escape now.

The ropes dropped from his arms and he lashed out, landing a right hook in one of the soldier’s jaws and aiming for another in the other soldier, when the entire room popped and Jaskier found himself slammed into by a wave of magic. His back hit the stone wall hard, knocking the breath out of him, and he gasped, arching. The sorceress walked forward, cruel emptiness in her eyes, watching him like he was a bug pinned to a board. Which, he supposed he was.

He was always a bug pinned to a board, poked and prodded and seen as amusing by Geralt and Yennefer and now this damned mage. Gods, Jaskier hated being human.

“Don’t struggle,” she said, voice oddly serene. “It’ll only be worse for you.”

Jaskier scoffed, rolled his eyes and studiously ignored the fear threatening to overtake him. Sometimes feeling too much was a blessing, sometimes it was a curse. Right now, it was a curse.

“Why? So I can become your puppet and you can do whatever you’d like to me? I’d be flattered you think of me that way, if this wasn’t a kidnapping,” he retorted sharply. The mage laughed, amused, and Jaskier tugged against his invisible bonds. Something in him wanted to cry at the fact that they didn’t even deem it necessary to tie him up, he was so weak and human.

The mage didn’t respond - not to his question, anyway. Instead, she raised two fingers to trace along his jaw. “It’s better to get this over with now,” she said.

Jaskier paled, felt the fear rising in him. “Get what over with? I’d rather you don’t-“

Her fingers landed on his forehead and his sentence ended with a scream. He arched against the invisible bonds, feeling the searing heat crawl into his mind, flood it with lava, with blood and pain and misery. She dissected his memories, sharply cleaving through every defense he had, and he felt the magic ripping through his body harshly, tearing through his mind.

Jaskier slid into the wooden seat, bread shifting uncomfortably in his waistband - but that wasn’t important. What was important was the lack of a review, the golden eyes staring flatly at him and the two long, sharp, menacing swords sitting beside the man.

“Come on, you must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

“No,” he gasped. “Don’t- please don’t-“

He screamed again as she ripped through another of his memories, feeling tears start in his eyes and the feeling of fear inch up his spine, waiting for the opportunity to get past his defenses and overtake him.

“How’s my singing, Geralt?” Jaskier asked loudly, because oh he wanted to have this conversation. He was quite heartbroken from the Countess de Stael’s rude break off of their relationship, and he thought spending a good long while defending his singing with a loud, unrestrained sarcasm he hadn’t been able to use since he entered the Countess’s court would make him feel better. There was something freeing about being with Geralt, not having to tiptoe around the darker and dirtier things in life.

Jaskier gasped through the pain, shaking against the wall, mouth now opening wordlessly as he arched and the mage tore into memory after memory, pulling everything he ever felt, thought, said, did, into full view, forcing white hair and golden eyes into the forefront of his mind. She learned he felt too much, she learned he loved too much, she learned of the frankly embarrassing number of times he hate-fucked Valdo Marx.

And she learned he loved Geralt with a love more permanent than anything he’d ever felt before.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

The agony ended with that line echoing in his head and he fell limp against the magic holding him to the wall, gasping for breath and still feeling the echoes of the searing pain ripping through his head.

The mage was entirely unconcerned, standing and waiting with a blank look on her face until Jaskier caught his breath and sent her a glare. He growled - which, of course made him think of Geralt. Damn the fucking Witcher who stole his heart. “Are you done? Learned anything useful?” he snarled, truly not giving a fuck about whether he angered her and made it worse.

She traced her fingers along his jaw again, sliding them beneath his chin and raising his head, lowering herself down to look him in the eyes. “Oh, songbird. We learned so much. I'm going to enjoy breaking you.”

Jaskier felt the fear rise up in him, felt his breaths start to come shorter and tears fill his eyes, and forcefully shoved it down. He couldn’t let his emotions overwhelm him.

“Why do you want me?” he asked, uselessly. He knew why they wanted him - and he knew he couldn’t give them the answers they wanted. Geralt had discarded him.

The mage released his chin and stood up, not responding. Jaskier watched as she stepped back, flicked her fingers, and suddenly Jaskier fell hard to the floor. He gasped when the cold shocked through him, and the mage walked to the door with the soldiers. She turned back at him when he raised his head to look at her.

“The Witcher has something we want,” she replied, and turned and left. The door slammed loudly behind her and the soldiers.

Jaskier was left alone in the darkness, and the sudden drain of adrenaline from the mage ripping through his mind left him exhausted. He resisted the urge to cry; he kept up the dying hope that Geralt would save him, or he would escape, because they were the only things keeping back the flood of fear, and he knew if the fear and emotions overtook him then he would break.

For now, he curled up on the cold floor and let his eyes close, succumbing to the deep exhaustion and letting sleep take him.

-0-0-0-

The mage introduced herself as Fringilla, and the next time she came in there were the same two soldiers with her. Jaskier had searched his cell when he woke up feeling marginally better, though still freezing cold, and found nothing - it was pitch dark, so he couldn’t see, but he had felt every inch with his hands and there was absolutely nothing that would help him escape. He could barely find the door in the darkness.

The bright light blinded him and he covered his eyes as Fringilla and the soldiers walked in. He glared at them, backed away when the soldiers came up to him. They reached out and Jaskier laughed harshly, ducking out from under their arms. “Nope, no, I am not letting you touch me.”

Fringilla sighed impatiently as Jaskier kept dodging the soldiers, who did nothing more than walk steadily after him in the small space. He hated this, hated that he was trapped and couldn’t do anything other than run three feet from the soldiers and make himself look weak by prolonging it. They still hadn’t deemed him a threat enough to tie him up, for fuck’s sake.

Jaskier would have enjoyed taking apart that delusion, if he wasn’t freezing cold, half-naked, outnumbered, and with no weapon to speak of. He uselessly avoided the soldiers for several more minutes, until even he was growing bored of the game, and the only thing that Fringilla needed to do was raise her hand before Jaskier was stopping, freezing like a deer in headlights, fear flashing through him. The soldiers took that opportunity and slammed him against the wall, hands pinning his arms and legs in place.

Jaskier wondered if the display of sheer power against him was intentional, deeming him too weak for chains or ropes, but Fringilla smiled in such a way that it was instantly confirmed and Jaskier bit back his noise of annoyance. It was truly insulting, and hit something deeper in Jaskier that was still fighting, that kept up hope. He figured that was the point - if they could restrain him so easily now, what was the point of fighting? It would only be worse.

“Love,” Fringilla said, and Jaskier felt his stomach drop and his body go cold. If Nilfgaard wanted to break him, they certainly knew how to do it.

“It’s a peculiar thing, isn’t it? So volatile. It’s the only thing us mages can’t predict,” Fringilla continued, voice low.

Jaskier glared at her. “Shame. Thought you mages were all-powerful,” he snarked. Fringilla only looked amused.

“However,” she continued, ignoring his comment, “we can use it to our advantage.” And, yeah, that’s definitely not good for Jaskier, who squirmed just at the thought of what they could do to him regarding Geralt - because that was the only person he truly loved, really.

She raised her fingers, intent in her dark eyes, and Jaskier barely had time to protest, fear shooting through him, before cool magic washed over him like ice water, and he sank into darkness.

He saw the light first - saw the mountains in the distance, felt the clothes covering his back. Heard Geralt and Yennefer arguing below, saw Borch sitting on the ledge - and oh, fuck, this was the dragon hunt, he realized with a jolt of panic.

“Like fuck you didn’t,” came Geralt’s irritated voice, and Jaskier’s heart hurt just hearing it. He stood up, or, well, he tried to. There was a magical force pulling him down, forcing him to stay in the body of the Jaskier in his memories, the one who sat on the rock, and walked over, and then walked away. He wanted to cry, again, because he knew how this turned out and he could already feel the heartbreak needling at his skin, the pain of rejection lancing through him. He remembered how his dreams shattered like glass, and he cut himself on the sharp edges of them as he walked away.

He stood up, walked over once Yennefer left. Spoke without wanting to, felt the insistent magic tugging at him. “Whew,” he said. “What a day. I imagine you’re probably-“

“Dammit, Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted sharply, whirling around to face him, and Jaskier felt the needles of heartbreak start pricking him, stabbing and drawing blood. He was stuck in his memory’s body, though, so he was forced to listen, feeling the tug of Fringilla’s magic on his voice, on his body.

Geralt’s eyes were hard, burning with anger as he continued. “Why is it, whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shoveling it?”

“Well, that’s not fair,” Jaskier replied, voice soft. It was just as painful the second time as it was the first, and back in the dark, cold cell, Jaskier was resisting the urge to cry. He didn’t want to relive this, it was too much for him to handle.

“The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! ” Geralt’s voice was harsh, everything about him was harsher and sharper and Jaskier was cutting himself on it, he was practically bleeding out with the force of the heartbreak ripping through him. He sang so many songs about Geralt, about him not being a monster, and Jaskier fought against the negative things said about Geralt with everything he had, but some dark, selfish part of himself whispered that maybe Geralt really was the monster everyone thought he was. He was certainly acting the part right now, hurting Jaskier in the most efficient, effective way possible. Jaskier was wrong when he said Geralt didn’t know how to use the blade of his words as effectively as steel and silver.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

Sharp pain lanced through him and Jaskier woke up gasping, laying on the cold floor. The cell was dark; Fringilla and the soldiers were long gone. Jaskier was alone.

Jaskier shoved down the tears, shoved down the fear and heartbreak and emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Crying was not one of his coping mechanisms. Drinking was, talking was, singing was. Not crying, never crying. Jaskier would not show weakness.

Well, he couldn’t drink. He had two options. Singing or talking. There weren’t many songs to sing that weren’t about Geralt - and he had just been painfully reminded of how he felt about him, thank you very much. So he curled up in a weak defense against the cold, and in a quiet, cracking, whisper of a voice, started to talk.

-0-0-0-

Jaskier had fallen asleep in the middle of some sentence about geography, some passage he had memorized from a textbook when he was at Oxenfurt. He didn’t remember it now; didn’t need to. All he remembered now was the surge of fear as the cell door opened and Fringilla and two soldiers walked in. Jaskier looked up, too exhausted to think about physically fighting as they dragged him up from his position on the floor.

He did fight verbally, though, if only because talking to someone to fight off his emotions was better than talking to himself. “In the old stories, the knights swept the princesses off of their feet,” he said. The soldiers started pulling him towards the door - he had a vague hope of escaping, though he felt like shit because he was being starved and really had to piss. “Does that make me the princess?”

Fringilla gave her signature, idly amused smile, the one that reminded Jaskier just how much he was a bug pinned to a board and surrounded by immortals who didn’t care for him. “You’re a bard, and nothing more. The place we’re taking you is not from the old stories.”

Jaskier frowned. “Shame. Oh, speaking of being a bard, why do you even keep me here? You already rifled through my mind, you saw Geralt abandon me. You know I don’t know where he is, or what he has that you want.”

Fringilla didn’t look bothered. “You’re still useful. You know the Witcher better than anyone else, you can tell us where he would go next. His patterns of behavior, the way he thinks. The best way we can ambush him. Or, if not, you’re good for bait.”

Jaskier laughed, and the sound was harsh and mocking. “He won’t come for me,” he said bitterly. “You’re delusional if, after looking at that memory, you think he would come back for me. He doesn’t care whether I live or die.”

Fringilla smiled. “You’re right. He doesn’t care about you, and he won’t come back. Whether you help us find the Witcher or not, bard, you’re still ours.”

It came so easily, so certainly, that Jaskier deflated in the soldier’s arms, staring at Fringilla with a sort of blank horror. She had looked through his memories, had seen everything he’d seen, and she was able to say with such smooth certainty that Geralt wouldn’t come back for him, and he was Nilfgaard’s now. It hit the same part of him that it had when they had so easily restrained him, the deeper part of him that glowed gold with hope even as the rest of him withered and broke.

They stopped in front of a simple wooden door that Fringilla opened to reveal a room with a tub, toilet, and sink. Jaskier turned to the sorceress. “You’re giving me time to clean myself up?” he asked incredulously. “Doesn’t that go against, you know… everything about torture?”

Fringilla smiled again, but there was something darker in it. Jaskier resisted the urge to shiver at the dark promise hidden in her tone and smile. “You’re going to need it, bard. You won’t come back here for a long time.”

Jaskier felt the dread rise in him, like being touched by ice, and the fear. He nodded, staying quiet, and went into the room, flinching when the door slammed and locked behind him.

An hour later, the door was opened and the two soldiers came to get him, just as he finished using the bathroom. Jaskier sighed. “I’m guessing you won’t pamper me as much anymore?”

Fringilla smiled in the same dark way when the soldiers pulled Jaskier through the hallways. “No.”

They got closer, and Jaskier thought he was immune, he thought he was still strong, but he thought of the pure darkness of the cell and the cold air and the sheer loneliness, and started struggling when he saw the metal door at the end of the hallway. The fear was threatening to overtake him, his breaths came shorter and his voice rose an octave.

“Are you really sure you want to put me in there?” he asked, while pulling against the soldiers, who forcefully manhandled him down the hallway. His heart was picking up, and dammit he shouldn’t be this affected after two fucking days, but here he was. Nilfgaard had better torture tactics than they were given credit for - Jaskier had a bitter feeling that the reliving the hardest, most painful ten minutes of his life factored into the reason why he was so scared. “I’m sure there’s another option, something much less… well, dark and cold.”

“Will you answer our questions?” Fringilla asked.

“No,” Jaskier replied automatically. He wouldn’t give up that easily, no matter how terrifying the cell was.

Fringilla opened the door and the soldiers threw him in. He landed hard on the stone, still in only a pair of pants because that was all the clothes he was given in the bathroom, and he barely had time to watch the sliver of light be sliced away by the door slamming before he was left in pitch darkness, the cold air already seeping into him.

Jaskier sat up and leaned against the wall. He sighed, very firmly refusing the urge to cry, and stared into the darkness. He couldn’t even see the edges of the room, for fuck’s sake.

He let out a breath that definitely wasn’t at all shaky, tilted his head back against the wall, and started to sing - about everything and anything, because he couldn’t give a fuck about whether the songs were about Geralt if it meant he was distracted from the pain of knowing this was all he would see for gods knows how long. After all, it was just another emotion to add to the pile, wasn’t it? Nilfgaard wouldn’t care if he broke down - fuck, they wanted him to break down. Some dark part of him wondered if it would be easier to break down, stop fighting; it was only exhausting him anyway.

“When a humble bard, graced a ride along…”

#the witcher netflix #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier

15 notes · View notes

elyvorg · 4 years

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Still a Hero - author’s commentary (part 1)

I spent almost all my time for two months planning and writing this fic of mine centred around Kaito’s issues, and that amount of thinking-about-something doesn’t just go away once the thing is finished. So this is the first of two posts (the second being here) full of some of my thoughts about the fic, for any readers who might be interested. This one’s focused on Kaito’s issues and character arc in it, kind of like one of my regular Kaito analysis posts except that it’s about the fic rather than any canon Kaito content.

Why this fic exists

People familiar with my Kaito posts (and if you’re new to my blog because the fic brought you here, I suggest taking a look at this one in particular before reading this) will know how much I like to think about Kaito being terrified he won’t be able to support or inspire his sidekicks any more if they see his weakness, and how excruciatingly wrong that is of him. And it’s not just wrong because of course his friends will still care about him and be inspired by his Kaito-ness no matter what, but also because the fact that he’s suffering and yet fighting through it anyway only makes him even more inspiring of a hero than if he wasn’t struggling with anything at all.

This should be obvious to Kaito – he spends so much time calling himself a hero and wanting to inspire people that he should perfectly well be able to realise that overcoming genuine struggles is more impressive and inspiring and heroic to others than simply winning everything without effort. But since he hasn’t already figured this out and remains convinced that heroes simply have to be invincible or else they’re not good enough, it always seemed to me like Kaito was never going to be able to figure this out on his own. I assumed that, to fix things, he’d need someone else to point at his concept of heroes and go “hey, that’s stupid, and here are the obvious reasons why”, letting him finally see things from a new perspective and realise “huh, yeah, it kind of is, now that you mention it”. That’s why most of the AUs I’ve thought about that would eventually lead to Kaito seeing sense about this tended to involve somehow forcing him to show weakness against his will at first. That way, his sidekicks can realise what the issue is, in order to then be able to talk him through why it shouldn’t even be an issue at all.

However! The scenario of Kaito being tortured with the stakes being his sidekicks’ lives offered a unique opportunity: to make Kaito realise what being a hero is really about (and therefore that it’s okay to show weakness to his sidekicks) entirely on his own.

I realised this as I was throwing hypothetical ideas for this scenario around with my friend antialiasis without any intention of ever actually writing a fic of this. At first I was imagining how Kaito would react in the aftermath of being tortured, namely in his usual Kaito way of insisting he’s Completely Fine. Since his friends knew he’d been tortured, there wouldn’t be any point trying to hide his injuries, so okay sure whatever it physically hurt and his wounds need some time to heal – but he’d still be insisting that psychologically he’s obviously totally unaffected and not letting it get to him one bit. And Maki would call him the absolute fuck out, because she’s been tortured and she knows that nobody could possibly be psychologically okay afterwards, and this would be the inroad needed in this universe for her and Shuichi to gradually talk Kaito into showing vulnerability and letting them help him.

It occurred to me that this situation in particular might make things a little easier for Kaito to accept that being weak doesn’t make him less of a hero, because no matter how hurt and scared he was by the torture, he still never actually let his sidekicks down by giving them up to the cult, and that’s the most important part. And then, because of this, it occurred to me that, hey, why even wait for the aftermath? Kaito might just be able to realise this while he’s being tortured, before Maki and Shuichi even rescue him, without them needing to help him come to that conclusion at all.

And I just had to write that. Kaito figuring it out on his own is such a unique way, one that had never even occurred to me as being possible before, to reach the Kaito-learns-to-show-vulnerability outcome that I always crave from Kaito-centric AUs.

I genuinely think this might be the only way it’s possible to get Kaito to figure this out all on his own. He’s such an idiot about this that he’d need to have this blatant, illustrative example of himself indisputably not letting his sidekicks down even while being very openly “weak” and scared. I’m not sure how else that could even happen. (I mean, I’m open for suggestions of other scenarios that could do this, but I can’t think of any myself.)

Three phases to the arc

As I thought about this some more and things started to take shape in my head as a narrative, I determined that Kaito’s character arc throughout this would essentially come in three distinct phases.

Phase 1: stubborn posturing in which he tells himself he’s totally fine and basically invincible and the torture isn’t getting to him at all, not really (because if it was then he couldn’t possibly be a hero, and he needs to be a hero). While it deteriorates somewhat as things progress, this is nonetheless by far the longest phase, lasting most of five chapters or about half the fic’s page count, because Kaito is just that stubborn. That and he’s legitimately very resilient with very high pain tolerance, such that the torture genuinely isn’t getting to him quite as fast as it would for the average person, even beneath his false bravado.

Phase 2: having finally properly admitted to himself that the torture is getting to him and that he’s hurting and scared as all hell, being convinced that this means he’s weak and letting his sidekicks down, because this is all the things a hero should never ever be (right?). As such, he becomes openly terrified of breaking, and almost certain that he’s definitely going do so any moment, as soon as the pain gets bad enough that he just can’t take it any more.

Phase 3: realising that no matter how hurt and scared he is, he’s still not breaking and is never ever going to. (Because of course he never would; that part was never in question. There is already infinite canon evidence that Kaito is more terrified of letting his sidekicks down than of any amount of pain and suffering he could ever go through himself.) Once Kaito realised this, even his own self-loathing and unreasonably high standards wouldn’t be able to deny that, actually, no, this is freaking amazing of him and not weak at all, leading him to finally figure out that this is what being a hero really means and that he’s always been one this whole time.

These three phases should make it clear why the fic needed to be as long as it ended up being. Phase 3 was the ultimate goal of the fic, but that couldn’t happen without first reaching phase 2 in which Kaito openly believed he was about to break. And getting through Kaito’s ridiculous levels of surface stubbornness in phase 1 to even get him to phase 2 in the first place was going to take some doing. That process was also something I really needed to show happening – I couldn’t just skip most of phase 1 offscreen to jump in at phase 2 and expect people to buy it, because Kaito as an openly terrified near-broken wreck is so antithetical to the general image of Kaito that something like that needed to be earned with enough build-up to show how things got to that point. Hopefully I did a satisfying job of gradually breaking Kaito down in every way except the only one that ever truly mattered (the way in which he’d never break at all).

The psychological approach

In order to not make the fic be any more drawn-out that it needed to be, I spent a lot of time thinking about how to break through Kaito’s stubbornness as efficiently as possible, deliberately using tortures that’d get to him psychologically as well as physically. His physical endurance and pain tolerance really is incredible, so if he’d been suffering just physical pain and nothing else, it’d have taken way longer to get past phase 1 than it already did.

(This is also kind of where most of Takehira’s character as someone very carefully psychologically manipulative came from – he needed to be the kind of person who’d have made the same choices I had of how best to go about breaking Kaito as fast as possible. Except, of course, for the part where Takehira had absolutely no idea how genuinely strong Kaito was beneath it all and believed he’d just actually break once his surface stubbornness collapsed.)

In particular, I had a running theme of things that would make Kaito feel helpless, because I knew that’d be the absolute worst for him. Usually, as we see in canon, Kaito can more or less deal with basically any kind of awful situation that’s thrown at him so long as he’s able to feel like he’s doing something to make a difference. Even if he knows it might not really make much of a difference at all, so long as he has something, he can focus on that to distract himself from how bad things are. But take away whatever sense of power and control he’s trying to cling to and make him feel like there’s nothing he can do at all, and suddenly Kaito finds it a lot harder to cope.

And having something to do is important for Kaito not only in that it helps distract him from the pain but also in that it helps distract him from thinking about how he’s feeling, namely the fact that this is getting to him psychologically and surely that must mean he’s weak and not a hero at all. In a way, the biggest contributor to the gradual breakdown of Kaito’s stubbornness throughout phase 1 is not Takehira’s psychological tactics but Kaito himself: his own unreasonably high standards for heroes and the way he treats himself when he inevitably doesn’t match up to them. Kaito is absolutely the type to torture himself, and that’s not just in a literal physical sense like he did in chapter 2, but also in the sense of constantly berating himself and tearing himself down over any kind of “weakness” that slips through his defences. He beats himself up far too much simply for being a goddamn human being who suffers when he’s tortured, because obviously real heroes wouldn’t ever be that way, right? If it wasn’t for Kaito’s tendency to think like that, he’d have lasted so much longer before reaching absolute rock bottom.

Kaito being alone here also significantly affects how he responds to this compared to how he usually acts in stressful situations – because he has no-one to keep up a heroic façade in front of in order to encourage them. If one of Shuichi or Maki was also there and being tortured along with him, or even if Kaito just happened to be being tortured alongside one of the other kids from the cult, the possibility that he could help them through their suffering by continuing to put a brave face on things would have allowed him to do that so much more than he could on his own. That’s really an automatic thing for him: that selfless luminary instinct of “I need to be strong so I can give them strength” genuinely fills Kaito with a near-bottomless fountain of strength completely unconsciously, as well as giving him something to be distracting himself with and feel like he’s doing to make a difference. But because he’s the only one here, he simply doesn’t have that to draw on.

(And even then, even though it shouldn’t matter to him what anyone else in this place thinks of him because none of his torturers are going to be helped by it, Kaito still cares way more than he should about how Takehira and the henchmen are seeing him. This is really about nothing but how Kaito’s own self-image is slowly deteriorating, especially since Takehira makes it clear from the start that he already sees him as weak and believes any strength is just empty posturing, yet Kaito still frequently frames things in terms of what he must look like to them. His self-image is so rooted in other people’s image of him that this just keeps being a thing even when it shouldn’t actually matter. And what’s fun is that I didn’t even consciously think about having Kaito do this; my mental simulation of Kaito just did, and I made this observation about it after the fact.)

Why Kaito lies to himself

You may have noticed how Kaito spends the first chapter and a half avoiding any direct acknowledgement of the fact that he’s even in pain, and much longer than that, basically the entirety of phase 1, refusing to admit that he’s scared. This might just seem to be because Kaito is well-practiced at lying to himself – but the thing is, he’s not.

I gave this a lot of thought upon realising I was going to have to write this in Kaito’s POV, which was not a thing I’d done before and quite a more daunting task than writing Kaito from the outside. How much weakness Kaito shows on the surface is an easy thing to predict, because we get so much evidence in canon of how that works for him (the answer, of course, being very goddamn little). But how much he consciously acknowledges to himself beneath the surface even though he doesn’t show it? That’s a matter that’s much harder to gauge.

That said, there are some pieces of canon evidence that can help us get a sense of this. The first is the two scenes where we see Kaito coughing up blood on his own. Because he’s alone, this should be a lot closer to the way he deals with things inside his head than anything we see when he’s around the others. While he’s trying to remain determined in the things he’s saying, you can tell from his demeanour that he’s clearly very consciously aware of how bad things are and how scared he is. It does not for a second look like he’s actually managing to convince himself that he’s Totally Fine like he pretends to be in front of the others. He knows how bad things are; he’s just trying – not all that successfully – to stay as positive as he can about it, because doing otherwise would be pointlessly moping and practically tantamount to giving up, and Kaito hates doing either of those things.

The other even more clear canon evidence of the extent to which Kaito consciously acknowledges his “weakness” beneath the surface is his Harmonious Heart event. This is the one time we actually get to see a small snippet of his inner monologue, and, delightfully, it’s in a context which is extremely relevant to this. He calls himself “weak” for having just a brief pessimistic thought, then goes on to berate himself for it and get caught up in worrying about what would happen if Shuichi ever saw this “weakness” from him. So, clearly, even though he never admits to it on the surface, Kaito very much can and will consciously notice his weakness, and apparently this is liable to set his thoughts off into a self-deprecating spiral of feeling like this means he’s not good enough for his sidekicks. This is some excellent, exceedingly useful information for this fic that I’m very glad I had. Have I ever mentioned that Kaito’s Harmonious Heart event is the freaking best.

Still, even if Kaito believes he secretly is weak, so long as his sidekicks don’t know that and he continues to appear on the surface to be the invincible hero that they totally need to see him as, then it’s okay and he’s not failing them. All he’s dealing with in that case is the fear that he might possibly fail them one day, if he slips up and lets them see some kind of weakness from him. This is the case in the canon killing game when Kaito has plenty of things to be scared about – and while it wouldn’t have been a thing in UTDP during his time at Hope’s Peak, in which Kaito genuinely was completely fine, it would have become an issue in my AU once they were on the run from the cult. Kaito would have been fully aware of just how lost and terrified and not-actually-invincible-at-all he was beneath the surface, and he’d have been constantly afraid that if his sidekicks ever realised that, there’d be nothing at all he could do for them to keep boosting their spirits and no reason for him to have even come along. The evidence from canon indicates that he’d still have been able to acknowledge that weakness to himself, even if he’d have hated doing so.

However, while Kaito is being tortured, it’s a very different thing altogether. Usually, Kaito’s worry is that he will fail his sidekicks if they see his weakness. But here, suddenly the apparent problem is that if Kaito is weak at all (and he’d already begun to feel like he is during their time on the run), he will fail his sidekicks, so badly that they will die. This entire thought is such an absolutely inconceivable Nope for Kaito that, from the moment he realises those are the stakes here, he begins to block out acknowledgement of any kind of “weakness”, completely subconsciously.

Right at the beginning of chapter 1 of the fic, I very deliberately put in a few brief bits of Kaito acknowledging pain (when his head hurts from the drug he was kidnapped with) and at least vaguely acknowledging fear (when he freaks out upon thinking Shuichi and Maki might already be dead), specifically to try and illustrate that Kaito would usually be okay with somewhat admitting to these things in his head. But all that stops the moment it hits him that he’s going to be tortured. Lying to himself this completely is not normally a thing that Kaito does or is even that good at doing – but in this situation, it’s his only way to escape from the notion that he’s already failing them.

Kaito appears to compare the thought that he’s about to be tortured to the event horizon of a black hole, as if, once he acknowledges what’s going to happen to him, he’ll be sucked into an awful inescapable abyss. But the real black hole isn’t the thought of the torture itself, but rather the thought that he’s not going to be strong enough to endure it. Kaito’s mental spaceship does absolutely everything it can to stay outside of that event horizon for as long as possible, and it manages to do so for almost five whole chapters. The narration says the “spaceship” swerved off-course, but it never actually says it swerved towards the black hole. It was actually swerving even further away.

In the usual situation where Kaito is terrified that the breaking point would be letting other people see his “weakness”, he can avoid that by just stubbornly refusing to let anyone see it. He is very, very good at this and can practically keep it up forever, which is precisely why he’s never going to learn on his own that he really has nothing to be afraid of. However, in this situation, where the terrifying breaking point is just him being “weak” in the first place, and so he tries to avoid it by lying to himself about it – well, that’s not something he can keep up forever. So, sooner or later, Kaito is going to be forced to confront the supposed breaking point and ultimately see that nothing was ever going to break at all. That’s why being tortured is quite possibly the only situation in which Kaito would ever figure this out on his own: for the exact same reason as why it makes him try to lie to himself in the first place.

The event horizon

As Kaito justifies to himself at one point in the fic, he’s not stupid enough to have literally tried to convince himself that being tortured wasn’t even going to hurt. Him not acknowledging the pain for a chapter and a half is less him trying to make himself believe that it’s not there at all and more just him trying to gloss over thinking about it, because obviously it’s irrelevant and totally something he can just ignore. (And, again, canon evidence indicates Kaito is legitimately very good at ignoring constant pain, at least up to a certain point.) A real hero would definitely be able to grin and bear the pain like it’s nothing, right?

As the pain gets too much for him to just ignore and begins to get to him in ways that he can’t quite fully deny, this wears down Kaito’s confidence in himself and makes him begin to worry that he might not be strong enough. But since pain is after all supposed to be the point of torture, he can just about let himself concede this much while only ending up a little less sure if he can hold on, rather than finding himself utterly certain that this means he can’t. Acknowledging the fact that he’s hurting is not quite enough on its own to be the event horizon that pushes him irreversibly into phase 2.

Fear, though, is an entirely different matter. Fear is all in the mind, and therefore it’s definitely something Kaito should have control over, isn’t it? He should totally be able to just prevent himself from feeling it at all, obviously. Any halfway-decent hero would be able to do that. And so, if he does feel fear anyway, then that’s just him being weak and not remotely heroic. More to the point, if he’s letting himself be scared of the torture, that means that sooner or later he’s going to be so scared of it that he’ll definitely betray his sidekicks just to make it stop, won’t he?

…The thing is, Kaito is not one of those people with a misconception about what “coward” means in that they think simply being scared in the first place makes someone a coward. He knows what courage is, and he can apply that concept completely correctly when it comes to helping his sidekicks face their fears and overcome them (or when it comes to villains who are cowards). But heroes? It’s different for heroes. Heroes are not supposed to get scared in the first place. If they ever do, then the question of whether or not they’re able to be brave about it doesn’t matter, because they’ve already failed the moment they let themselves become scared at all. So it just doesn’t even cross Kaito’s mind that of course he’s still brave enough to refuse to make the torture stop even though it’s scaring him.

Plus, because he’s blocking out acknowledging his fear in general, and because he’s blocking out any thoughts of getting his sidekicks killed even harder than that, Kaito never gets a chance to properly reflect on the fact that he is quite obviously more scared of letting his sidekicks down and losing them than he is of the torture itself. If he’d realised that, he might have been able to figure out from the very beginning that it was simply not possible that he’d ever break.

But he’s not capable of figuring that out. As such, the mere thought that he’s scared is the awful inescapable event horizon of definitely-getting-his-sidekicks-killed that Kaito is so desperately trying to avoid for the first half of the fic. It’s therefore also the point that I needed to force him into in order to get him to phase 2 of his character arc and closer to the fic’s goal.

Thinking about nothing everything

Chapter 4, despite being the shortest Kaito chapter in the fic, is perhaps one of the most important for this, because Kaito spends almost all of it doing nothing but thinking. He would have distracted himself by going at the rail again, but one single attempt reminding himself of the horrific ordeal it was last time was enough to put a stop to that. And then he would have distracted himself by just deliberately thinking of something unrelated, like another Space-Themed Coping Mechanism, but since he was trying to sleep, he didn’t really want to do that either – plus he might have been too mentally exhausted to even be able to focus on something like that for long.

So Kaito spends most of that near-sleepless night trying to think about nothing at all, and therefore constantly having his empty mind bombarded by intrusive thoughts about all the things going on with him that he doesn’t want to acknowledge: his immediate physical problems of being hurt and hungry and thirsty, not to mention his worries about how he’s failing and losing. He’d begun to make noises that sounded undeniably like screaming, and he also couldn’t really deny that he’d basically given up trying to break free from the rail and any words claiming otherwise were empty, both of which are clearly very unheroic things for him to have done. As much as he tried to wave away thoughts like that whenever they came, being as exhausted as he was made doing so more difficult than it’d usually be, and a whole night of barely-suppressed self-deprecation really wore down his confidence a lot.

But even worse than Kaito’s gradually-increasing self-loathing over how he’d responded to what he’d already been through were the thoughts of what was coming up. He knew full well that the torture was only going to keep getting worse, and he’d been very pointedly avoiding thinking about that from the beginning. Doing that might lead to the notion that he’s scared of how bad it’ll get, especially now that he’s growing more and more sure that he’s not really strong enough to handle it at all. If he properly acknowledged these thoughts and followed them to their endpoint, he’d already reach the conclusion that he’s never going to be able to hold on long enough to keep his sidekicks alive. Out of his sheer unconscious determination to avoid that event horizon no matter what, Kaito somehow still stubbornly manages to dodge any direct acknowledgment that he’s afraid for the entire mostly-sleepless night. Somehow.

I honestly wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed this at first, only that he had to have done so one way or another for his arc to progress like I’d planned. So writing Kaito in the beginning of chapter 5, before the water torture starts, was kind of interesting in that I didn’t really realise until after I’d written it that the mindset I’d instinctively written him being in actually answers that question. He’s just kind of in-the-moment, passively reacting to the things happening without thinking beyond them. He fights back against being tied up, but that’s more just for the sake of wanting to seem like someone who’d fight back than because he actually has any conscious intent to try and escape. And for the whole time he’s being dragged towards the sink, he doesn’t even register that that’s where they’re taking him, let alone worry about why that might be; he’s only thinking about how being dragged hurts and nothing more.

That’s because the only way Kaito could get through the night without falling apart already from how scared he was of the future was by subconsciously shifting himself into a mindset that doesn’t even acknowledge that there’s a future at all. He began to only allow himself to think about whatever’s happening right now, and nothing else. As such, it’s hard to be afraid of or want to try and escape what’s coming when he’s refusing to even let himself think about the fact that something bad is coming in the first place.

Another interesting thing I didn’t really do on purpose in chapter 5 is that Kaito barely even invokes the word “hero” to himself in it until the breaking point, despite having done so all the time in the past four chapters. He’s already subconsciously learned from all the thought-dodging he did all night that trying to tell himself he’s a hero is only going to lead to the conclusion that he definitely isn’t really one at all. (The one time he does use the word is the brief bit where he first sees himself in the mirror, since that’s a whole new source of proof-he’s-not-a-hero that he hadn’t already spent all night training himself to avoid thinking about.)

The space-off

Kaito’s whole space thing in the main part of chapter 5 was more than just a coping mechanism – it was also kind of a desperate last stand of his surface stubbornness and “strength” and insistence that this isn’t getting to him at all. And that’s… kind of why he falls apart so completely when he trips up on it just the once.

If he’d properly acknowledged it as a coping mechanism, accepting that that’s okay because he kind of needs one right now against this water torture that’s awful and terrifying and incredibly hard to hold on through, then it’d have been easy for him to pick it right back up after he forgot Atlas that one time. He’d have been able to reassure himself that sure, that’s bound to happen once or twice, but it’ll still be easier for him to cope if he can keep it up for as long as possible. But, you know, that’d have required Kaito to accept and be okay with his vulnerability, which, ha ha, not a chance, not in phase 1.

Interestingly – and this is another thing that kind of just happened without me deliberately meaning it to – Kaito’s other Space Coping Mechanism of picturing constellations at the end of chapter 3 is something he was rather more consciously aware of being a coping mechanism than the one in chapter 5. He basically admitted for that one that he just needed something to distract himself, and deliberately began doing it with that in mind.

I think the reason that the one here in chapter 5 is different is because Kaito is so close to the precipice of realising how “weak” he is and falling apart. In that state, he can’t afford to admit to even the slightest ounce of needing a coping mechanism like he could just about allow himself to do before. So while he starts the planets thing out of a subconscious desperation to find a way to distract himself and cope, on the surface of his thoughts he twists it into something different, something that totally proves he’s strong and in control and winning at last.

Which is really just setting himself up to crash and burn hard, sooner or later. He made it into this competition that he had to win in a last-ditch effort to prove after all that he doesn’t lose, as if that’d put him back to how relatively-strong he felt at the beginning and totally erase all the many times he feels like he’s lost up to this point. And to prove that, his performance has to be perfect without even the slightest crack or flaw, just like everything else about him has needed to be. So, upon messing up just once (though he frantically scrambles to justify that as an outlier he can paper over because of course he doesn’t want to admit defeat so easily), that means he’s not good enough, proving once and for all that all those losses really were deserved and he was never as strong as he thought. Especially when he opens his eyes and sees himself and realises what this looked like to his torturers – of course it was never actually “proving” that he’s invincible and not even remotely suffering, and they never saw it that way. Still, what they probably actually saw it as was a frustratingly effective coping mechanism that he was being really annoyingly stubborn about keeping up. But Kaito can’t see that; he can only see the fact that he needed such an extreme coping mechanism as proof of how pathetically desperate he’d become.

The black hole’s centre

If the “event horizon” of this metaphorical black hole was Kaito admitting that he’s scared, then the black hole’s gravity, the pull that he can no longer escape once he’s admitted that, was the force of Kaito’s own self-loathing when he doesn’t live up to his unreasonable standards for heroes. The torture only nudged him closer to that event horizon by weakening his mental fortitude and ability to fight against it, but he was really pulling himself in the entire time. Compared to how impressively long it took Kaito to get from “this is fine, I can handle this” to “damn it, I’m scared” throughout phase 1, it’s a really quick descent from there into the endpoint of “they’re going to die because of me” in phase 2. That’s a mental leap that you’d expect would take much longer for most people than the first leap. And he doesn’t even spend that much of that period being actually tortured.

…Okay, so I’ll give Kaito some credit: he did still try and fight back against being pulled all the way in to that point. My original plan of his thought process in chapter 6 went somewhat differently to in the finished fic: he was supposed to lament how he shouldn’t have come on the run with Maki and Shuichi earlier, and then those thoughts would lead in to the realisation that they were going to die because of him. Except, as I was writing Kaito after he’d failed to get at the antidote and was left alone with his thoughts, he just… utterly refused to think about Shuichi and Maki at all no matter how I tried to write it. Apparently, he was already subconsciously aware that being this scared obviously meant he was going to get them killed (you can see this in chapter 5 as his desperate wish to see them again ends with an unresolved “but…”, because he already felt like he wasn’t going to). So he just didn’t even want to think about them at all, because it’d inevitably lead to him having to consciously confront that unbearable fact. Even in phase 2, Kaito was still being stubborn and trying to lie to himself about this one last thing.

Takehira’s line where he reacts to Kaito’s desperate antidote gambit by pointing out that this proves he’s already broken was added after I realised this, so that I could externally nudge him that final step into acknowledging the last thought he was running away from. Then it only made sense for Kaito to acknowledge the thought that he was getting his friends killed and break down crying first, before thinking about anything else. Only then, with the awful “truth” out in the open and absolutely nothing left to lose psychologically, could Kaito finally let his thoughts flow as freely and as self-loathingly as I wanted them to.

There were a lot of those thoughts to get through, after all. Having Kaito in this broken state of not even trying to convince himself he’s a hero any more was a rare chance to have him openly admit to all of the things that he’s always been secretly afraid are true: that he can’t do anything to help his sidekicks, that he doesn’t even deserve to call them that when they obviously don’t need him, that if they’re really the heroes then that must mean they’re basically invincible and totally never suffered at all. None of this is anything especially novel to this specific situation – it’s all basically stuff I’ve lengthily talked about in many of my Kaito rambles in other posts – but still, it deserved to be here, too.

As I mentioned earlier, while Kaito would not usually be outright lying to himself about worries of this nature, he’d also normally be forcing himself to stay optimistic, trying to pull himself off any trains of thought like this before he reached their destination. He’s not supposed to wallow in bad thoughts when he could be trying to find a way to stay positive! But here, with how much he’s been suffering and hating himself, and with his surface stubbornness and determination to find a way to be a hero just completely broken, Kaito doesn’t have it in him to even try and stop it any more. Especially not after having just had a huge awful sobbing fit, the lingering emotions from which would make him way more likely to just hop on negative trains of thought than he’d usually be.

Even so, some of this part didn’t quite read right in an earlier draft. I’d made the tone of his thoughts sound just a little too much like pessimistically accepting defeat, which still didn’t quite feel in-character for Kaito, even at rock bottom like he was. I had to do some more editing on some of these bits, keeping the content of his thoughts the same but making the tone of them come across as more angry and bitter and viciously self-deprecating. That read better, because that’s a lot closer to behaviour we know Kaito definitely leans into when he’s not having a good time. But giving up? Not quite. Not really, not even when he thinks he has.

Finally honest, but so, so wrong

See, one very fun thing about writing Kaito in phase 2 was that, now that he’s openly terrified and not even slightly trying to gloss over how awful the torture is, it becomes more and more obvious just how strong he’s being to endure it all. Yet he’s so consumed by his own self-loathing over not being straight-up invincible that he completely fails to notice that himself.

At the end of chapter 5, Kaito wonders why Takehira’s even still asking the question when Kaito’s already obviously lost the “competition”. He got so wrapped up in feeling like he had to “win” by never running out of planets and moons to answer with that he practically forgot the reason why Takehira was actually asking him where his sidekicks are. Really, Kaito won that whole thing by never telling the truth – heck, he refused to even say they were on Earth! No matter how terrified he became, it never even crossed his mind that there was a way he could end it! But because of how vehemently he insisted on the space thing as something he had to win, because he thinks that simply being scared is unacceptable, he utterly fails to realise how strong he’s just been and ends the chapter feeling like a horrible pathetic failure rather than the shaken but defiant victor he actually is.

(Takehira just about managed to pick up on this, and that’s why he stopped when he did. He was expecting it to only take a little more to break Kaito after he lost hold of the coping mechanism and became a lot more visibly terrified – but Kaito’s “go to hell”, pathetic and desperate as it was, proved that he still had some fight left in him and probably wasn’t going to break quite so soon after all. Takehira could have kept going anyway, but that ran the risk of making Kaito realise that he was still winning and possibly restore some of his confidence in himself. Can’t have that. …Again, in some ways, Takehira is basically a manifestation of my writing process as I figured out how best to psychologically break Kaito – except for the part where Takehira really did think the water torture would be enough to break him entirely and was quite frustrated when it didn’t. Strike-9 is expensive, damn it; he was hoping he wouldn’t have to resort to that.)

And then there’s the beginning of chapter 6 when Kaito tries to sit up or at least glare at Takehira – sure, he’s hurt and scared enough that he can’t quite manage either, but the fact that he tried at all still shows defiance and proves that he hasn’t given up, not really. Despite Kaito becoming absolutely convinced that he won’t be able to hold on against the poison forever, he still never stops trying to do anything he can to hold on for at least a little bit longer anyway. He genuinely believes at this point that it’s impossible for him, but even though he’s not remotely consciously thinking about making the impossible possible, that’s still what he’s trying to do, because that’s just a completely instinctive part of what makes him Kaito! If Kaito has anything that could really almost be thought of as a superpower, it’s a complete inability to truly fall into despair no matter how bad things get, and that even applies when on the surface he very much thinks there’s no hope left.

Even as Kaito is increasingly tearing himself apart and calling himself weak and pathetic for being a human being who suffers when he’s tortured, he is also being increasingly amazing for still refusing to break regardless. I may be the author of this fic who’s out-universely responsible for putting Kaito through this hell in the first place, but I also spent most of phase 2 wishing I could just reach into the story and tell him over and over again how strong and brave he is until he believes it.

But, well, the point of this fic was to get him to figure that out on his own. To do that I needed to keep dragging him towards a terrible moment of being absolutely certain he’s going to break right here, so that when he doesn’t, he can finally begin to see himself for the hero he is. Chapter 6 ended up way longer than I was expecting it to be, partly because there were a lot of self-loathing issuey thoughts I wanted Kaito to get through while he was in a state of mind in which he’d openly think them, but also just because Kaito really did need to spend that long in increasingly awful fear and agony before he reached the apparent breaking point. Kaito is still so amazingly resilient even when he doesn’t realise it, and it didn’t feel like it would seem right that someone as strong as him had been brought down to really genuinely thinking he couldn’t take it any more without such a long period of agonising build-up. This fic needed to be as long as it is both in phase 2 as well as phase 1 because, even when he doesn’t believe in himself at all, Kaito is incredible.

His friends didn’t come too soon

It might seem like it would have been better for Shuichi and Maki to have rescued Kaito earlier if they could have, in that he’d have suffered less torture. But if they’d done so before he had his epiphany that restored his confidence in himself, things would have been way worse for Kaito’s psychological state in the aftermath, despite him not having suffered for quite as long.

How bad exactly would have depended on where Kaito was in his character arc when they got there. If he’d still been in phase 1, he’d have probably been able to more or less paper over his psychological trauma and pretend to be Completely Fine like the hero he still totally is (right!?!?). Which definitely wouldn’t have been great for him, and Maki and Shuichi wouldn’t have believed for a second that he was actually okay, but even that would still be quite a bit better than if they’d come while he was in the openly-terrified self-loathing of phase 2.

Kaito was so emotionally fragile at that point that I don’t think he could have scraped together any kind of façade to try and convince Shuichi and Maki he was fine as they reached him and got him out of there. But that’s the problem – even as he wouldn’t have been able to help accepting their hugs and comfort because of how badly he needed it, beneath it Kaito would have been hating himself for needing it. He’d be convinced that this was yet more proof he’s not a hero and they’re obviously secretly disgusted with him and thinking how pathetic he is, aren’t they? He’d have started crying in their arms out of desperate relief and gratitude, but then that’d have made him feel worse, twisting his sobs into ones of pain rather than relief, because he’s still failing them right now and he can’t stop himself. No amount of Shuichi and Maki reassuring him that he’s safe and it’s over and nobody’s going to hurt him any more would be able to calm him down, and they’d be very, very worried by this.

And once Kaito had recovered enough to be able to hide his vulnerability again (which wouldn’t even take that long, because Kaito is far too good at hiding vulnerability), he’d push away the support he still desperately needed – his suffering is irrelevant and shameful, after all – and be convinced he didn’t deserve his friends at all because he was obviously about to get them killed any second, right? All in all he’d just be a massive ball of excruciating self-destructiveness, still psychologically torturing himself long after it should have been over.

Shuichi and Maki wouldn’t quite realise why Kaito was still hurting so much and would just believe that the torture traumatised him even more than they’d been expecting it to. They’d never dream without him saying so (and of course he’d never tell them) that he’d actually believed he was going to break and that that’s hurting him more than the torture itself did. This’d leave them with a familiar problem: even if they know that Kaito is suffering and want to help him, without understanding the root of his issues, it’s very difficult to broach the topic of his suffering with him in a way that won’t make Kaito hate himself for being weak in front of them and clam up more. (See: when Shuichi offered to help Kaito to his room at the end of trial 4, the three non-optimal outcomes of Kaito’s Harmonious Heart event, and also something like this.)

So really it’s for the best that Maki and Shuichi come for Kaito only after he’d figured out on his own that it’s okay for heroes to be vulnerable and need others. That way he can actually let himself break down in their arms and accept their support with basically no self-loathing about how badly he needs it. He still does have a remnant of his instinctive “no, showing weakness to them is Bad, stop it”, but that voice is small and quiet enough that it only even piped up after he started crying, and he can shut it down himself with only the slightest of outside evidence. If they’re hugging him back, that clearly means they understand what he figured out and aren’t disappointed in him being like this at all. He can look at what it meant when Maki cried and needed a hug and apply that to himself as well with barely any hesitation; his horrendous double-standard for heroes has just vanished into nothing and it’s so lovely to get to write a Kaito like this.

While Kaito’s now fully aware that it’s okay for heroes to suffer and that overcoming trials like that only makes them more inspiring, he might however have swerved juuust a little too far in the opposite direction of feeling like he needs to suffer to be a hero, which is also not a healthy mindset. He did, after all, spend several hours in horrible agony while clinging to the thought that this proves he’s a hero, and that’s got to have left a psychological mark. But Shuichi and Maki were there to snap Kaito out of it when he found himself a little too ready to think about going through hell like that again. They’ll be able to help him work through that and stop thinking that way before he goes and internalises that too deeply, now that he’s actually willing to talk about his issues with them.

Physical injuries aside, Kaito’s going to have a lot of PTSD and trauma to work through here in general – but he’ll be determined to face it head on and not let it hold him back forever. With his friends’ support, his newfound willingness to accept vulnerability, and his incredible resilience, he’ll be okay in the end.

A couple of bonus thoughts

Shuichi calling Kaito “bro” for the first time was something I’d had in mind not specifically for this fic but just as a thing he’d do in any universe in which his and Kaito’s relationship finally became the equal, mutually-supportive one that it desperately deserves to be.

Shuichi canonically really does think of Kaito as a regular best friend as well as an inspiring hero to the point that you’d think he wouldn’t have a problem reciprocating the way Kaito addresses him, to give this mutual sense of casual close-friends-ness. But he doesn’t, giving me the impression that, despite their friendship, Shuichi still instinctively feels there’s a sort of distance between him and Kaito that he doesn’t feel comfortable trying to close. That’s almost certainly rooted in the fact that Shuichi looks up to Kaito and subconsciously believes he’s invincible and wouldn’t ever need the kind of support that Shuichi needs so much of from him. So in any situation in which he finally realises that’s wrong and that they’re equals (and that happens instantly in chapter 0 of this fic the moment he hears that Kaito’s going to be tortured), Shuichi would begin to feel that of course he should be calling Kaito “bro” in return, that’s just the natural thing to do for a friend like him, and why on earth did he never feel inclined to do so sooner?

In Japanese, this would of course instead be Shuichi beginning to call him “Kaito”, with no honorifics, instead of the “Momota-kun” that it always was before, to match how Kaito’s always called him “Shuichi” and not “Saihara” since they became friends. I very deliberately avoided the urge to have Shuichi use Kaito’s name prior to calling him “bro” in chapter 7, so that that line being the first moment he does so would hypothetically work the same way in Japanese. (Though maybe I shouldn’t have bothered, given how most of the entire rest of the fic would literally not even work in Japanese at all, what with Kaito’s hero thing to his sidekicks not even using that word in Japanese, grumble grumble.)

Another thing that was more just prompted by a general thought of mine about Kaito than by anything specific to this situation is the fact that whenever Kaito’s narration refers to both his sidekicks by name, it’s just about equally likely to be “Maki Roll and Shuichi” as “Shuichi and Maki Roll”. That’s just because this is the UTDP universe.

If I was writing something set in killing game canon from Kaito’s POV and having him think about both his sidekicks a lot, it’d always be “Shuichi and Maki Roll”, every time. Each of his sidekicks are equally important to him in terms of how much he believes in them and wants to support them – but in killing game canon, Kaito also has his whole mound of jealousy and issues that make him particularly fixated on Shuichi in a way that doesn’t apply nearly as much to Maki. So the Kaito in that universe would always instinctively put Shuichi’s name first, even though he wouldn’t consciously realise he’s kind of showing favouritism there.

But in UTDP, Kaito’s Shuichi-centric issues aren’t a thing (or, at most, they’ve only vaguely begun to surface while on the run in a way that applies equally as much to Maki in this case), and therefore both his sidekicks genuinely are of equal importance to him in every single way. I wanted to show this by repeatedly alternating which one he gives top billing when he’s thinking of them together. It’s just basically random chance each time which one he puts first, because he’d put them both first if he could. Kaito is good like that.

#danganronpa v3 #kaito momota #kaito whump #character analysis #ramble #kaito's hero issues #writing #torture #shuichi saihara #(part 2 won't take this ridiculously long; it's already mostly written)

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sworntoprotect · 4 years

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THE MEGA RP PLOTTING SHEET / MEME.

First and foremost, recall that no one is perfect, we all had witnessed some plotting once which did not went too well, be it because of us or our partner. So here have this, which may help for future plotting. It’s a lot! Yes, but perhaps give your partners some insight? Anyway BOLD what fully applies, italicize if only somewhat. Long post!

MUN NAME: Pie AGE: +25 CONTACT: IM, Ask, Discord (mutuals only, by request)

CHARACTER(S): Cullen

CURRENT FANDOM(S): Dragon Age

FANDOM(S) YOU HAVE AN AU FOR: I have a modern verse for everything not Dragon Age, but I might add some actual alt verses for other fandoms

MY LANGUAGE(S): English (native), Spanish (intermediate), Korean (baby lol beginner), bits and bobs of other languages (namely French and French Patois)

THEMES I’M INTERESTED IN FOR RP: FANTASY / SCIENCE FICTION / HORROR / WESTERN / ROMANCE / THRILLER / MYSTERY / DYSTOPIA / ADVENTURE / MODERN / EROTIC / CRIME / MYTHOLOGY / CLASSIC / HISTORY / RENAISSANCE / MEDIEVAL / ANCIENT / WAR / FAMILY / POLITICS / RELIGION / SCHOOL / ADULTHOOD / CHILDHOOD / APOCALYPTIC / GODS / SPORT / MUSIC / SCIENCE / FIGHTS / ANGST / SMUT / DRAMA / ETC. (I started this and realised I’d be bolding almost everything, so: EVERYTHING)

PREFERRED THREAD LENGTH: ONE-LINER / 1 PARA / 2 PARA / 3+ PARA / NOVELLA. / ALL

ASKS CAN BE SEND BY: MUTUALS / NON-MUTUALS / PERSONALS / ANONS.

CAN ASKS BE CONTINUED?: YES / NO / OCCASIONALLY - only by Mutuals?: YES / NO

PREFERRED THREAD TYPE: CRACK / CASUAL / SERIOUS / DEEP AS HECK. / ALL

IS REALISM / RESEARCH IMPORTANT FOR YOU IN CERTAIN THEMES?: YES / NO.

ARE YOU ATM OPEN FOR NEW PLOTS?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. (after my paper is submitted, yeah sure)

DO YOU HANDLE YOUR DRAFT / ASK - COUNT WELL?: YES / NO / SOMEWHAT. (irl makes coping difficult sometimes)

HOW LONG DO YOU USUALLY TAKE TO REPLY?: 24H / 1 WEEK / 2 WEEKS / 3+ WEEKS / MONTHS / YEARS. / DEPENDS ON MOOD AND INSPIRATION, AND IF I’M BUSY

I’M OKAY INTERACTING WITH: ORIGINAL CHARACTERS / A RELATIVE OF MY CHARACTER (AN OC) / DUPLICATES / CROSSOVERS / MULTI-MUSES / SELF-INSERTS / PEOPLE WITH NO AU VERSE FOR MY FANDOM / CANON-DIVERGENT PORTRAYALS / AU-VERSIONS.

DO YOU POST MORE IC OR OOC?: IC / OOC. (I strive for more IC over OOC, but my queue does a lot of work too)

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WITH FOLLOWING OTHERS?: YES / NO / DEPENDS.

BEST WAYS TO APPROACH YOU FOR RP/PLOTTING: Talk with me over IM, asks, or Disco. I’m down for almost anything as long as I see it’s feasible.

WHAT EXPECTATIONS DO YOU HOLD TOWARDS YOUR PLOTTING PARTNER: Transparency. If you have an idea, let me know! If you’re stuck, let me know! If you want to start something new or scrap something or whatever...LET ME KNOW! I promise I don’t bite and I understand.

WHEN YOU NOTICE THE PLOTTING IS RATHER ONE-SIDED, WHAT DO YOU DO?: I’m not very good with coming up with plots myself, so I’m typically the weak link when it comes to that. Sorry! But you bet I’ll pull up a plot generator and start throwing things down to see what sticks haha.

HOW DO YOU USUALLY PLOT WITH OTHERS, DO YOU GIVE INPUT OR LEAVE MOST WORK TOWARDS YOUR PARTNER?: I’m all about equal opportunity, so I try not to leave the plotting work to my partner. Let’s negotiate and find something that makes both of us happy. That’s the point after all.

WHEN A PARTNER DROPS THE THREAD, DO YOU WISH TO KNOW?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. - AND WHY?: If you want to drop a thread, I’m completely fine with it. I want to know so that I don’t end up replying to something you have no interest in anymore. Saves both of us the time.

WHAT COULD POSSIBLY LEAD YOU TO DROP A THREAD?: If drafts eat it (as they are wont to do these days) or if I feel it has reached a natural conclusion. I rarely, if ever, drop a thread in the middle. I’ll just let you know I’m going to finish it on my side and allow you a chance to finish on yours if you’d like.

WILL YOU TELL YOUR PARTNER?: YES / NO / DEPENDS.

IS COMMUNICATION IN THE RPC IMPORTANT TO YOU? YES / NO. - AND WHY?: You don’t need to chat with me every minute of every day, but I like knowing the people I’m writing with. Discerning your personality and your approach to your muse gives me a much stronger understanding of how to write with you, and what vibes between us. Plus, it’s easier to remember different people’s boundaries if I talk with them a lot, too.

ARE YOU OKAY WITH ABSOLUTE HONESTY, EVEN IF IT MAY MEANS HEARING SOMETHING NEGATIVE ABOUT YOU AND/OR PORTRAYAL?: I am all for constructive criticism. Even if you think it’s nitpicky, it’s going to be a great help. Good crit allows us grow as writers and as people in general. However, I am not for baseless accusations, childish name-calling, or outright insults under the name of “constructive crit”. Remember the “constructive” part: we need to build each other up.

DO YOU THINK YOU CAN HANDLE SUCH SITUATION IN A MATURE WAY? YES / NO.

WHY DO YOU RP AGAIN, IS THERE A GOAL?: I love a good story. While I don’t agree with everything Cullen does (and no one should, for anyone real or imagined), his story is intriguing. He’s a deeply flawed, deeply broken man. I love to take on a character, toss them in every situation I can think of, and watch them evolve and grow.

WISHLIST, BE IT PLOTS OR SCENARIOS: A real redemption arc, for one. A realistic struggle with substance abuse and recovery. A future of happiness.

THEMES I WON’T EVER RP / EXPLORE: Rape or sexual assault, unless being spoken about as a past event (as I truly believe that Cullen was sexually assaulted at Kinloch along with the other psychological and physical torture he endured). In-game racism is baked in, unfortunately, but it’s not something I seek out to roleplay as a PoC myself. Finally, while I play Cullen as canon-straight, I will not play out homophobia and most definitely not transphobia. If he rejects your muse for hitting on him, it’s not because he’s being homophobic: he’s just not interested. That also doesn’t mean he’ll never be interested; people can and do change, and I ship chemistry overall. He doesn’t hate your muse for their gender, orientation, or sexual preferences. I feel like I really have to spell this out for people who don’t understand. If you feel personally insulted by this somehow, feel free to address me directly, off anon. It’s probably an issue of fuzzy wording that I’m 500% willing to fix and talk about.

WHAT TYPE OF STARTERS DO YOU PREFER / DISLIKE, CAN’T WORK WITH?: I love starters that set the scene and provide plenty to work with, be it in terms of interacting with the environment or with the other person. If your muse shows immediate disinterest in communicating (and I don’t mean argumentative, which is perfectly fine), I am not going to respond. I might politely ask for more if I feel like it’s a salvageable interaction.

WHAT TYPE OF CHARACTERS CATCH YOUR INTEREST THE MOST?: Stoic soldier types, bubbly short girls, and semi-mad scientists.

WHAT TYPE OF CHARACTERS CATCH YOUR INTEREST THE LEAST?: Characters that come across as Mary-Sue / Gary-Stu types. No flaws and barely any room to grow.

WHAT ARE YOUR STRONG ASPECTS AS RP PARTNER?: I'm very easy-going and I have an unearthly level of tolerance for almost everything. I try to provide partners with as much to work with as possible IC, and will pretty much support your very existence OOC. I believe in open communication so you’ll know what’s going on with me and/or our threads. Also, I typically reply within a week or two. Currently I’m tethered to finishing a big paper so I’m not a good example of that right now.

WHAT ARE YOUR WEAK ASPECTS AS RP PARTNER?: I can get overwhelmed by too much which slows my pace down considerably. I’m also a bit distant and do shut down on occasion; that’s usually no fault of my partners, though. Just my brain being a dick.

DO YOU RP SMUT?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. (the closer we are OOC, the easier getting here will be)

DO YOU PREFER TO GO INTO DETAIL?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. (it’s not going to be XXX but it will be descriptive)

ARE YOU OKAY WITH BLACK CURTAIN, FADE TO BLACK?: YES / NO.

WHEN DO YOU RP SMUT? MORE OUT OF FUN OR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT?: I prefer to write smut for character development and to mark a progression in a relationship. Plus Cullen is not a “one and done” guy so getting to the smut stage will take a bit of build-up.

ANYTHING YOU WOULD NOT WANT TO RP THERE?: Hmmm things that he personally wouldn’t go for I guess? Honestly I don’t know. And obviously, no rape/animal abuse/predator nonsense.

ARE SHIPS IMPORTANT TO YOU?: YES / NO Ships are a great way to further explore a character and their motivations. People do not exist in pure isolation, so I don’t believe characters should, either.

WOULD YOU SAY YOUR BLOG IS SHIP-FOCUSED?: YES / NO. I bolded both because the focus of the blog isn’t ships, but this thirst trap guy is really easy to ship with other people I tell ya hwat. I am severely picky with romantic ships for Reasons, but I don’t eschew any other types of ships. I encourage them!

DO YOU USE READ MORE?: YES / NO / SOMETIMES WHEN I WRITE LONG STUFF.

ARE YOU: MULTI-SHIP / SINGLE-SHIP / DUAL-SHIP — MULTIVERSE / SINGLEVERSE.

WHAT DO YOU LOVE TO EXPLORE THE MOST IN YOUR SHIPS?: Characters who challenge Cullen into revising his point of view and force him to be a better person. Also, characters who understand his past and they are in no ways obligated to forgive it, but do recognise that he’s struggling very hard to mend whatever mistakes he can and is willing to pay the price for his decisions.

ARE YOU OKAY WITH PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIPS?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. - Be a good salesperson and I might buy it.

► SECTION ABOUT YOUR MUSE.

- WHAT COULD POSSIBLY MAKE YOUR MUSE INTERESTING TOWARDS OTHERS, WHY SHOULD THEY RP WITH THIS PARTICULAR CHARACTER OF YOURS NOW, WHAT POSSIBLE PLOTS DO THEY OFFER?: Cullen is a massive stick in the mud, which means it’s incredibly easy to taunt him and get him flustered all at the same time. He’s loyal, he’s intelligent, and he’s largely self-aware. He likes swords and using them. Anything your character hates about him, he most likely hates about himself 100 times more.

WITH WHAT TYPE OF MUSES DO YOU USUALLY STRUGGLE TO RP WITH?: Those from the start that show absolutely no interest in speaking with/interacting with him. Mun and muse are going to struggle to stick around. I’m not going to fight for attention and neither is he.

WHAT DO THEY DESIRE, WHAT IS THEIR GOAL?: Redemption. He wants to be a better person and make up for the past as much as he can.

WHAT CATCHES THEIR INTEREST FIRST WHEN MEETING SOMEONE NEW?: He can sniff out a fellow Templar a mile away (or several miles, in the case of Samson).

WHAT DO THEY VALUE IN A PERSON?: Honesty, a strong will, devotion (not necessarily to the Maker or the Chantry, but to a just cause that focuses on protecting others).

WHAT THEMES DO THEY LIKE TALKING ABOUT?: War stuff, chess, books, trebuchets, dogs.

WHICH THEMES BORE THEM?: Lectures about anything. He did his time in Azkaban in the Circles. No more. Please no more.

DID THEY EVER WENT THROUGH SOMETHING TRAUMATIC?: His parents died trying to escape the Blight, he was tortured for weeks/months on end by blood mages, almost all of his friends died because of it, he was manipulated and brainwashed by his superior, he was forced into a near-debilitating substance addiction by his workplace... yeah just a few things.

WHAT COULD LEAD TO AN INSTANT KILL?: Darkspawn and abominations.

IS THERE SOMEONE /-THING THEY HATE?: Darkspawn and abominations. Blood mages on principle. Regular mages (but he’s working hard to remedy this extremely bad and prejudiced thinking). Himself.

IS YOUR MUSE EASY TO APPROACH?: YES / NO. - BEST WAY TO APPROACH THEM?: Just be polite and he won’t turn you away. He’s guarded, yes, but not impossible to talk to.

SOMETHING YOU MAY STILL WANT TO POINT OUT ABOUT YOUR MUSE?: You’ll find out by writing together! ;D

CONGRATS!!! You managed it, now tag your mutuals! ♥

tagged by: pirated tagging: anyone who actually read this

#a quiet inquiry (memes)#// long post #// very long post

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sherrybaby14 · 5 years

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The Option III

A/N: This is a Dark!Bucky x Naïve!Reader story. It contains questionable consent.

Warnings: This is a Dark/rape/noncon story. (Please do NOT read if this offends you). There’s just dark things in here. I’m not going to tag additional warnings unless they’re scene specific (smut, type of said smut).

Words: 6k

Summary: Bucky takes care of you while you are sick. (Remember, you’re naïve!/innocent! Because I’m sure you could read this and be like no way, I’m not that obtuse).

A/N 2: This is a plot chapter. I was aiming for some smut, but it was getting too long. We’re right on the verge tho! Sorry for those waiting!

The sun rose, but Bucky stayed in the chair. He leaned forward with his elbows on the arms and face resting in his hands. Every blink he took felt too long, every breath she took was too labored. Whatever sickness was going through her was bad.

“Aaaaa.” She tried to stretch, but her lips trembled.

He wasted no time putting his hand to her forehead. It was even hotter.

“I’ll be right back.” He knew Peach couldn’t pay attention to him, but the compulsion to explain was still strong.

After jumping the stairs, he went right for the kitchen. He took out a cloth and soaked it in cold water before popping open the small freezer and putting adding a few ice cubes. Then he took the stairs three at a time rushing back at her side.

“Does that feel better?” He placed the cloth of ice on her forehead.

Peach let out a whimper, but her lips curved upward for a split second. It sent a wave of warmth through him: she approved.

Bucky had woken up to his screams on a regular basis. It didn’t take long for him to connect the dots and figure out that’s why she must have come to his room the night before. Luckily he was used to getting 4-5 hours of sleep a night. This was the first time his shrieks had bothered anyone else.

Instead of thinking about the reason he was screaming he thought about Peach. He replayed every interaction they’d had in his head. Then he let his mind wander. Imagining if the traffickers had picked her up.

Where would she be? Who would’ve bought her? Would she have been defiant? Would they beat her into submission? Torturing her? Hurting her. His blood pressure rose and he gripped the arms of the chair so hard they almost splintered. That timeline was avoided. He saved her. Nobody would ever hurt her.

The same circle of thoughts continued. Bucky was happy to think about her and not his own issues, and the more he remembered their short time together the more he was certain in his choice to grab her from that market.

“You’re safe Peach.” He ran his hand over her hair. “Just get better.”

Her eyelids started to flutter, but they never opened. She needed sleep. Once enough time had passed he reached out to run his hand over her cheek.

“Wake up. I need you to take a pill.” He tried to lift her head.

“No.” She curled into a ball and lowered her face back to the pillow.

“Yes.” Bucky locked his arm and lifted her, holding his palm out again. “Now Peach.”

Her small resistance left and she opened her mouth, eating out of his palm again. He was quick to grab the glass of water and make her drink. She started to pull her mouth away, but Bucky lifted her cheek a little more.

“Keep drinking.”

She took another big gulp of water, followed by a few smaller gulps.

“That’s it Peach.” He loved the way she listened. “Good girl.”

Water started to dribble down the side of her face and he pulled the glass away.

“Rest.” Her head hit the pillow and he ran his hand over her hair again. “Get better for me.”

Peach let out a coo and cuddled into the pillow. She was VERY good at listening.

The sky was starting to darken. He had spent the entire day watching her. All of the chores around the house were forgotten. He went to the window and glanced down at the animals. Their food buckets were low, but nothing he couldn’t fix.

Bucky glanced back at the bed. She was fast asleep. He needed thirty minutes.

“I’ll be right back,” he repeated the earlier comment.

When he left this time he felt a strange pull on his heart. It was a lie. What did right back mean?

Maybe it meant thirty seconds, maybe it meant a few hours. Bucky weighed the options while he tended to the chickens. The only distraction he had was the weather. The cold mixed with the humidity meant snow was coming. He was certain.

He shooed the cow into the barn. The chickens would find their own way eventually, but the heifer was far more important. He looked back up at the house. The animal was no longer the most important being on the property.

When Bucky went inside he bottled the urge to run upstairs. The last thing Peach needed was someone smelling like farm animals. He jumped in the shower.

It was the fastest wash of his life. After he turned off the water and dried himself he wrapped the towel around his waist and headed upstairs. His heart felt like it was lurching out of his chest to get to her, but he took the steps one at a time, knowing he was going to spend the night watching her again.

It was wrong to get attached to anyone, but right now she needed him and he planned on delivering her wants.

He went straight for the medicine and popped another pill into his hand before waking her. She let out a groan, but without words, he put his palm to her lips.

Peach ate the pill and Bucky raised the glass of water. This time she didn’t try to break away for a few seconds. She was getting better.

“Hmmm.” He placed the back of his hand against her forehead. Not better enough, she was still burning up.

He wished there was more he could do to help. But right now it was a waiting game. In the event she did open her eyes he didn’t want to scare her any more than she already was.

Bucky went to the closet and pulled out some clothes. When he stretched the black thermal top over his body he caught a glimmer of his arm. She’d probably noticed that too. So far he’d kept gloves on with long sleeves. He imagined she has some questions about that too. Right now he had questions too, did it terrify her? Did she think of him as part machine?

He didn’t think Peach was like that, but Bucky had seen the worst in humanity. Hell, he felt like the worst in humanity at times. Maybe it was better for her if she was scared of him.

The sun was starting to set. Bucky didn’t want the room to get a chill. He put some logs in the fireplace and lit them up. When he walked back to the bed he found the firelight gave Peach a little glow. The flames would serve a second purpose tonight; he’d be able to watch her better.

Zoning out on her face was easy. Bucky paid attention to her comfort level but found himself concentrating more on her than her illness. What was her home like? Did she like to read or was she more of a movie person? What was her favorite color? Simple questions, but he found himself caring about the answers.

“Hmmmff.” She squeaked and curled in tighter, her lips started to tremble.

“Peach what’s wrong?” Bucky jutted forward and ran his hand over her forehead. Her fever was peaking.

He glanced at the clock on the far wall. It wasn’t time for medicine yet.

“Cold.” Her teeth chattered. “So cold.”

“You have the chills.” Bucky looked at the fire, the room was hot almost to the point it was uncomfortable.

“Please. So cold.” A tear fell from her eye. “Cold.”

“Alright.” Bucky stood up from the chair.

He went to the spare room and grabbed the blanket off the bed as well as the black and red throw he’d given Peach yesterday. He didn’t think either was going to provide much more warmth.

When he got back to his bedroom he placed both on top of her.

“Is that better?” Bucky tucked the extra blankets around her trembling body.

“No.” Her voice transitioned into a cry. “Please. So cold.”

It broke his heart to hear the pain in her voice.

“It will pass. It’s just the chills.” Bucky didn’t know if he was trying to reassure her or himself.

“It hurts.” She twisted her head into the pillow. “Everything hurts.”

Bucky couldn’t give her another pain pill. It was too soon. Besides, the hurt might have been more psychological than real.

“Help me.” She was still on her side but started to bury her head into the pillow. “Please. Freezing.”

Assess the situation, find a solution. Peach let out a sob. Bucky couldn’t stand the sound. He needed to take care of her.

“Here.” He went on auto-pilot as he climbed in the bed behind her.

Bucky laid on his side and pulled her back to his chest, wrapping one arm under her and the other over her so she was flush with his body. He swung his thigh over her leg and held her tight, hoping to transfer some body heat and calm her shaking.

“Is that better?” Her hair was right under his nose.

She nodded her head and let out a sigh. Bucky didn’t dare loosen his hold. Peach sniffled and her breathing started to regulate, she’d drifted back to sleep.

Bucky found himself cocooning the poor girl. It was never a position he’d anticipated, but it worked in calming her down. Twenty minutes, a half hour tops. Once he was certain she would stay asleep he would move back to the chair.

He studied her breathing as the crackling of the fire mixed with the heat filled the room. Twenty minutes…

~~~

Bucky let out a yawn and rolled his shoulder back. He breathed in and smelled sweet and saltiness. His eyes flickered open and he saw grey light.

It took him a few moments to come to. He looked down at Peach, still fast asleep in his arms. It was morning. He’d fallen asleep in the bed with her.

He turned and looked at the clock. His mouth hung open in shock. He’d been asleep for at least eight hours. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he slept that long. He pulled his leg off of her and sat up in the bed, gentling rolling his arm out from under her. She moaned and arched her back.

Not only had he slept for eight hours, but he also didn’t have a dream. There was no waking in a cold sweat being plagued by real-life nightmares. He slept soundly, in peace.

Peach. She had missed her dose of medicine. Bucky got off the bed and walked to the other side. He pressed his hand to her forehead and noticed the sweat on her brow. Her fever broke. She felt almost cool to the touch.

He knew her health should be his number one priority right now, but he still couldn’t believe he’d slept through the night with no horrible dreams. Bucky needed to get a handle on that before he woke her.

~~~

“You need to take your medicine.” A hand was on your shoulder lightly shaking.

“Ughhh.” It felt like a train ran you over.

Train. You weren’t in your home, you were lost in Eastern Europe. The memory made you open your eyes. Bucky sat in the chair, his palm out with a pill in the middle. He brought it closer to your mouth.

You sat up on your elbows. A layer of sticky sweat covered your body. You looked around and saw that you were in his bed.

“What happened?” You sat up further.

“Take the pill Peach.” Bucky pushed his hand out further.

“Peach?” You grabbed the medicine with your fingers and took it to your mouth. Then you reached out and took the glass of water he was holding.

There was a spark of disappointment in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You didn’t understand the nickname, but if it was easier for him than your real name you didn’t care. “The last thing I remember was eating the omelet.”

The thought of food made your stomach pang. You were hungry.

“You got sick. Your fever just broke.” Bucky reached out and touched your forehead. “You need to take it easy.”

“How long was I out for?” You couldn’t afford another major memory gap.

“Thirty-six hours.” The corner of Bucky’s lip twitched like he was fighting a smile.

“God.” You brought your knees up and buried your face into your knees. “And you took care of me? Let me take over your bed? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Bucky put his hand on your back.

You weren’t expecting the touch and turned your head towards him as he ran his hand up and down.

“Do you think you can handle some food?” His eyes danced over you.

You barely knew the man, but it seemed like there was a change in him. As if some of the tension in his frame had vanished.

“I’ve got some canned soup. Can you stomach that?” He pulled his hand away as he rose.

You nodded and started to get out of bed. He put his other hand on your knee and shook his head. You looked down at the cool touch and noticed the metal.

A vague memory came. Touching something cold and hard. It made you wince.

“Stay in bed.” He backed up. “Let me take care of you.”

“Ummm….my Uncle?” You looked up at him. “He’s gotta be worried sick.”

“Well, you are actually sick.” Bucky clicked his jaw. “Worry about yourself for a few hours Pea…um, Y/N.”

Your body ached and a wave of sleepiness fell over you. There was nothing you could do at the moment and the idea of leaving the bed was sounding less and less favorable.

“Okay.” You hooked your arm under the pillow as a yawn left your mouth.

You wondered where Peach came from as you fell back to sleep.

It felt like a minute had passed when Bucky was shaking you again.

“Come on, you have to eat a little.” Bucky pulled you upward.

“I just want to sleep.” The fever dreams you’d been having returned.

Bucky placed a hand to your forehead.

“A little bit of soup first.” He held a spoon out.

The smell made you sneer.

“Now Y/N.” The broth was in front of your mouth.

You dipped your head and took some.

“Good girl.” He held out more.

Even in your haze, you smiled at the praise. If it was that important you ate something you would try.

“That’s it.” He continued to feed you. “You can lay back down soon.”

“Thank you,” you murmured the words.

Why was he taking care of you like this? You were a stranger to him. When this was done and you were back with your family you would forever be grateful.

~~~

She was getting better. There was even a moment of clarity. Bucky didn’t feel as guilty leaving her to take care of the house this time. He fed the animals and chopped some more wood.

When he raised his ax he noticed a small flake land on the blade. He looked up to see flurries. It was nothing at the moment, but he had the feeling these were scouts leading the pack and a storm was following.

Just in case he pulled out the snow shovel from the barn and brought it to the front door.

It was a little later than yesterday when he went back inside. He froze in place when he saw her, slumped over the kitchen table.

“Peach what are you doing out of bed?” He took off his jacket and hung it next to the door before going over to her.

“Bathroom…too tired to walk.” She was seated at least.

“Come on.” He grabbed her arm and flung it around his neck when he scooped her up.

This was his fault. He should have carried her down earlier.

“Why are you so nice to me?” She rested her head on his chest. “Who’s Peach?”

“You make it easy.” That was true, but Bucky didn’t want to answer the second part of her question. He didn’t mean to keep calling her that, but in his mind, that was all he thought of her as.

“I don’t mind.” She nuzzled up next to him as they rounded the top of the stairs. “You can call me whatever you want.”

There she went, being sweet again.

“I’ll be right back.” He set her on the bed. “Can you take another pill?”

She popped open her mouth. Earlier when she gave it to herself he felt a little dejected, but he needed to wash up before he went back to feeding her.

“Wait a few minutes.” Bucky leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

When he stood back up he was more shocked than she was. Why did he do that? She didn’t seem to mind as her eyes stayed shut.

He grabbed a change of clothes before heading down to shower. It was nothing, just a friendly kiss. Bucky was enjoying the company, that was all. Even if she was unconscious. Besides, they were going to spend the winter together at this point. He didn’t see a problem in getting comfortable around her.

Soon he found himself beside her again, shaking her awake and giving her the pill. Again she did as instructed and drank extra water. Her fever had returned, but it wasn’t as high as last night.

Still, he tucked the extra blanket to make her as comfortable as possible. He started the fire and sat down in the chair. A gust of wind made the window shake and Peach cringed in response.

“Just the wind.” Bucky reached out and pushed her hair out of her face. “Just the wind.”

He imagined this was scary for her, but she was doing so well with it. If he could offer her any comfort he would. That was the right thing to do. With that thought he climbed into the bed, positioning himself behind her.

When he pulled her close to him she snuggled down. Bucky placed a kiss on the top of her head this time.

“You’re safe Peach,” he whispered. “You’re safe with me.”

~~~

There was a weight around your midsection and warm breath on your neck. It was a foreign feeling to you, but in a way it was cozy. As welcoming as the comfort was you felt like you had been sleeping for days.

You lifted your arms above your head and stretched. The weight was gone. You rolled over to see Bucky in bed next to you.

It dawned on you that he was the weight. He was spooning you? It made you sit up and bring your legs to your chest.

“How are you feeling?” He rolled off the bed and stood up. “You need to take another pill.”

“What are the pills?” You had vague memories of taking some.

“Antibiotics.” Bucky handed you the bottle. “And there’s a pain pill. You didn’t take one of those yesterday though.”

“Yesterday?” You looked up at him. “How long have I been sick for?”

“Four days.” Bucky tilted his head as he looked at you, then put the back of his hand to your forehead. “You look a lot better.”

“Four days?” Memories of him feeding you soup, carrying you up and down the stairs to the restroom, brushing your hair for you. “You took care of me the whole time.”

Your eyes started to water over.

“I didn’t mind.” Bucky stared at the ground. “I’m going to um, go make breakfast. Do you want me to bring it up to you?”

“No.” You swung your legs off the bed. “I think I can make it downstairs today.”

“Don’t overdo it.” Bucky grabbed your arm and pulled you to wobbly feet. “There’s been a few times you tried and ended up collapsing.”

“I remember.” The image of falling, but Bucky catching you before you hit the ground came to mind. You locked eyes with him. “You’ve done a lot for me.”

“How is your stomach? Are you ready for oatmeal or eggs? You just want toast and broth?” Bucky guided you out of the bedroom.

“Right now I feel like I could eat a horse.” You gave a nervous laugh.

“Sorry, not on the menu.” He smiled at you.

It was unexpected to hear him joke. He seemed so serious. Of course, he had gotten to know you pretty intimately the last few days. It made you more self-conscious at how dirty you must have been. Suddenly you wanted a shower more than food.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky’s smile dropped when you reached the top of the stairs. “If you’re not ready I’ll carry you back to bed.”

“No…I just…” You gave a half smile. “Thank you.”

“You’ve said that a lot the past few days.” Bucky didn’t drop your arm as he walked down the thin steps first. “You’re welcome.”

“Funny I think that’s the first time I’ve heard that.” More memories were trickling in.

You weren’t sure exactly why he was cuddling you this morning. Maybe it was an accident? After all, the man had given you his bed. Didn’t he deserve to lay down too? Either way, you weren’t going to bring it up. Besides, you would be out of his hair soon.

~~~

After eating you took a long hot shower, scrubbing away the sickness as best you could. Once you were finished you planned on washing Bucky’s sheets too, unless he wanted to burn them.

You hated being confrontational, but it seemed like every time you mentioned contacting your uncle Bucky shut you down and told you to focus on getting better. He wasn’t wrong in his directive though; you had been pretty sick.

Once you finished you dressed in your only clothing, happy to have undergarments back on again. You wondered where your other clothes were. Had your uncle gotten them? Was he sitting staring at them wondering what happened to you? Were they collected as part of the investigation?

No way you weren’t declared missing by now. Was your name on the headlines? What if they assumed you were dead? Would they bury an empty coffin?

You shut your eyes and buried the unpleasant thoughts. Bucky would take you back to that town and you would get in touch with your family member. That was all there was to it. Taking a deep breath, you went out of the bathroom, surprised to see him in the kitchen, mixing powders into a bowl.

“What are you doing?” He didn’t look like the type that had a sweet tooth.

“Getting ready to bake another loaf of bread.” He set the bowl of wheat to the side. “I have to be self-reliant out here. Why don’t you have a seat.”

“Actually I wanted to talk to you about something.” You pulled out a chair as he did the same. “First off, I am so grateful for everything you’ve done for me. Really, I hate to think what would’ve happened if you hadn’t found me.”

“Me too.” Bucky nodded his head.

“Well, I think I may have overstayed my welcome.” You set your hands on the table. “Do you think you could take me back to that town? We could find a way to get ahold of my uncle or even the train company?”

Bucky ran his teeth across his lips and looked to the side as he folded his arms. You didn’t understand why he wasn’t jumping at the chance to get rid of you.

“Peach, think about that night on the train. Do you think there could be a reason you were dropped off in a place like this?” His blue eyes locked on you.

Peach, his nickname for you. It was the first time you’d heard it when you weren’t delirious with fever. Why was he calling you that? Did he know you well enough to give you a nickname? No, in fact, he didn’t know you at all.

“Focus.” Bucky unfolded his arms. He leaned forward and put his hand over yours. “Try and think about it.”

Why was he so comfortable touching you? Then you glanced at his other hand and saw the metal. What happened there? He told you this place was dangerous. Was he dangerous? Was that what he was trying to warn you about?

“I’m sorry. This is just a little confusing for me.” You didn’t know whether to pull your hand away. “I don’t understand.”

“Are you asking yourself the right questions?” Bucky’s eyes softened as his lips parted.

What was in that drink? Why were you so trusting of that stranger? Who starts a study abroad program in November? Thinking those little thoughts made your eyes well with tears. No. Everything would be okay. You started to breathe heavily.

“Hey.” Bucky jumped up from the table and rounded to your side, dropping on one knee. “In and out.”

He did over exaggerated breaths. You nodded and pushed the questions down. Everything would be okay.

“I can’t stay here.” You buried the tears. “My uncle, he’ll be freaking out.”

“I know.” Bucky nodded as he stood. “I’ll get you out this place Peach, but you’re going to need some patience.”

“What do you mean?” Your gaze followed him as he walked to the front door.

“Nobody is going anywhere in this.” Bucky kept his eyes on you when he pulled the wood open.

You stood up and looked outside. Thick, fluffy white flakes fell. There was easily two-three inches on the ground. It would be dangerous enough on those hills with a car that had snow tires. You didn’t think Bucky’s little motorcycle would make it a hundred yards before wiping out. You were trapped.

~~~

Bucky knew he should have laid it all out for her, that she was living in some sort of denial, but he couldn’t do it. She was naïve, not stupid and the snow gave him an out. Now she had enough time to figure things out for herself, without him risking a kill the messenger situation.

Even though she was feeling better she was far from recovered. He told himself the lost look on her face was partial because of the illness. Still, she didn’t speak most of the day. The last four days he’d neglected upkeep on his property so there was plenty to occupy his time, but his thoughts kept wandering back to her.

“Do you need to lie down?” He grabbed his winter gear by the door. “I have to work outside and I don’t have boots for you.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’ve done that enough. I was going to do some laundry.”

“You don’t have to.” He wanted to tell her to grab a book from the basement, relax but she spoke first.

“I want to.” She sighed. “If I’m going to stay here, I need to help out.”

Bucky nodded. At least she accepted that she wasn’t going anywhere. It could have been worse. He wanted to comfort her, help her process how dire her situation was, what would have happened to her if it wasn’t for him. But instead, he turned and went outside. Things were easier when she was sleeping.

That brought a smile to Bucky’s face. The last few nights had been the best in recent memory. The way she fit against his body, kept the nightmares away, it was like they were protecting each other. Of course, now that she wasn’t sick he didn’t know her thoughts on sharing a bed. But they had all winter to work on that. He could be patient.

Peach would realize he saved her and would be eager to return the favor. He was sure of it.

~~~

Burying thoughts and feelings was second nature to you. You stripped both beds and every blanket you could find, along with all the dirty clothes at the bottom of the steps.

You took your time scrubbing everything and twisting out as much water as you could before hanging it on the line.

By the time you were done you figured at least a few hours had passed. Instead of asking Bucky for a new chore you went back upstairs and searched for extra linens. Sure enough, there was an extra set for each bed.

You were meticulous in laying the sheets and fluffing the pillows, trying to drag out the time and occupy yourself as much as possible.

When that was done you went back to the basement. The first items you washed were the thin blankets. Two of them were dry enough to take upstairs, but you walked them up one at a time.

The house started to smell amazing. You knew it was the fresh bread baking. It made your mouth water. Bucky was in and out of the house, but neither of you said a word to each other.

It wasn’t like you were mad at him. None of this was his fault, but you were scared if you spoke the wall you’d built would crash. The last thing the man needed was to take more care of you. You’d inconvenienced him enough at it was.

“Y/N, do you want dinner?” Bucky stuck his head in the basement.

“Yes.” You were standing at the bottom of the stairs, dazing off into space.

He held out a hand, but it felt wrong taking it. So you acted like you didn’t notice and he spun his palm around. The table was set, just like your first night here. This time it was bread and a thicker soup.

“I have a freezer in the basement, so there’s some variety, but I didn’t want to bug you.” Bucky pulled out your chair.

“Thank you.” You didn’t mean for not bugging you, it came out wrong. “I mean, this looks great.”

“Tomorrow I’ll have to spend most of the day shoveling.” Bucky sat down and started eating. “Assuming it slows down.”

You looked to the window above the sink. The sky was darkening by the second, but you saw the fast flakes falling.

“What will I do?” You tried to hide the hopelessness from your voice.

“There’s an attic. I moved most of the previous owner’s things in there. I thought you could sort through it and see if there’s anything you could use.” Bucky took another bite. “Maybe some clothes, or…I don’t know. Anything.”

You glanced down. Literally, the only thing you owned you were wearing. The lack of possessions didn’t bother you as much as the idea of your jeans and t-shirt getting dirty did. You would need some things.

“I don’t know if you explored the basement at all.” Bucky set his spoon down. “There are some old books, some cards, a few board games down there.”

“Do you like games?” You looked up at him.

Bucky’s jaw hardened.

“I didn’t….I’m sorry.” You picked up your spoon and started the eat.

Bucky had only provided for you, taken care of you, there was no reason to be rude. You weren’t even sure if it was intentional on your part or if you were just that awkward at small talk.

“Y/N, I am sorry about the situation, but I am not sorry that I found you. Things could be much worse.”

You glanced up to see those intense eyes staring at you. The thoughts started creeping their way back into your head.

“Maybe games wouldn’t be such a bad way to pass the time.” You straightened your back. “What’s your favorite to play?”

“It’s been a long time.” Bucky picked his spoon back up. “Do you want to pick one to play tonight?”

You could hear the nerves in his voice. Why? Why would a guy who looked like him be nervous asking a girl like you to play a game with him? Why were you trapped here? Where was here? Why didn’t he have a car? Why didn’t anyone in that tiny town help you?

“I’m pretty tired.” You let out a yawn. “I should probably lay down after dinner.”

“You’re right.” He was quick to answer.

Before the aching feeling in the pit of your stomach that was guilt came back you picked up your spoon and started eating. It wasn’t a lie. You were tired. Trying to keep your brain distracted had left you wiped, and you weren’t recovered from whatever bug you’d come down with. Not one hundred percent anyway.

Neither of you said another word as the sounds of your spoons hitting the bowls echoed across the kitchen. This was temporary. Bucky wasn’t a bad guy. You focused on those thoughts before repeating your mantra to yourself. Everything would be okay.

~~~

You changed into a pair of Bucky’s clothes and left yours folded on the chair. You needed more underwear, but thought it was more important to wear during the day with your jeans than at night in workout pants.

Questions circled your head, but you blocked them out. Trying to keep your head clear mixed with the bought of sickness brought on sleep easily.

“AHHHHHH!!” A scream made your eyes pop open and jump from the mattress.

“WEROIUJEIRFDSAFNK!” Unintelligible noises came from behind the door.

You stuck your head in the hallway and were hit with déjà vu. Bucky. Something was wrong. You started towards his door when another scream ripped out.

What was wrong with him? What was wrong with you? There was a shake to your hand as you pulled it away.

“AHHHHHH!!” The pain in his voice was too much.

This was too much. You brought your hands to your ears and turned, running down the stairs.

It didn’t matter that nothing fit. It didn’t matter that you didn’t know where you were going. You had to get out of here.

You stepped into Bucky’s boots by the door and threw on his jacket. The sounds of his screams echoed across the kitchen as you yanked open the front door and fled into the night, not bothering to close it behind you.

A/N: Thank you for reading!!! I appreciate it so much!

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #marvel fanfic #bucky needs a hug #bucky imagine

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