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#You have many complexities that make up who you are and you’re intended to embrace them all. You might repress or refuse
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tuesday again 8/29/2023
my ENTIRE SUMMER has been either worrying about moving or actually moving. ALL OF IT. however an incredibly hot butch milf on the gay community bulletin board/dating app lex has finally answered my piteous call for gun safety classes with an invitation to her private range. unfortunately she is a landlord who owns a VERY large apartment complex. houston is a land of contrasts
listening
more joywave! one of my favorite bands bc they are best listened to in full album format, and i did a fuck of a lot of driving this weekend. little lies you’re told has an opening like a big machine warming up while you are in a control room way high up on a gantry somewhere. spotify
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reading (2x bonus round)
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All The Trimmings by Tesni Morgan (published 2001 in the UK) is a gift from @believerindaydreams. it is “erotic fiction written by women for women” (debatable) and “the publishers recommend that this book should be sold only to adults”. also, “Black Lace novels contain sexual fantasies. In real life, make sure you practise safe sex.” idk i’ve ever seen that kind of notation on an american novel before? fascinating precursor to the saccharine little “stay safe kids” ao3 authors notes
i do find the premise genuinely fun and compelling— two divorced milfs opening a hotel/bordello with historically themed rooms. i have had to look up a lot of british purple prose and i refuse to believe anyone says “rogering” in real life.
im being edged with glimmerings of bisexuality. every time one of the milfs gets turned on and goes out roaming to distract herself from being turned on, i go “oh?” like at a pokemon go egg, but so far all the dalliances and encounters have been dudes.
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had a very strange experience with cormac mccarthy's blood meridian. i don’t normally interrogate whether or not i am the intended audience for a work except when it’s literally made for children, bc i as a modern bisexual woman am the intended audience for vanishingly few works. for example, many entire genres (westerns) are very challenging to enjoy.
a western has never made me go "wait so why DO i like westerns at all" so hard. like, what AM i doing here in this genre that is often deeply fucking uncomfortable to consume as a woman, and where the most foundational american and european works of the genre often uncritically embrace the worst parts of the american mythos in the most violent way possible? i do believe critics when they say mccarthy is not embracing violence for the sake of, and in fact has something to say with his revisionist western, but my god is it hard to wade through. anyway, dad media will not fuck me and i still have only a tenuous grasp on why i try so hard to glean enjoyment from it.
i know what mccarthy is trying to do and the overall tone of “weird old maybe-uncle” spinning a yarn to a big group of you and your cousins around a fire somewhere is pretty effective. unfortunately I have less tolerance for mccarthy’s style now than when I read The Road thirteen years ago in high school. i was immediately super invested in The Road’s single dad and how he and his kid were surviving, which does not need a lot of interiority.
blood meridian also has very little interiority. the first five chapters are a teen falling in and out of various fights. i was not, and am still not invested. if im reading A Man Goes On A Journey western (as opposed to A Stranger Comes to Town western) i would like to know two or three things about the man, especially if it seems to be angling at a bildungsroman. i don't typically care for third-person objective narration when it is this closely focused on one guy, and i really don't care for loving descriptions of maggots. comforting to know a lot of critics were also squicked out by this book. so it goes.
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watching
finished watching s1 of spy x family! a Legally Not West German spy in Legally Not East Berlin has to go into deep cover and pose as a family man in order to gain access to Legally Not Erich Honecker, because the only social events Legally Not Erich Honecker goes to are the ones at his son's elite prep school.
this man FLINGS himself into being the absolute best husband and father possible. for the mission, of course.
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i found the first few episodes the best, which is generally the opposite of my normal anime experience. i think it does a really good job of balancing high-octane spy hijinks and chases and explosions with very domestic concerns (he PROPOSES. with a THE RING OFF A HAND GRENADE. AFTER THROWING IT), and once you're really hooked on these characters it turns into a bit of a curtainfic. curtainanime? i had fun with all of it and anxiously await season two, but the actual applied spycraft does drop off significantly as the series goes on.
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playing
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we're going to continue with out of context genshin screencaps for the duration. the watery land of fontaine has a neat smorgsabord of visual style-- freshwater but also saltwater but also the aquarium section at petsmart.
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making
unpacking mostly. acquired this coffee table and its mother. needs a very deep cleaning and some touchups but is intact. the individual tables are a bit large for like individual party drinks tables but all six together are QUITE large. four tigether would be a comfortable coffee table size for many apartments imo but! bc everything truly is bigger in Texas including my apartment it works for right now. for the first time in my life i am considering a sectional sofa bc the living/dining room is that dang big.
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revivetreatmentla · 3 months
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Transforming Trauma into Triumph with Revive’s Partial Hospitalization Programs in Los Angeles
In the field of recovery, acceptance plays a key role, frequently marking the first substantial step towards healing. This acceptance is not about giving up or resigning; it is about embracing truth and knowing that healing begins only by comprehending what is. This accepting concept serves as the core of Revive’s Partial Hospitalization Programs in Los Angeles (PHP).
Acceptance is very different from resignation. Acceptance, as opposed to resignation, is an act of empowerment. It is about confronting the reality of one’s own experiences and feelings without judgment, which is essential for effective healing. This acknowledgment allows individuals to move ahead, providing the framework for more intensive therapy treatment. With this in mind, we’ve created today’s blog to learn more about the role of acceptance and PHP in the process of healing.
A Place To Heal and Accept Yourself At Revive Revive Treatment’s partial hospitalization program provides a one-of-a-kind setting in which acceptance is fostered. Unlike typical hospital settings, our PHP provides a secure, inviting environment in which clients may get rigorous therapy while retaining a feeling of normalcy in their everyday lives. The program is intended to establish an acceptance culture by assisting patients in confronting and embracing their experiences as part of the recovery process.
The PHP environment at Revive promotes acceptance by providing a blend of organized treatment and the ability to use taught skills in real-world circumstances. This balance is crucial in assisting individuals in learning to accept and adjust to life after trauma.
Each person who comes to Revive Premier Care Center gets treatment that is specifically designed for them. We can make a plan for you if you’re having trouble with anxiety, sadness, PTSD, or anything else.
The route from Denial to Acceptance The route from denial to acceptance is not linear; it is a multi-stage journey. Individuals may first dismiss their trauma or its influence on their life. Denial is frequently used as a defensive technique to insulate oneself from the agony of the event. However, patients in Revive’s PHP are carefully guided through these stages, from denial to final acceptance, as part of the therapeutic process.
To navigate these stages, Revive’s PHP incorporates a variety of therapeutic modalities, including as individual and group therapy, as well as evidence-based treatments such as cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT) and DBT. These treatments help people comprehend and process their trauma in a safe atmosphere, gradually leading to acceptance.
The Comprehensiveness of Revive’s PHP Our most thorough service is Revive’s partial hospitalization program. Patients attend the program numerous days per week, frequently for many hours per day, providing a depth of therapy that is more rigorous than standard outpatient programs but less restricted than inpatient care. This framework is intended to provide complete treatment and support while addressing the complexities of trauma.
Furthermore, Revive keeps the patient-to-staff ratio minimal, with a maximum of six patients at any given moment. This method allows each patient to receive the specific care and attention they require to continue in their healing journey.
When You’re Here, You’ll Meet the Best People We have created a team of specialists at Revive Premier Treatment Center that excel not just in their qualifications but also in their compassion and devotion to care. This professional staff is critical to the success of our partial hospitalization program, ensuring that each patient’s treatment plan is painstakingly personalized to their specific needs.
Our staff’s experience and sensitivity are critical in guiding patients through their recovery journeys. We guarantee that every client receives the specific assistance they need to understand the fundamental reasons of their mental health difficulties and learn how to manage them successfully by keeping a small, intimate environment.
Treatment Tailored to You Revive’s treatment strategy in our PHP is highly individualized. We understand that each person’s experience with trauma and mental health is unique. As a result, each treatment plan is meticulously tailored to match the individual’s particular needs. This tailored approach guarantees that each patient not only learns to control their symptoms but also develops the skills needed to succeed in life after treatment.
The Importance of Acceptance in the Healing Process Finally, acceptance is more than a notion; it is a transformational force in the trauma and addiction healing path. We recognize and value the power of acceptance at Revive’s Partial Hospitalization Programs in Los Angeles. It is the stepping stone that allows people to begin a journey of healing, development, and, eventually, rejuvenation. We encourage our patients to not only face their trauma but to emerge stronger, with a restored sense of self and a revived enthusiasm for life, thanks to our thorough, tailored approach to therapy. Get in touch with us as soon as possible to take the initial step toward a more positive and fulfilling future.
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maitrisharma511 · 10 months
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How to Prepare for the SAT Exam and get the Highest Scores
The perfect SAT score seems to come from myths. Less than 1% of test takers complete this task. Your chances of getting into prestigious universities increase with a perfect SAT score, which can help compensate for a subpar GPA.
It is feasible to achieve a perfect SAT score with good work. In this blog, we'll explain in detail what you must do and understand to receive a flawless grade. You can still utilize this guidance to raise your SAT score and accomplish your objectives, even if you're not shooting for 1600.
Table of Contents
What is the SAT?
How many hours does the SAT last?
How is the SAT graded?
Can you take the SAT more than once?
Can I Score Perfectly on the SAT?
How to study for the SAT for a perfect score
Conclusion
Frequently Asked Questions
What is the SAT?
The SAT and ACT are two frequent entrance exams for high school students who intend to enrol in college after graduation. The test focuses on the material you are learning in high school and the knowledge you need to be prepared for college. A non-profit corporation called the College Board is in charge of giving out the SAT.
Scholastic Aptitude Test was the name of the examination when it was first given to students in 1926. Since then, the test has gone by several formal names, later modified in response to harsh social criticism. The SAT acronym currently means nothing at all.
How is the SAT graded?
There are several methods to examine your score using the SAT score structure, but most colleges and institutions will look at your total and section scores.
Math and Evidence-Based Reading and Writing are the two components of the SAT. Your performance on the Reading Test and the Writing and Language Test determines the Evidence-Based Reading and Writing section score. The Math section score is defined by your performance on a Math test that includes a no-calculator and a calculator-based element.
For each section, scores range from 200 to 800. The section scores are added to provide a final score ranging from 400 to 1600. The highest mark somebody may receive is 1600. Thus, this result is perfect.
Can you take the SAT more than once?
Can you retake the SAT? You may take it as frequently as you'd like. The College Board is glad to allow you to take the SAT as often as you like and has no limitations on how often you can do so.
Getting ready for the college application in advance is essential to lower stress. Starting early is the key to success if you're wondering how to boost SAT scores. Additionally, if you start studying in advance, you will have extra time to retake the exam. The College Board claims that students who retake the SAT often score higher.
So, try your best to follow your SAT study guide, but if your initial SAT score isn't what you expected, you can strive to raise it.
Can I Score Perfectly on the SAT?
Everyone has heard the tales of the neighbor’s child who rolled out of bed that morning and received a perfect SAT score. While some ideal scores may have been able to do this, most did not. Perfect scorers put in a lot of time and effort to reach their goals.
Anyone can achieve perfection, but it's complex. You will require the following:
●       Set up a time to study and practice for the SAT.
●       Invest time in evaluating your errors.
●       Create plans for overcoming future mistakes.
●       Embrace the philosophy known as a growth mindset
Need to familiarize yourself with the growth mindset? The concept of a "growth mindset" discovered that when students saw obstacles as chances to advance, they learned more quickly and frequently surpassed their peers in the long run.
Adopting a growth mindset when aiming for a perfect SAT score means viewing the test as a challenge rather than a barrier and believing that you can reach your objectives with work and planning.
When aiming for a perfect score on the SAT, your SAT study guide can make all the difference. Here are some steps you can take to accomplish your goals.
How to study for the SAT for a perfect score
Everyone has a weak point when taking tests. The ability to overcome their flaws to accomplish their objectives distinguishes perfect scorers from other players. Before creating a plan to overcome your deficiencies, you must first recognise them.
To do this, you must take the time to evaluate your performance on a prior SAT or one of the practice exams. Examine each question you didn't get and why you didn't so you can learn what to avoid in the future. Determine common blunders based on the question and your confidence level in responding.
The following are examples of typical weaknesses:
●       Getting "stuck" by spending too much time on a particular issue
●       Hastily answering inquiries
●       Getting a question wrong
●       Not understanding a theoretical idea
Most of us are unaware of our shortcomings, but to succeed, you must be brutally honest with yourself. Give yourself lots of time to do this analysis thoroughly. You should spread this out over three sessions, one for each Reading, Writing and Language, and Math test.
You'll probably be able to respond to the following query once you know your SAT weaknesses: Why do you make the errors you do?
A typical error pattern is when you spend much time confused by a question while taking the SAT. When you realize you spent too much time on the question, you become anxious and race through the following five questions to make up for it, making careless errors along the way.
Pretty recognisable, no? Most of us have already performed this on a test, whether it was the SAT or a class assignment.
In this instance, the initial error was devoting too much time to a question that stumped me. Creating a plan to determine when to move on to new questions will help you avoid rushing through them and making careless errors. It might be as simple as making a quick assessment of how easy or tricky a question appears to be to solve, then deciding whether to proceed with it right away or come back to it later.
Here are some illustrations of solutions for the various shortcomings mentioned above.
●       Misreading a question: This frequently occurs on the Reading and the Writing and Language Tests. Try rephrasing the questions on a practice SAT and responding to your new question as practice. This will assist you in ensuring that, before providing your answers, you are aware of the nuances of each question.
●       Lack of academic understanding: You may not always fully comprehend a concept or be able to tell when the test will require that knowledge. In this situation, you'll need to educate yourself using online resources or asking a dependable teacher for more information.
You'll have a better sense of how much improvement you'll need to make after looking at your diagnostic score and determining how much time you'll need to devote to addressing your flaws. The further your score is from 1600, the more time you will need to study before taking the SAT.
How come? Many students devote less time to their self-guided study than they should because they concentrate on too many distinct test-related topics. You should plan your day so that you have time to come up with ideas that could assist you in overcoming any exam deficiencies, as well as time to put those tactics into practice and improve them.
Examine your current time commitments to develop a regular timetable. How much time do you devote to SAT study guides, extracurricular activities, and part-time employment? You should arrange periods when you can dedicate yourself to learning and allow adequate time to maintain your other obligations. To make time for your studying, you might need to reorganize other obligations temporarily.
If reaching 1600 doesn't align with one of your core values, like "I want to attend my ideal school" or "I want to make my family proud," you won't be motivated to work toward it for very long. Always remember why you are making an effort each time you sit down to study.
There are only so many approaches that will be effective for everyone. You must put your systems to the test to make sure they yield the results you require. Instead of concentrating on all of your weaknesses, you should work on one or two at a time.
Your score will logically increase as you attempt to strengthen one area. As you saw in the last example, you might eliminate the habit of rushing and prevent some casual blunders by being decisive about when to move on to another question. Verify that this strategy consistently produces results before tackling another issue.
You'll attempt some tactics that need to be revised and discover which ones perform exceptionally well. This is why you'll benefit from a growth mindset; rather than becoming stuck on a suggested technique that didn't work, you'll toss it and try a new strategy to see if it works better.
The process of overcoming your flaws is labor-intensive and iterative. Until you have answered every question correctly, you must continue the process with a different strategy after mastering the first one.
Even if you may have done some test structure analysis in the first step, it is frequently more beneficial to conduct it now. Why? Identifying the questions that trip you up just by reading it gives you the advantage of paying close attention to them. You'll naturally notice that you frequently miss a question that needs to be connected to test jitters or not knowing the topic.
To evaluate how effective your plan is, use the SAT Practice Tests. You'll need to recognise the question type on the actual test so you can choose the best approach to take. To obtain the correct answer, you'll frequently combine various techniques, such as underlining essential words and phrases in the question.
You can prepare for 1600 on test day after reliably getting every question correct.
Conclusion
You will undoubtedly achieve a respectable SAT exam score if you employ the strategies above. However, the best approach is to practice as much as possible while keeping the exam structure in mind. Improve your conceptual and subject-matter understanding.
In addition, you can enroll in SAT coaching or engage a private, qualified tutor, which will help you study more effectively and give you a personalized preparation strategy for each area.
We hope this post has assisted you in understanding How to study for the SAT Exam and Get the Highest Scores. You can visit the Physics  Wallah website to learn more about the SAT. They have covered a wide variety of SAT-related material.
Also Read: Online ca course
Frequently Asked Questions
Ans. The following are the steps for SAT preparation in a week:
●       Get familiar with the SAT exam structure.
●       Gather study resources both offline and online.
●       Produce a Successful Study Plan
●       Consistently take practice examinations.
Ans. Using all available GAT study guide resources and regularly practicing exams is the most well-known technique to achieve good SAT scores. Additionally, solving practice papers and taking routine mock exams will help you decide which study areas you should pay more attention to.
Ans. Candidates should devote at least 2 hours daily to their studies for at least four months. Sometimes you can finish the syllabus far more quickly when you put in more study time, and vice versa. It could vary from candidate to candidate because some students learn the fundamentals more rapidly than others.
Ans. No set minimum or maximum grade must be obtained to pass the SAT. Rules regarding SAT scores differ from college to college. Knowing the minimal SAT score requirements for the college, you wish to attend will help you establish goals for yourself.
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vrishchikawrites · 3 years
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Are you still taking prompts?
Cause if so, I'd love to see a time travel fic where post-canon WWX and LWJ get yeeted back into their younger bodies, and land just before the GC transfer. And Post-Canon WWX - who's had some years of being a part of a loving, supportive family, in a non-toxic, non-abusive environment; and therefore no longer has any misconceptions about how much the Jiangs were not his family - takes one look at JC lying there on the table in the cave after WQ knocked him out (and is now in the middle of prepping for surgery); and just goes, "LOL, yeah; nope.😆 Been there, done that; 10/10, would not recommend.😝 Hey, WQ - change of plans!😎"
(Except, you know, not written like crack. 😉)
Not necessary to include, but a fun idea:
JC gets dragged along to the past as well because he has WWX's GC; so whatever sent them back mistook him for part of WWX and brought him along.
So when he wakes up from the anaesthesia, he freaks out about not having a GC anymore. And WWX has this whole story ready to tell young JC about how, "Oops, sorry; you can't have a new GC after all" - but this is Post-Canon JC; so he knows about the transfer, and knows that this means that WWX decided not to do it again.
Which means he ends up screaming at WWX about, "How dare you not give me your GC!"
So WWX feels exactly zero sympathy.
(Before that happened he was maybe feeling a little bit bad for young JC; because that JC hadn't done anything too bad yet - but he already knew how it would turn out if he went through with it. And he was not giving up his chance to cultivate to immortality with his hubby; just so that JC could Feel Like A Real Man, and go on to murder his way through life again.)
What would be really, really great about this, is if WWX had brought JC to Qinghe or Gusu; or somewhere the other cultivation sects involved in the SSC had gathered, before JC woke up. Planning to leave him there where he would be safe. So when JC wakes up and starts screaming, everybody hears him.
And they're all like, "...WUT."🤤
"You expected him to do what?!?"😲😨😱
So instead of all the sympathy and compassion, etc, that he would have gotten over what happened at LP (that he probably did get the first time), or for losing his GC; basically the entire allied cultivation world as a whole is collectively side-eyeing him.
IDK; I just think it would be really funny.
But mainly, I just want to see WWX a few years post-canon; having the chance to do it all again, and choosing not to go through with the GC transfer. LWJ going with him is because the thought of post-canon LWJ losing his WWX makes me sad; and I want them to stay together. 😋
Post-Canon JC going back and getting stuck with the coreless body he deserved is just for my own catharsis.
(The rest of that idea is simply for the lulz.) 😉
(I decided not to include JC traveling back in time. Hope this works and satisfies you!)
“No, I don’t.” Wei Wuxian sees Wen Qing blink and stare at him while Wen Ning stills in the process of making Jiang Cheng comfortable.
“What?” Wen Qing asks but rethinks it immediately, “No, no need to answer that.” She starts packing away her instruments immediately like she’s glad that Wei Wuxian has changed his mind. He looks at her and feels aching fondness rise in his chest. She must be frustrated that he made her go through all of that trouble and yet she still chooses to move before he can change his mind again.
“What… are we going to tell Jiang-gongzi?” Wen Ning asks tentatively but Wei Wuxian notes the faint look of relief in the boy’s eyes.
“We’ll tell him the treatment wasn't possible,” He says, glancing at his… former shidi. It isn’t an easy decision to make, because he knows Jiang Cheng would suffer for it. A part of him feels like he’s being unnecessarily cruel by denying Jiang Cheng his core.
But he has already paid his debt and it cost countless people their lives. Jiang Cheng’s actions didn’t just lead to the death of the Wens. Lan Zhan had told him about the numerous ‘demonic cultivators’ Jiang Cheng had pursued relentlessly. Even his love wasn’t certain how many people died or were tormented to insanity because of Jiang Cheng’s persistence.
While Wei Wuxian doesn’t intend to let the situation get so out of hand, it is apparent that Jiang Cheng can’t be trusted with power.
He is worried about how Jiang Cheng would react. Wei Wuxian had promised him a core, after all. But whatever happens, a powerless Jiang Cheng is safer for everyone.
“We’ll tell him that rebuilding the core is impossible because Wen Zhuliu destroyed his meridians as well.”
“He has,” Wen Qing points out, “I was about to repair them.”
Wei Wuxian frowns, “And can you repair them still? Without transferring the core?” That would certainly help Jiang Cheng heal faster and accept some spiritual energy transfusions. Wen Qing looks at Jiang Cheng with a frown and nods.
“Wei-gongzi… what changed your mind?” Wen Ning asks as Wen Qing goes to work immediately. Wei Wuxian knows that if he has to help the Wens, he needs to tell them the truth. While Wen Ning would trust him and accept his explanation without too many questions, Wen Qing wouldn’t be so easy.
Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, getting his thoughts in order. When he opens them again, both of the Wens are looking at him with frowns.
He grins wryly and spreads his hands, "I have a tale for you, my dear friends."
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Jin Guangyao needed to have his last 'hurrah'. He just couldn't leave them be, even as he died. Whatever he did, whatever tool he used, it sent a shockwave of Resentful Energy that would've killed them all.
As always, Wei Wuxian stepped forward to protect people. As always, Lan Wangji stepped forward to protect him.
Wei Wuxian gritted his teeth and changed his plan at the last moment. At first, he wanted to absorb the energy and channel it somewhere else. But with so many people just lingering instead of running, he needed a different solution.
His mind flashed, he saw Jiang Cheng, and decided.
A forbidden array formed.
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"I needed something that would use up all of the Resentful Energy and protect everyone, including Lan Zhan."
"So, at the last moment and on the verge of dying, you chose something as improbable as time travel." Wen Qing deadpans. Wen Ning is looking at him with wide eyes. Strangely enough, both look like they believe him. Well, he did mention a few things, personal incidents, that he had no way of knowing if the Wens hadn't told him.
Still.
"I'm not the one for regrets," He says softly as he looks at Jiang Cheng, "But I thought that array was the safest solution. It doesn't harm the current timeline so everyone is safe. Lan Zhan, I know, wouldn't mind following my lead in this." He did regret taking Zewu-jun's brother away from him after such a traumatic event but there really was no other option. Not with Jin Ling so close and so many innocent people in the vicinity.
Wei Wuxian is quite certain that the blast would've destroyed everything around them, including the innocent people around the Guanyin Temple complex.
The siblings exchange glances before Wen Qing returns to Jiang Cheng's side, preparing to work on his meridians, "You're going to change things." She observes, "Save people?"
"Save you and Wen Ning. Save Jiang Yanli. Save innocents, yes."
Wen Qing freezes.
---
Lan Wangji doesn't know what Wei Ying did but he trusts his beloved. When he finds himself in the past, just before the Sunshot Campaign begins and shortly after the fall of the Lotus Pier, he doesn't hesitate.
He knows that his brother is safe and his uncle is managing things at Cloud Recesses. But he also knows that somewhere out there, his beloved is preparing himself for a risky, painful procedure.
Wangji can't let that happen. He thinks back on everything Wen Ning shared with him about the incident, particularly the location of where it occurred. He's probably too late to stop the transfer but perhaps not late enough to stop the Wens from finding Wei Ying.
It takes him days to reach Yiling without the aid of Bichen but he manages and immediately heads towards the approximate location Wen Ning had mentioned.
"Wei Ying," He breathes softly when he spots his beloved shopping for some supplies. He hadn't anticipated finding him so soon but is grateful nonetheless.
Wei Ying is dressed like a peasant and blends in well with the people around him but Wangji can recognize him anywhere.
Dressed discreetly and without his forehead ribbon, Wangji too is inconspicuous. He moves swiftly towards Wei Ying and catches his elbow, eyeing the people in red and white uniform at the far end of the street warily.
"Come." He whispers.
Wei Ying doesn't say a word, just paying the vendor and following Wangji into a more discreet location.
Wangji looks at his beloved's face, drinking in his bright silver eyes and sharp features with acute relief.
"Wei Ying, you… you look well." Strangely so, for someone who has just given up his Golden Core.
Hope stirs in his chest and Wangji reaches for Wei Ying's wrist.
His love's lips quirk in amusement, but Wangji ignores him, focusing on sending his spiritual energy through Wei Ying's meridians.
A strong core pulses in response.
"Wei Ying," Something bright and triumphant burns in his chest and he resists the urge to pull his beloved into a crushing embrace.
He would've supported Wei Ying's decision to give up his core and cultivate with resentful energy again. He knew it wasn't evil or harmful now.
But Wei Ying chose himself. His beloved had finally chosen to save himself.
"Aiya, Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying laughs, "If you keep looking at me like that, I'll do something quite shameless and embarra-"
Wangji kisses him.
He cups that precious face, pulls him close, and slides his lips over soft flesh in a tender expression of love he can't contain.
Wei Ying chose himself.
---
Jiang Cheng returns from his trip to the mountain with a thunderous expression on his face.
He disregards Lan Zhan and grabs Wei Wuxian's arm in a tough grip, dragging him away from the crowded tea house. Lan Zhan follows without a word, his expression frosty and eyes on Jiang Cheng.
"Your Grandmaster," He spits, "Is just as useless and worthless as you. All she could do is repair my meridians! My body was too damaged for anything else, she said!"
Wei Wuxian knows Wen Qing wrote the note they left by Jiang Cheng's side but he hadn't known what she had written.
It must've been reasonably convincing for Jiang Cheng to be convinced.
"That's-" He searches his mind to find words that would be appropriately sympathetic. Saying 'that's too bad' would be just rubbing salt on an open wound.
He may dislike Jiang Cheng, but some of the childhood affection still lingers. He doesn't wish to hurt his former shidi.
"I didn't know," He says finally, his heart throbbing in sympathy at Jiang Cheng's devastated expression. He briefly reconsiders his decision but Lan Zhan shifts discreetly by his side and Wei Wuxian remembers why he made that decision in the first place.
Jiang Cheng had been unworthy of the gift he had been given.
His shidi snarls and turns to Lan Zhan, "What are you doing here, Lan er-gonzi," He snarls, "Coming to triumph in our misery?"
Lan Zhan looks at him flatly, "I came to assist Wei Ying."
"Came to assist Wei Ying," Jiang Cheng mocks, his expression tight and furious, "Well, you're welcome to take him away! There's nothing left for him to destroy. Everything is gone. He invited the wrath of the Wens on our heads to protect you and that led to the destruction of my sect. He couldn't even repay that debt. His Grandmaster failed."
Jiang Cheng turns hate-filled eyes towards him, "You are a curse. My father should have left you to rot on the streets!"
"Jiang Wanyin!" Lan Zhan warns but Wei Wuxian places a hand on the Second Jade's arm to halt him.
"I'm taking you to Meishan to be with shijie." Wei Wuxian says calmly, "And then I'll go join the war efforts."
Jiang Cheng sneers before turning his head away, silent.
Wei Wuxian does as he says. He leaves Jiang Cheng in Jiang Yanli's care and heads to Qinghe with Lan Zhan. The war goes differently than before. He manages to kill Wen Zhuliu and Wen Chao early, which gives them a big morale boost. But that's the only thing that goes their way for a long time.
"I'm going to use it," He tells Lan Zhan once, when the scales tip dangerously in the Wen's favor.
Lan Zhan studies him before nodding gracefully, "I will help."
There's no way to avoid using his cultivation method, not if he wants to keep people safe. He's more careful and restrained this time and he doesn't create the Yīn Hǔ Fú. But Mo Dao is Mo Dao. It attracts disapproval from people regardless.
Wei Wuxian doesn't care and Lan Zhan stays by his side without paying any heed to the grumblings of his clan. He goes to sleep every night with Lan Zhan's guqin notes in his ear and meditates every morning with the Cleansing purging the Resentful Energy from his body.
With a powerful and active Golden Core, Wei Wuxian can't use Mo Dao liberally without risking Qi Deviation. But he uses enough to help them win the war.
Wei Wuxian successfully retakes Lotus Pier and Yunmeng from the Wens. Jiang Cheng's hatred doesn't diminish and even Jiang Yanli grows distant after a while. Jiang Cheng's suffering and downfall hardens something in his soft shijie.
Wei Wuxian accepts that consequence quietly.
He hands Lotus Pier back to Jiang Cheng and stays on the front lines, leaving most of the freshly recruited disciples behind to protect his former martial siblings. When the war ends, argues to keep the Wen cultivators in better conditions. He makes sure everyone knows how much the Jiangs owe the Wen siblings, and saves the children and elderly.
With Jiang Cheng out of the Cultivation World and Wei Wuxian's reputation as a war hero, saving the Wen remnants is easier than it had been before.
---
Everyone is baffled when Jiang Wanyin names a new head disciple and Wei Wuxian never returns to Yunmeng. People gossip, sect leaders question, and new Jiang disciple flounder.
Neither Jiang Wanyin nor Wei Wuxian confirms it but it is clear to everyone that the Jiang Sect has, foolishly, kicked out its most powerful disciple. YunmengJiang remains wealthy but the Sect's influence diminishes significantly once Wei Wuxian leaves.
Other Sects, big and small, scramble to find Wei Wuxian, ready to offer him a place and get a powerful cultivator in their ranks. Letters pour in promising wealth and prestige.
Wei Wuxian ignores them all and settles in Cloud Recesses. He's content to teach a group of eye-wide Lan ducklings now to deal with resentful energy and limit the risk of Qi Deviation. He takes them on Nighthunts, teaches them real-life lessons, encourages creativity, and becomes a well-loved senior.
New YunmengJiang disciples aren't near as strong as their predecessors without someone to teach them properly.
People gossip and speculate as the years pass. They hint that he is wrong to leave his former sect behind but he doesn't care.
Wei Wuxian has Lan Zhan and Lan Sizhui. Wen Qing and Wen Ning live happily in a small farming village not far from Gusu. They intervene before Jin Guangyao kills Nie Mingjue. They save Lan Xichen from heartache. Jin Ling is born and has both of his parents.
That's all he needs to be happy.
YunmengJiang is no longer his responsibility.
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Pinky promise
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Steve Masterlist - Full Masterlist
Summary: After the war, everyone returns home and tries to move on with life. Not you. You’re forced to go back to Brooklyn to take over your uncle’s bar with a constant reminder by your side that the man you loved didn’t come back to you. And her name is Sarah.
Pairing: Steve x Fem!Reader
Word count: 5.2k
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Brooklyn. It has been a long time since you’ve been there. Last time you were there Sarah Rogers told you it was too dangerous for a pregnant woman to stay around. She had a point. With most of the good men taken by the war, only the shady types remained. Scum will always find a way to get out of order.
You took Sarah’s advice back then. You left town and moved in with your brother on his farm. He got out of serving under a law that prevented all children from one family to be taken away. Their two older brothers were already fighting in the war so you and your brother were left.
But that didn’t matter, after all, you were carrying a child out of wedlock and you know how that goes. The child’s a bastard and the mother’s a whore but there’s no name for the man that left you like this. Sure, you could call him an asshole or whatever else you could think of but you don’t think of him like that. You could never think of him like that.
He was just a good man with a savior complex and a heart too big for his body. Besides, he didn’t know.
...
Either way, you promised yourself you’d never go back to Brooklyn in fear of bumping into him. What are you supposed to say when you see him? Hi, long time no see, this is your child, now go be a dad. That’d be mental.
But apparently you aren’t in faith’s favor. When your uncle died, you were told that you inherited his bar. The same bar you had spent endless nights at with your friends. The same bar you had gotten your first kiss in. The same bar where he told you he had to go. That thing is a scar and a half but you could never hate it.
You adored going there, working there, drinking there. It was a safe haven but now it’s old columns with bullet holes and blown out windows that need fixing. It ain’t all that bad. Some sanding and a new layer of paint oughta do it. You feel a tug at your hand. As you look down, you meet the most beautiful blue eyes with golden locks of hair. She looks so much like him.
‘Mommy, I don’t like this place.’ Her eyes are wide like a deer in the headlights, scared by all the cars and people on the streets. She’s used to the peace of your brother’s farm and you understand that the pace of the city might scare her. You kneel down next to her and put your hands on her shoulders so that she puts all her attention on you.
‘It’s just the marching band coming to play,’ you tell her in a calming voice with a comforting smile on your lips, ‘it’s just tubas and drums and loud noises. You’ll get used to it. I promise.’ You watch your little girl raise her pinky up to your face. ‘Pinky promise?’ You smile brighter as you hook your own pinky onto hers. ‘Pinky promise.’ She nods proudly as you stand up to take your keys out of your pocket and unlock the door for the both of you.
‘Y/n, is that you?’
‘Bloody hell, it’s her!’ You turn your head towards the commotion and see two girls barreling your way, almost jumping into your arms. ‘Jesus Christ woman, I missed you,’ the blonde one cries out. The brunette lets go first and smiles down at the little girl.
‘Bonnie, watch your language around the kid,’ the brunette snaps at the blonde.
‘Sorry Connie,’ she lets go of you and looks down at the kid. You put your hand on your daughter's shoulder to comfort her in meeting new people. These girls are far from strangers to you but she’s never seen them before.
‘Sweetheart, these are mommy’s friends,’ you explain to her, ‘that’s Bonnie and that’s Connie. Bonnie, Connie, this is my daughter, Sarah.’ Connie squads down to shakre the little girl’s hand with a wide smile on her face.
‘Very nice to meet you Sarah.’ Bonnie follows Connie’s movements and shakes Sarah’s hand next.
‘Yes, nice to meet you Sarah.’
‘Nice to meet you too,’ Sarah says with a shy smile but she quickly hides behind you as soon as the women get back up.
‘Goss, you’ve got your mother’s looks,’ Connie tells her, ‘that’s a good thing.’ Bonnie nods in agreement.
‘You’ve got a point there,’ she says, ‘so who’s the daddy?’ You look down at the ground for a second, feeling your stomach drop. Sarah looks up at you with hopeful eyes but opts to answering herself.
‘Daddy’s fighting bad guys,’ she proudly tells them.
‘That’s right sweetheart,’ you assure her with a weakened smile. You quickly unlock the door to the bar for her and she runs inside, excited to see what it looks like from the inside. ‘We shouldn’t talk about this outside,’ you tell the girls ‘people talk.’ They don’t ask questions about your nervous stature, they just follow.
‘Sweetheart, why don’t you go have a look upstairs,’ you tell Sarah as you hand her the key to the apartment above the bar. The apartment that’s yours now. The girl nods excitedly and runs up the stairs, more than happy to escape the unknown faces of the women that suddenly embraced her mother. A breath of relief escapes your lips as you watch her go.
Connie and Bonnie follow you into the main area of the bar. For a second, just a second, it feels like it used to on those Saturday nights when the boys would take you out dancing but you’d always end up here when the night got colder. Your uncle would always give you the first drink on the house and you’d always cheer him on for doing so. It’s a shame he’s gone so soon.
Without really thinking about it, you venture to the table in the corner where you’d usually sit with Bonnie and Connie and whoever else wanted to join. When you look down at the wood, you can still see your initials carved into it. A faint smile thugs on your lips when you run your fingers over them. It’s been too long.
‘Spill,’ Connie demands when you’re all seated. She sounds rougher than she intended to. You can tell by the way she flinches ever so slightly. She always had a way of sounding a little too harsh at the wrong moments but you know it’s never meant that way. It’s just her tone of voice.
‘I wasn’t going to come back,’ you admit with a meek smile, ‘too many memories.’
‘But you did. Why? It can’t just be the bar.’ She’s right. It never was just the bar. Though coming back might bring shame to you and Sarah, the hope of running into Sarah’s father was still there. Maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see him again.
Bonnie leans her elbows on the table in anticipation, her head resting in her palms. She looks like she’s going to hear the greatest love story ever told. If only it were that way. You hesitate to tell them why. What would they think of you if they knew before? The three of you never really did talk about children or marriage. But the truth will out one way or another and you’d rather have it out on your terms.
‘You know, you’d think with the world changing so much, we would’ve gone past calling a child a bastard but we really haven’t,’ you say as you feel your voice starts to shake, ‘poor girl deserves a dad and the dad deserves to know he’s got a child.’
‘Who is it,’ Bonnie pushes. You look up from the table with teary eyes. ‘Steve.’ It’s like the world stops for a second as the two women give each other a confused look. It’s like they can’t comprehend it. Steve, your best friend, got you pregnant.
‘Wait, skinny Steve or buff Steve,’ Connie asks you. Now it’s your turn to be confused.
‘Wha-what does that even mean? I guess skinny Steve. Was there another Steve around,’ you ask them. They share another look that means nothing to you but there’s concern in their eyes and you don’t know why. It worries you.
‘Did you have a TV on your brother’s farm?’
‘No, just a radio.’ Bonnie runs her hands through her hair and leans back in her chair, astounded by what you just said but it doesn’t give you any clearity.
‘Oh, you have to be joking,’ Connie exclaims, ‘you don’t know?’
‘Don’t know what? What should I know?’
‘Do you know who Captain America is?’
‘Yeah, he’s everywhere. Posters, toys, everything,’ you say as you let out a nervous chuckle, ‘what’s that got to do with Steve?’
‘Steve is Captain America.’
‘Okay, now you’re just talking nonsense,’ you say as you get up from your chair and walk over to the bar, seeing if it’s alright. The two chase after you quickly.
‘We’re not,’ Bonnie claims, ‘the man had some sort of experiment done on him or something.’
‘Steve is Captain America? You mean the man that couldn’t even talk to women properly?’
‘Says the one who got knocked up by him,’ Bonnie comments, earning her a slap on the arm from Connie. ‘Ouch,’ she whines, ‘I was just saying.’
‘Just because you didn’t like him doesn’t mean she didn’t,’ Connie hisses quietly to Bonnie to make her shut up. You can’t help but chuckle at the banter between the two. They basically share one brain cell and it always struck you as adorable when they seemed to be opposite sides of the brain.
‘But why’d you let me go on the double date back then,’ Bonnie asks you, knowing full well that Connie had asked you first because she had already expected something going on between Steve and you.
‘I had nothing to worry about,’ you tell her as a nostalgic grin pulls onto your lips, ‘besides, I didn’t want to have to explain why I wasn’t drinking.’ Bonnie gasps.
‘You already knew back then?’
‘Of course I knew,’ you sigh, ‘but it wasn’t a stable pregnancy yet and I just didn’t know things would change the way they did.’ Connie grabs a barstool off the ground and puts it down, taking a seat on it.
‘So why’d you leave,’ she asks.
‘When Steve left, I was worried I’d have to be on my own raising a child,’ you explain to them, ‘then his mother suggested going to my brother’s farm for a while.’ You hear the stairs creak as Sarah runs downstairs calling out to you. You call back to her to let her know where you are. When she runs into the bar, you can’t help but stare at her adoringly. She’s just so damn stunning. She runs up to you and jumps into your arms.
‘How do you like it,’ you ask her.
‘It’s great,’ she says with glowing eyes, ‘but there’s too much space for the two of us.’ Sarah had only ever lived on your brother’s farm where she had to share a room with you. She had never lived anywhere where she had her own room.
‘We’ll make it work,’ you promise her.
‘Well, we should get going,’ Connie announces, hooking her arm onto Bonnie’s to stop her from protesting, ‘but we’ll come around tomorrow to help you clean this place.
‘That would be wonderful,’ you smile at them as they take their leave. When the door closes, Sarah takes your hand in hers and looks at you with seriousness in her eyes that you had only ever seen before when Steve talked about enlisting and how important it was to him.
‘Mommy, it looks like there’s someone else living upstairs,’ she tells you.
‘Well, that’s because my uncle left his stuff here for us,’ you explain to her as you put her down, ‘let’s go lock the door and then you can show me around. Yeah?’ The girl’s eyes light up again as she nods excitedly. You can barely lock the door with her pulling at your arm.
Before you follow her up the stairs, you take one last look at the bar. The memories you’ve made there are as thick as the layers of dust on the furniture. You don’t like to admit it but you’re glad you’re back and you know now, with your little girl already being so excited, that you two are going to be just fine.
...
‘Y/n! We’re here!’ You jump up from behind the bar, quickly patting down your pants to rid them of dust as you walk towards the front door to greet Bonnie and Connie. Bonnie flies around your neck as she did yesterday.
‘Hi love,’ you greet her with a grin that goes from ear to ear, ‘how are you doing?’
‘We’re alright,’ Bonnie says with a mischievous look on her face as she steps aside to allow Connie to greet you.
‘We found an old friend on the way here,’ Connie tells you as she steps aside to reveal a face you haven’t seen in ages. Gosh, if it were any longer you might’ve not recognized him anymore. He looks withered but the smirk on his face is ever present as well as the cocky look in his eyes and confident stature.
‘Are my eyes deceiving me? James Buchanan Barnes, how are you doing?’ You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him into a close embrace that he accepts gratefully. His arms snake around your waist as he pulls you as close as he possibly can.
‘It’s been too long, doll,’ he says and puts his hands on your hips to distance you from him. Just so he can have a good look at you. ‘Jeez, you haven’t changed since ‘42. You look stunning.’
‘You’ve got a bit more stubble on your chin,’ you tease, ‘and a haircut would do you wonders.’ He snickers as he briefly tickles your sides. You cry out a laugh and take a few steps away, lightly jogging towards the bar knowing he’ll follow.
‘So, I hear you’re the owner of this place now,’ he says as he follows with big strides, walking around like it’s still his go-to bar. You watch him as he has a look around.
‘I am,’ you say with a proud smile, ‘my uncle left it to me.’
‘He couldn’t have left it in better hands,’ he grins at you as he stalks over to the corner table, having a look at the carved initials on it. ‘Wow, they’re still here.’ You walk over to him, watching him drag his fingers over his own initials next to yours and Steve’s.
‘They are.’
‘Where’s the little one,’ Connie asks you. Your eyes shoot over at her right as she realizes what she’s just said. Bucky doesn’t know. Her hands move in front of her mouth.
‘Little one?’ As if on que, you hear the stairs creak under the weight of Sarah’s rushed footsteps. She told you yesterday that she was excited to see your friends again, even if she had been scared of them initially. You let yourself drop into a chair and hide your face in your hands as she steps into the room. You don’t have to see Bucky’s face to know that he looks shocked. Sarah looks exactly like Steve, how could he not be shocked?
‘Mommy, who’s that?’ You look up from your hands and gesture for Sarah to get closer but she looks nervous and stays where she is.
‘It’s okay sweetheart,’ you tell her as you reach out to her. She walks over and takes your hand, hiding behind it slightly at the sight of yet another stranger. ‘Sarah, this is Bucky. Bucky is a friend of mine,’ you explain to her, ‘Connie, Bonnie, Bucky, and I would come here a lot together.’ You look up at Bucky, trying to keep eyes from poking in your eyes and failing terribly. ‘Bucky, this is Sarah. My daughter.’ Bucky nods and makes himself a bit smaller, holding out his hand to shake Sarah’s hand.
‘Nice to meet you Sarah.’
‘Nice to meet you too mister Bucky.’
‘Just Bucky is fine,’ he tells her with a friendly smile.
‘Sweetheart, why don’t you go show Bonnie and Connie where we live now,’ you suggest to her, ‘I’m sure they’d love to see the drawings you put up.’ That’s all it takes for the little girl to grab Bonnie and Connie by their skirts and drag them upstairs, leaving you and Bucky alone for a few minutes.
‘That girl looks exactly like Steve,’ he exclaims. You shoot up from your chair and hurriedly walk over to the bar.
‘Really? I hadn’t noticed.’ You reach for a rag you had been cleaning with before your friends walked in, running it over the bar to take Bucky’s attention off you as your feel a lump form in your throat. However, Bucky doesn’t do well with being avoided. He grabs your wrist and takes the rag out of your hand, throwing it somewhere you can’t just reach.
‘I know you and Steve had a fling back in the day so I’m only going to ask this once. Is she Steve’s?’ He watches as your eyes fill with tears while you try to swallow away the lump in your throat. It’s as if all the hurt and hardships you’ve been through these past years while raising Sarah suddenly wash over you. You feel your shoulders start to shake as you take your bottom lip between your teeth to keep it from quivering. Bucky’s expression softens and he pulls you into a hug, gently rubbing your back until you calm down. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘His mother asked me not to,’ you softly stammer into his ear as a sob slips from your lips, ‘I thought he was going to stay.’
‘So did I doll, so did I.’ You push off him, holding both his shoulders to keep him away from you. There’s a pit in your stomach as you try to speak but the words don’t seem to be coming out quite right. It takes a few seconds before you manage to form a sentence.
‘You can’t tell him. Please don’t tell him,’ you hear yourself beg with a shaky voice. That’s not what you wanted to say. You want Steve to know but why can’t you do it?
‘I won’t, but there’s something you have to know,’ he tells you as he takes your hand and leads you back to the corner table. His hands take yours and his thumb gently drags over the back of your hand to keep you grounded. ‘Steve is seeing someone.’
He expected you to scream, or at least cry. But you just sit there, frozen, nodding ever so slightly to let him know you understand. Your feelings are on overdrive and at this point you’re not quite sure if you’re even feeling anything.
‘Mommy, are you okay?’ Your eyes dart over to Sarah’s. Your hands move to your eyes to wipe away your tears as you see Bonnie and Connie running into the room to grab the girl.
‘Mommy is fine,’ you tell her as she walks over to you. You pick her up and set her on your lap. ‘But sometimes even mommy has to cry.’
‘Please don’t.’ You push a smile onto your face to appease your little girl.
‘I’ll try not to,’ you tell her, ‘can you go upstairs with Bonnie and Connie a little longer? I have some boring adult things to discuss with Bucky.’ She nods and jumps off your lap, dragging Bonnie and Connie along like she had done mere minutes ago.
‘She is so much like Steve,’ you tell Bucky with a small smile on your face as your eyes linger on the empty staircase, ‘you know, on my brother’s farm she used to try to resolve fights between the animals.’
‘That does sound a lot like Steve,’ Bucky chuckles as he takes her hand again, ‘I hope she doesn’t fight as much as he does.’ You shake your head, a nostalgic look in your eyes. Oh how you remember all the times Bucky had to save Steve’s ass when he got into yet another fight. It got even worse when the two of you were fooling around and a man would look at you wrong. However, you did love him for it. Maybe you still do. You’re not sure.
‘I did want to tell him,’ you say, your voice surprisingly steady, ‘I was about to send him a letter when his mother told me it would be better if I left town.’
‘She told you to leave town?’ You nod.
‘Said it would be better for my safety and the baby and she was right,’ you admit, ‘but I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that I was keeping something from him.’
‘Do you want him to know?’ You nod again and look up at him with a smile.
‘You know, we didn’t have a TV so I didn’t know he was Captain America until Bonnie and Connie told me yesterday,’ you tell him, ‘but it makes sense.’
‘It does. He was always the best of us three.’ Bucky sounds proud as he says it, as he should be. Steve has always been a good man who doesn’t let his judgement be clouded by money and power.
‘She makes my life so much more meaningful,‘ you tell Bucky proudly, ‘I know I never wanted to be a mother but she changed everything. It’s like she’s got all Steve’s good parts but it hurts that she has to withstand name calling just because she doesn’t have a dad. She doesn’t deserve that.’ You look past Bucky onto the busy streets, watching as people walk by. Children are playing on the streets, women are going to the shops, men are reading the paper and smoking, and families... Happy, complete, families walk the sidewalks with smiles on their faces. They don’t have to worry about what others think of them. You wish it was like that for Sarah.
‘Do you want them to meet?’
‘I do but it isn’t fair to either of them to just put them in a room together,’ you tell Bucky, ‘I’d have to face Steve on my own first.’
‘That’s fair, do you want me to bring him around sometime?’ You continue to stare out the window as your eye suddenly fall on someone. You feel like all color is draining from your face. No, this can’t be real. Not right now. ‘Doll?’ You nod towards the window. Bucky turns around to see Steve standing right there, looking in with a grin on his face, happily waving at you. Of course, that would just be your luck. Bucky turns back to you.
‘I can send him away if you need more time.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve got to face him sometime,’ you say with a meek smile. It wipes away when you flinch from the loud bang of the front door slamming against the wall. Steve runs into the room, still wearing a grin on his face.
‘Y/n?’ You get up from your chair to greet him.
‘Hi Steve, good to see you.’ In his excitement, he runs up to you and engulfs you in a hug like you’ve never shared before. He’s so much bigger than you now. It’s almost suffocating but that could also be the nerves. However, the feeling is familiar as is his smell. It’s comforting and warm. Your arms wrap around his waist to hold him close. You’re not sure if you ever want him to let you go but he steps back after a hug that lasts a little too long.
’Jeez, you’re still as beautiful as when I left,’ he smiles.
‘And I thought you were done growing when you left,’ you try to joke, pushing your anxiety aside.
‘I thought so too,’ he says and turns to Bucky to quickly shake his hand in greeting. ‘Did you know she was back?’
‘No, I ran into Bonnie and Connie today. They found out she was back yesterday,’ Bucky tells him. ‘They’re around here somewhere to help clean the bar.’ Steve nods at Bucky’s blatant lie but he doesn’t seem to notice.
‘So, you’re running your uncle’s bar now?’ You nod but Steve can tell that you’re nervous. Your eyes are still red and puffy and he saw you cry when he looked through the window. ‘Are you okay?’ You nod, averting your eyes from him.
‘Sit down, we have to talk,’ you say as you sit back down. He looks confused as he sits down next to Bucky in his usual place. It’s a strange sight. He doesn’t fit into the picture anymore. He’s gotten too big.
‘What is it?’ You take a deep breath.
‘Listen, I can keep running around this but that wouldn’t be fair to you-’
‘You’re making me nervous Y/n.’ His eyes shoot to Bucky but he isn’t giving him anything. In fact, he’s leaning back to show to Steve that this is something between the two of you. He’s just there for moral support.
‘You have a child.’ His jaw drops as he scrambles to find the words to say.
‘I’m sorry, I have a what now?’ Bucky leans forward and hits Steve’s arm.
‘You heard her,’ he snaps, ‘Jesus, don’t you see how much this is taking out of her?’
‘It’s fine Bucky,’ you assure him.
‘Did you know,’ Steve asks Bucky and you feel the situation slipping from your fingers.
‘No, I didn’t know but it isn’t my child.’
‘Stop it,’ you snap. The men look back at you and their faces drop as they watch tears slip onto your cheeks. You grab Steve’s hand from the table. ‘Yes, you have a child. Her name is Sarah Josephine Y/l/n. I couldn’t call her Rogers because we’re not married but I thought you’d like that name for her.’
‘I do, but why am I only hearing this now,’ he asks, obviously confused and stressed. Suddenly, there is the weight of being a runaway dad on his shoulders. Even if he didn’t know about the child’s existence up until now, he still doesn’t like it.
‘Your mother asked me to move away from the city for the safety of the child,’ you explain to him, ‘and I didn’t know how to reach you. I mean, damn, I didn’t even know you changed this much.’ Steve stays quiet for a while, looking at his hand in yours as your thumb gently strokes over his skin. Your hands had always been smaller than his and he always liked how they looked next to his but for some reason he feels strange because of your touch.
‘Can I see her?’ You look from Steve to Bucky, your eyes carry worry as you wipe away your tears.
‘I don’t know. She’s already met so many new people today, it might-’ Steve squeezes your hand gently and looks up at you with hopeful eyes. Eyes that she has never been able to say no to.
‘Please?’ You sigh, taking a second to collect yourself. Why did it have to be him?
‘I just need to know one thing,’ you state, not daring to look into his eyes, ‘I know you’re dating someone but if I let you meet her, will you stay in her life? Because I can’t introduce her to her dad and then tell her that she never gets to see him again. It would break her heart.’ His hand gently slips under her chin, pushing her head up slightly so she’s looking at him.
‘I promise.’ You take a deep breath and let go of his hand as you put your pinky up.
‘Pinky promise?’ A smile spreads on his face as he hooks his pinky onto hers like he had done a thousand times before. When he promised to pick her up from somewhere, when he promised he’d stay loyal to her when going out with Bucky, when he promised he’d come back to her after the war. That last one is the only one he hadn’t made true yet.
‘Pinky promise.’ You nod, a small smile on your lips as your pinky slips from his. He watches as you walk over to the staircase and disappear for a little. When you reappear, you’re carrying a little girl. Eyes as blue as his, golden locks draping over her shoulders, and a tiny stature.
‘Sarah, I want you to meet someone,’ you tell your daughter with a gentle smile, ‘this is Steve Rogers.’ You put her down in the middle of the bar, letting her choose what to do. You watch as her eyes widen at the sight of Steve. She knows of Steve Rogers. You told her about him.
As his eyes meet those of Sarah, he gets up from his chair so fast the thing falls onto the floor, scaring Sarah into hiding behind you. His eyes fill with hurt as he watches her hide and he gets on his knees to be more on eye level with Sarah.
‘But mommy, he isn’t scrawny at all.’ You let out a laugh and kneel down next to her, putting your hand on her shoulder.
‘Scrawny? Really?’ Steve bellows a soft laugh as you shrug.
‘He was really scrawny when he was younger,’ you reassure Sarah, ‘he just got bigger.’ She wraps her hands around your arm for security as she looks at him.
‘Are you so big from fighting bad guys?’ You nod vigorously at Steve in hopes that he gets the hints.
‘Yes,’ he says with a gentle smile. That seems to put Sarah’s nerves at ease a little. She takes a step away from her and a step closer to Steve.
‘Are you a soldier?’
‘I’m a captain,’ he tells her proudly. Sarah nods, pretending to understand him as she takes another step closer.
‘Are you going to stay? Because mommy told me you weren’t with us because you had to fight bad guys in the war.’
‘Well, the war is over,’ he tells her as he peeks past Sarah at you, ‘so I think I’ll stick around a while.’ Sarah takes the last few steps towards him and puts her pinky up to him.
‘Pinky promise?’ He smiles at her and hooks her pinky onto hers, marveling at the size difference of their hands. That’s his daughter. His little girl. And just behind her is her mother. You, the amazing woman that he admired from the second he laid eyes on you.
There’s nothing in this wide, wide world that could keep him away from the two of you. And as he looks back at you and watches a tear slip onto your cheek again, he knows you know too.
‘Pinky promise.’
103 notes · View notes
atsukashii · 3 years
Note
Hi! I love your writing so very much 🥰
For the event, could I possibly get: Tirza x Midoriya + she/her pronouns + ☀️ + green
Thank you thank you 🥺💕☺️
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how long do I have to wait how many nights do I have to pass
✘ he was the one who got away, but now the number one pro hero has returned to japan, and come home to you
✘ GENRE: fluff
✘ WARNINGS: none
✘ WORD COUNT: 1.4k
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To the world the name Izuku Midoriya was synonymous with the pro hero Deku. But to you, Izuku Midoriya is synonymous with sorrow, desperation and hurt. To you, Izuku Midoriya is the one who got away.
You’d been by his side since elementary school, where Katsuki Bakugou had coined the name Deku, which caught on in the opposite way than what he had initially intended it to be interpreted. You had been friends with the shy, hero crazed boy who had helped you draw your hero costume and equipment when you had decided you both were going to be pro heroes. You had been by his side as this quirk he was supposedly ‘born-with’ had manifested. And you knew, from the moment you saw All Might talking to him, just who’s quirk he had inherited.
You had been by Izuku’s side from your earliest memories, and you had loved him for as long as you could remember. You’d loved him for so long, and you were planning on telling him the moment you had finished your studies but never got the chance, because he’d left for the U.S a day later, working at an agency courtesy of Professor David Shield. And you had let him go, and took your heart with him.
Those six months had turned into three years, and now he was back.
“Can you please at least say hello to him? That’s all I'm asking here,” Your friend Ochako pleads from next to you, and you finally turn away from the bar to face her. You had been dragged out to a bar by your friend, only to discover the whole thing was an official ‘welcome home’ party for your first love that you hadn’t seen in years. So you’d reacted like any mature person, and hidden amongst all the bodies at the bar, cradling the same glass of water because you had work tomorrow and couldn’t afford to turn up hungover.
“I will,” you reply, looking over across the room at the green haired man laughing along with a bunch of your old high school friends. You give Ochako a pointed look as you swirl back around on your stool. “Later.”
“For fucks sake, even Bakugou is over there. Ba-ku-gou!” She combats, waving her hands to emphasise her point.
“Good for him.” She huffs out a breath of frustration at your antics but really, you don’t want an audience when you first talk to him, because you don’t know what is going to come out of your mouth. Will it be what your heart wants to say, that you missed him every single minute he was gone, or your head, where you’ll just simply say welcome back and move on with your life. You weren’t willing to take that gamble in front of your closest friends.
“Go have fun, I’ll talk to him later, I promise.” You swear, and even hold out your pinky which makes your friend let out a shocked laugh.
“Why don’t I believe you?” she asks, and you simply shrug, watching as she shifts through the crowd towards the table and the star of honour. The minute you know you’re out of eyesight and earshot, you leave your glass on the table, grab your jacket and sneak out the side door of the complex. Inhaling the chilled night air, you hesitate in the alleyway of the bar, letting yourself revel in the silence of the outside world. Getting used to having Izuku was going to take a while, especially considering he would no doubt be visiting his mother, who still lives next door to your own. You could never escape him, and why should that change even if you want it to? You only take a step further into the alleyway before the door bangs open behind you.
“Y/n?” His voice is deeper than you remembered it, but then again, he had been only a high school graduate when you’d spoken to him last. Slowly you turn around to face him, taking in Izuku’s face one inch at a time. Freckles still dusted his nose and cheekbones, and those deep emerald green eyes still glowed like sea glass - stop, you mentally plead. Don’t go down this road.
“I thought it was you. I saw Uraraka talking to you at the bar, and I wanted to see you before you left.” He’s taller too. You’d been the same height through most of your schooling, but now he towered over you by at least a foot. As Izuku stops under the dim light on the wall, you notice the undercut he now has and hate how it makes goosebumps break out on your skin.
“How have you been?” He asks, one of his hands clutching his other wrist in a nervous tick that holds your attention. How have you been? How have you been… miserable, lonely, lovesick, missing you… but you can’t say that. So instead you muster all the confidence in you to tell him the opposite, that you’ve been fine.
“I-” Your voice breaks on the word and you feel the world around you freeze. Your heartbeat echoes through your head and the happiness on Izuku’s face shatters and pain flickers to life in his eyes as he looks at you. A scarred hand reaches up and gently caresses your cheek and only then do you notice that you’re crying.
And the moment you recognise their existence, your chest heaves and you burst at the seems. The gruttal sob that leaves your lips has Izuku lunging forward and bringing you into his arms. Burying your face into his chest, you don’t try to stop what you’re feeling, and just let it run its course as you listen to him talk.
“I’m so sorry Tirza.” He repeats over and over like a mantra, softly running his hand over your hair whilst holding you close to his chest. Once your sobs cease and your tears slow do you finally trust yourself to talk.
“I missed you,” you get out, stepping out of embrace so that you can look at him properly, and gage his every reaction. If you’re going to get your heart ripped out, you’d at least like to try and see it coming.
“I missed you so much, but I couldn’t tell you. I missed you, but I was so proud and happy for you, because you were doing what you loved and even though I loved you, I didn't want to try and take you away from what you were born to do.” You try to explain, knowing you're making a mess of it all, but still trying to get it all off your chest. Izuku’s green eyes blink at you owlishly for a second, and fear enters your body for a second. But only for a second.
Because in the next, Izuku has your hand in one of his, and his lips on your own. Your eyes widen in surprise at the sudden affection, and you carefully place your hands on his shirt to push him away? To pull him closer? You’re unsure, but when he finally pulls back and looks down at you with so much adoration, your heart almost stops in your chest.
“I’m so sorry I left. I wanted to tell you how I felt back in highschool, but then I got offered a placement in the U.S. I almost didn’t take it too, but then I knew you would kick my ass if I didn’t,” Izuku rambles and you nod, knowing fully well that you would have. “And then I was going to come back after six months but they asked me to stay longer, and then I came to visit, but your mother said you hadn’t been back home since you graduated.” You cringe at the memory, knowing you hadn’t gone back because you didn’t want to be asked about him.
“But I get it.” Izuku finishes, pushing your stray hair back from your face. “It’s the same reason I went and sat on the beach when I missed home.” Because across it was you. “I’ve loved you since I was in middle school, and I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.” You let out a shocked laugh at his words, which turns into a soppy one as you grin at the man in front of you. He was home, that’s all you’d wanted, and now it was staring you in the face. Him. It had always been him.
“I love you Izuku. So so much.” You say, crying into your laughter as he joins you.
“We’re idiots for waiting this long,” He groans, leaning his head on your shoulder, and another laugh slips from your mouth, but one that actually has you smiling.
“The biggest idiots to ever live.”
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a/n: Thank you for your kind words anon, you get a big MWUAH from me :)  i didn't mean for this to have an angsty start, but oops... also i think these are getting longer and longer. Note to self, you can't write short drabbles for shit. Looks like its full length fics for me
✘ EVENT STATUS : OPEN  ✘
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DIABOLIK LOVERS Para-Selene Vol.5 Sakamaki Laito [Track 4]
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Original title: 信じられるもの
Source: Diabolik Lovers Para-Selene Vol. 5 Sakamaki Laito [CD not owned by me]
Audio: Here (37:53~53:32)
Seiyuu: Hirakawa Daisuke
Translator’s note: Laito talking about his true feelings for the MC is honestly A+ content. As much as his HDB route disturbs me and the whole ‘nfu~’ thing doesn’t do it for me either, I have to admit that Laito is probably the most complex and interesting character of the franchise. (Or at least in the top 3) because the plot of his CDs is always so good. I had high hopes for this one since the Para-Selene series is generally very good and thank god Rejet did not disappoint me. uwu 
Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5
→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!
Track 4: What I can Believe
*Rustle*
“Nn...Mmh...Where am I...?”
 You look around, asking if he recognizes the room.
“...Haah...It’s the guest room. At a certain castle in the Demon World.”
You tilt your head to the side.
“Right, I guess you don’t know. The words you spoke to me here...What I wished for... ーー And how I was changed forever.”
*Rustle*
“You can’t recall, you can? Even though this most definitely would count as an impactful memory. I guess my existence is only worth that much to you, huh? ...Just kidding. I suppose I’m in no position to say that as the guy who was just messing around up till now. First I was pushed around by your memories, and now my own memories are doing the exact same. Laughable, isn’t it? I feel like a clown.”
You frown.
“Say...The Paraselene Syndrome can be...cured, right?”
You ask him what the Syndrome is specifically about.
“A disease caused by the Paraselene also going by the name ‘Paraselene Syndrome’. It’s the name of the illness you’ve been infected with. As far as I know, those infected lose their memories during the time the paraselene is out. These lost memories turn into hallucinations, affecting anyone who happens to be near, locking them into an illusionary world. Therefore, the illusions will end once the person regains their memories. However...I forgot one important detail. What if...they don’t remember? 
Laito takes a seat on the bed.
*Thud*
“Haah...Nobody ever told me that is impossible. You might forget about our time spent together forever. As we are stuck reinacting past memories for eternity. Hilarious. I was out here getting sidetracked by the pleasure in front of my eyes, without realizing just how dangerous this situation we’re in really is. Even though that isn’t the kind of fun I’m looking for.”
You sit down next to him.
“Fufu...What’s gotten into you? Taking a seat next to me like that. Are you feeling pity towards me, perhaps?”
You express your worry.
“Pfft...Fufu...Fufufu...I can’t understand that. Why would you be worried about me? To your current self, shouldn’t I be someone you’d wish to avoid at all costs? Because unlike you, I do remember everything. How much you disliked me when we first met, for example. Hmph. Yet, in the end, you found yourself caught in my grip as I slowly but surely worked my way into your heart. (1) ...Hilarious, don’t you think? It truly is laughable. ...At one point, you’d even start saying you ‘love’ me and I tooーー ...I finally realized that I felt the same towards you.”
You listen carefully.
“But the person I love isn’t the one you are right now...It has to be my Bitch-chan...”
You tell him you’ll try your best to remember.
“Hmm? Are memories really something you regain through effort alone? Although if you claim you’re willing to remember for my sake...”
*Rustle*
“...You’d still cooperate with me, even if I were to try and kill you, right?”
Your eyes widen in fear as he pins you down.
*Thud*
“...An intense experience. Those can become the trigger to regaining your memories. Do you know what that means? That your memories are more likely to come back, if I treat you horribly. Can you truly entrust yourself to me, when you’re looking at me with eyes full of fear like that?”
You nod.
“...!! Ah...Why...? That’s pure hypocricy. You’re simply pitying me.”
*Rustle*
“...Don’t get too full of yourself. You don’t even have memories, so how dare you say that!? Right now, you’re just pretending to be a Saint! The moment your life is in true danger, those sweet words will most definitely turn ugly and rotten.”
*Rustle*
“You’ve got such a pretty neck. I’d probably have no trouble squeezing it shut. Like this...”
Laito starts strangling you.
“...You poor little thing~ Gasping for air~ Is it suffocating?”
*Rustle rustle*
“Fufu...Fufufu...I don’t intend to kill you or anything. I’m only waiting for you to reveal your shameful true nature. Aaah~ You seem to be suffering.”
*Rustle*
“Woah there...~ That was close. You can’t faint on me now, can you? ...Fufu~”
You take a deep breath.
“Exactly...You should use this opportunity to take in as much air as you can. Because soon enough...You won’t be able to breathe again once more.”
Laito kisses you deeply.
*Smooch*
“Ahn...Mmh...”
*Smooch*
“...Fufu~ The inside of your mouth is completely dry. Should I moisten it up with your blood? It feels good to get sucked from your tongue, you know? Haahn...”
He bites your tongue.
*Sluuuuurp*
“Mmh...Hah...! Haah...Ah...It tastes delicious, mixed in with your saliva. Aahn...”
*Gulp*
“Mmh...”
*Gulp gulp*
“...Hah...Say...? Don’t you think it feels great to have me suck your blood while you’re struggling to breathe? With your consciousness growing faint, doesn’t it feel like the pleasure is slowly travelling through your entire body?”
*Rustle*
“Look at you slouching...~ You’re not throwing in the towel already,are you? I mean...You were going to regain your memories because you just felt so bad for me, no? In that case, you have to go all the way. ...Or do you want to run away after all?”
You shake your head.
“...I wonder why you’re this stubborn. I don’t exist within your memories. And your body is shaking like a leaf. I can’t imagine you would do this out of any other reason but hypocricy. ...Or were you simply left unsatisfied by this? In that case, savor it with all your might. The pleasure I give you, that is. Well then...I suppose I should suck from your chest next...~?”
*RIIIIIIP*
“Ah-aaah...Look at that expression of yours. How shameless. ...Say, why don’t you try fighting back like before? Come on. Hurry!”
You refuse. 
“Kuh...! Why...are you trying to accept me? Not a single one of your memories have returned, so why are you pretending as if you know me!?”
You explain that his situation hurts you emotionally. 
“Why are you experiencing heartache over this? There’s no reason for you to be suffering...The one who is hurting...is me! ...Exactly. It hurts. Very much so...I want you to love me from the bottom of your heart...”
You suddenly embrace him.
*Rustle*
“...Ah! ...Bitch-chan...? Are you sure it’s safe to do this...? You can’t guarantee what I’ll do when you embrace me like this, right?”
You tell him you want to trust him and learn to love him once more.
“...!! Those are...some very dangerous words to speak right now. (2) ...You’re going to make me believe that you will accept me for who I am, with or without your memories. Say...Can I believe in you? Will you truly...love me?”
You nod.
“Ah...I feel the same.”
He returns the hug.
*Rustle*
“Bitch-chan...You truly are a strange girl. You are probably the only one...who can rouse my emotions this much.”
*Smooch*
“...Does your neck hurt? ...I’m sorry. I grabbed it too tightly. Will you let me make it up to you...? I’ll blow your mind with pleasure...Haahn...Mmh...”
Laito bites you once more.
*Gulp gulp gulp*
“...Ah~...”
*Sluuuuurp*
“Starting to feel better? I’m sucking you gently after all. ...Nfu~ You’re making a cute expression. ...You like it when I drink your blood from here, don’t you? Mmh...”
*Rustle*
*Gulp*
“Ah...Nfu~ I knew it. I can tell just how good it feels for you from the slightest twitch of your fingers, you see? That proves just how many times we’ve repeated his action. Mmh...”
*Gulp gulp gulp*
“Bitch-chan...Hold my hand...”
You hold his hand.
“I’ll pour my heart and soul into you. So...Give me your feelings too?”
You agree.
“Mmh...Thank you...”
*Gulp gulp gulp*
*BZZZZZZZZZZZ*
*WOOSH*
ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー 
Translation notes
(1) Literally he says that she slowly had her heart melted by him.
(2) Laito uses the term 殺し文句 or ‘koroshi-monku’ which is a ‘clincher’ or a ‘pick-up line’ in English.
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sneezefiction · 4 years
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embrace
Tsukishima x Reader - Scenario 
@belli-jelly’s event request: “#7 with Tsukki ❤️ thank youu!”
a/n: “embrace” with Tsukishima is such a soft idea. he just needs a hug and to feel loved n supported n stuff, ya know? i hope u enjoy!! <333
warnings: slight language, angst (but barely?)
wc: 1990
---
Tsukishima makes his ways through the apartment door, kicking off his shoes a little more forcefully than usual. The thunk of the soles on the tile embodies whatever vexation he’d been simmering in for the duration of the day. A weak, frustration-fueled sigh exits his body.
From the kitchen, you can already tell that something is off. He hasn’t called out to you with his usual, “Hey stupid, I’m home.” You hadn’t even received his typical text telling you he was leaving the gym. The tense silence seeps into the airspace as he makes his way toward you, Tsukki’s feet dragging with every step.
As he turns corner, you’re greeted by features taut with fatigue. It’s as though he’d been running on empty all day, barely making it home with only fumes of energy leftover.
Tsukki’s eyes were undoubtedly strained. The white, intense light of the gym combined with deep concentration kept him on high-alert with eyes wide open at all times.
His shoulders maintained a somewhat slumped position, losing an inch or two of height in the process. The mental weight of handling everything on his own had finally reached him physically.
This hadn’t been a good day, per se.
And if Tsukki had the energy to speak, he would probably tell you how much he would rather be in a month-long coma than experience that level of misery again.
But the hushed air remains and a bizarre staring contest takes place between you two instead of passing words. It’s hard to speak when you know that, deep down, words could never do his terrible days any justice. That even a thoughtful sentence or a well-intended comment would simply drown under Tsukki’s sea of thought, never resurfacing or coming up for air to be heard or understood.
He’s too exhausted to process even the shortest of loving dialogues. And you can tell.
So you sift through other possibilities.
Ways to calm him. To remind him that you care and want to look after him.
Should you make him dinner? He’s probably already eaten. Watch a movie together? No, the light would bother his tired eyes even more. Just go to bed? He would only continue to stir through his disappointments and be kept up by the throbbing of soreness in his legs.
As your eyes trickle down the length of his body, which is now leaning on the countertop as he takes a long sip out of his water bottle, you come to one final alternative…
But it’s always a bit of a gamble. A slight risk.
To touch or not to touch.
Would he lean into it like a self-satisfied, curious cat, tilting his lean body into your affectionate antics? Or would his brittle, biting character and miserable mood cause himself to crumble and fall away from the warmth and comfort of your smaller arms?
On one hand, you might experience your beloved Tsukishima’s gentler side. The one that held you as though he were a mama bird wrapping her wide-spanned wings around your precious form. Instinctively protective. A second-natured response to the way you circled your arms around his torso, tugging him into your field, requesting closeness and vulnerability. It could potentially get his mind off of the day and focus him on the here and now.
But on the other hand, Tsukki had a track record of off days. Jumping away from the soft glide of the pads of your fingertips. On those days, your embrace seemed to resemble that of a thorny, roseless bush to the wavy-haired blonde. The chance of him tugging away, leaving you drained and drooping, was higher than you had ever wanted to bet on. The possibility of him ending up at the opposite side of the bed seemed to increase after experiences like these.
And to be honest, you could never be sure if the touch-deterring wall he built up was to protect himself or you. Yet you always try to find ways to chip away at his salty, skeptical barrier without overstepping any fragile, unspoken boundaries.
It’s a simple concept. However, avoiding his sensitivities is an endless dance and is much harder than it may look. Especially at the end of a long day of pro-league practice, where sweat, sulking, and inferiority complexes don’t usually mix well.
But this was the only viable option left, so you get over your own worries and approach Tsukishima’s weary form. You stop just a few inches before him, his eyes dropping to meet yours. He was even more beaten down up close. The defeated expression he carried in tandem with his worn-out demeanor made you physically ache for him. 
“Tsukki… you’re not lookin’ too hot right now.” You let out a breathy laugh, slowly lifting yourself onto your tiptoes to brush a hand through his messy hair, testing the waters.
He doesn’t flinch away from your movements, so you sink back down onto the soles of your feet, letting your hand run down the side of his face.
“No shit, Sherlock. I don’t exactly feel great either.” He shoots back, but there’s a somber, troubled tinge.
Tsukki inches toward you, looking away as he tilts the side of his head into the palm of your hand. Your fingers cup his cheek.
Everyone knew how Tsukki acted when he was annoyed or angry. Snappy, sarcastic comments would be strewn in an almost poetic manner, kindly crushing those under his scrutiny. Many had seen Tsukishima after a merciless game, beaten and worn out. He would still have a muted fire behind his efforts and would carry himself with dignity, even if he didn’t feel confidence rise inside of him.
But gloominess? It doesn’t suit him. Not now, not ever.
And currently, he’s emanating a dreary, depressing sadness, like being caught in a rainstorm without an umbrella to shield you. It’s helpless and uncontrollable. Utterly humiliating.
You can practically feel the strain of the day radiating off of him. Tsukki had a tendency to wither slowly and cautiously. Not allowing anyone to watch as his snarky comments fizzled out and his sharp gaze gradually dull. By the look in his golden eyes, it was obvious that something in him had already snapped like an old tree branch. Battered and bruised by storm after brutal summer storm, finally shattering under the repetitive pressures of failure and imposter syndrome.
In the past, he had let apathy take over in order to not burden you. Withholding affection, thinking it would keep you safe from his sinking atmosphere when in reality he wished to drink in your tenderness. To fall under your grasp, sinking his head under your chin and lay across your chest.
But maybe it was all too much.
Too much to hold in. To carry alone.
“Kei…” At the use of his first name, he physically softens. Drawing his arms around your middle and clasping his hands behind your back, he gently rests his chin on your head.
“You can always lean on me.” You whisper into the fabric of his shirt.
Your words carry a deeper semblance. That you really are here for him. Physically, mentally, and emotionally ready to lift him up.
You picked a good time for physical touch because he only pulls you in tighter.
He’s pretty warm and smells like sweat mixed with deodorant and his cedar-scented shampoo. You grasp the cloth and squeeze him into you, making sure to keep him steady and balanced. His breathing falls into a gentle rhythm, almost as though he were falling asleep standing up.
“If you weren’t so lanky I would pick you up, but you’re a damn tree.” You sigh, poking fun at him.
The touches were cathartic. Healing. Authentic. Your lighthearted comments kept things comfortable, hindering him from drawing away due to feelings of unworthiness or self-consciousness.
“Wow, okay, bold words for someone who can hardly seem to pick up a bag of flour. You couldn’t hold me even if you were my height.” He snickers, tension releasing and adrenaline wearing off from the high-energy day.
You shift to look up at Tsukki, your chin gently pressing into his chest. He’s already staring down at you. You can’t help that a blush works its way up your neck and onto your cheeks, the warmth from his unusual touch sending you unwarranted fuzzy feelings. As much as you wished this embrace could be all for Tsukki, you’d wanted to hug him with all your might for a while now.
“Y/n… Honest question, so don’t laugh at me. Why are you doing this?” Tsukishima breaks eye contact, arms shifting to lean your chest more on top of his as he sinks a little deeper onto the counter, his back supported by the ledge.
“What do you mean by ‘this’?” You inquire, eyes still fixed on him, searching his expression.
“I mean... You know when things are going to shit. You know when I need something. A back massage, a slap to the face, hell, even a coffee sometimes.” He snorts, trying not to take his own question too seriously.
You’re the one to sigh now. Doesn’t he know how these things work by now? That being in a relationship with him meant more than insulting the daylights out of each other and going out to dinner? Apparently even Tsukishima lacks a lot perspective when it comes to loving another human being.
“You’re stubborn as hell.” You state plainly, your face going blank.
“What?”
“You refuse to see that you need help too sometimes, babe. Hate to break it to ya, but I actually like listening to and hugging you.” You break into a small smile.
“What does that have to do with anything?” He rolls his eyes at your confusing sentence.
“Are you that dense?” You express with mock disdain at his response.
“Tsukki, I’m saying that you don’t burden me! That I want to be there for you even after shitty days like these! You’re an absolute dumbass!” You snicker and your smile reaches your eyes, crinkling and squinting as his meet yours.
Instead of saying anything, Tsukishima rests in place, dumbfounded.
It’s true, you always were there for him.
Cheering at every game. Cooking dinner for him when you knew he would get home way too late and practically starving. Letting him rant relentlessly about losses and seemingly endless practices.
So why was it that only after breaking down in every way possible, he would finally let you see his most vulnerable thoughts and fears. That he would allow you to witness his exhaustion only once it had reached its peak. That it took Tsukki completely collapsing to let you wrap you arms around him.
And you both guess that it’s because old habits die hard.
Tsukki would always be Tsukki. A little too cold and relentlessly set on drenching others in his never-ending supply of sarcasm. Reluctant to accept help until it was already showing through the bleeding cracks of his figure and laced within his pained speech.
Because for someone so good at putting up and breaking through blocks, Tsukishima needed help with the walls that he had built up under his skin over the years. He needed to see that he couldn’t always protect you from his fears, but that you would be there to help him fight them. Or at least hug them away when it all got too much.
And as he presses a gentle kiss onto your forehead, you know it will be okay. Because embraces like these are what chip away at walls of fear. It’s the first step and you can already feel the tension crumble away, allowing warmth to surround the two of you. 
So you begin to remind him more and more that you like hugs. And he lets you hold him far more often, slowly but surely letting you deeper into his mind and into his arms. A much needed and highly welcomed addition to your everyday life.
---
tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies
(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list) 
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hello!! i am really really sorry if this sounds pushy or somethin but, will you ever publicly release that post swearth drabble you made?? i just curious
Today is actually the scheduled day, and on my partner's birthday no less, how fitting! Originally posted to my kofi for early access to supporters, now it's here for everyone!
Synopsis: Swerve and a human reader share a talk when he awakens after Swearth.
You were the first thing he thought about when he woke up, or so he would tell you later. Moments after he'd confessed how it was your touch, your tiny body clinging so tightly to him, that had welcomed him back to the land of the living. Apparently that had been the clue he needed to realize he wasn't dead.
It had been just you and him in the medical bay for hours following the... Swearth Incident, save for brief check ups from Velocity. The crew had given the two of you ample space and alone time once it was confirmed Swerve would soon awaken, both out of respect and to avoid the talk that would doubtless be needed between the two of you. There had been more than one occasion where you'd drifted off in the eternity it had taken for him to completely return to consciousness, your much smaller body protectively clinging to his beneath a blanket some unknown visitor had been kind enough to lay over you.
It seemed silly now, but you'd actually been angry when he'd come to so casually, yawning and rubbing his visor as if he was just waking from a nap. There'd been happiness as well, obviously, but you were still struggling too deeply to pretend everything was okay. Quite frankly, things had never been less okay between the two of you. 
Had you not been able to project down onto his fantasy world, joining the rescue party despite the copious limits of your biology, who was to say you'd have ever seen him awake again? He'd been hiding away in his room for months, dissuading you from visiting him by claiming there was "a huge mess that I'm too lazy to clean up"... Knowing that you weren't sure which hug had last been with his real self hurt more than you were ready to accept.
"Y/N...?"
Anger was briefly swallowed by a tsunami of relief when he sleepily murmured your name, his helm turning to let your face reflect on the newly polished surface of his visor, where your tear slicked expression dissapeared as you hugged him as securely as his broad shoulders allowed. 
"I thought I'd lost you..."
A knot in your throat prevented any further words from tumbling out, but the sobs that started to shake your whole body conveyed your thoughts just as well, sending a surge of hot tears splashing against his chest. Arms thicker than you wrapped gently about your smaller body, as calmly as if he were comforting you after a nightmare. A slight tremble in his grip made you hiccup in despair, your experience with his rather frequent hugs telling you the exhaustion from his still recent brush with death was still weighing him down, as ordinarily he would hold you like a lifeline for even the most casual embrace. Too many terrible things were finally registering as real far too quickly for you to process them all.
"I thought... when they called me into the medical bay..." You lost the tirade you'd been saving up to a storm of long buried grief. The memory of that call would forever haunt you, and now it was so recent the words were still burning in your ears, even though they'd been delivered so carefully... Agony from the sight of a familiar body lying broken on a medical slab made you nauseous, enough that only his increasingly desperate hug kept you grounded enough not to puke. Words poured forth in a cracked whisper, all the fear you'd been holding back for his sake rushing out of you without restraint, and interrupted only by an occasional hiccup or sob. "First Aid said you had days... That we'd been talking to a hologram for months, while you... you..."
The servos holding you tight maneuvered you to look him in the visor, keeping you in a loose hug while he put on what was probably intended to be a reassuring smile, though it failed to convince. "Hey, it was no big deal! Just my old shoulder wound playing up!"
"No big deal?" you repeated incredulously. A full body wince beneath you made it seem as if the words had physically hurt him, and while your heart ached as it always did when he was in pain, your other feelings could no longer be contained. He needed help for the suffering he'd endured in private, but in doing what he'd done you had nearly lost the one you cherished more than anything in the galaxy. You couldn't be expected to just let that go. 
"You nearly died! You were dying for months!" you said, disbelief still strong at the very idea. The bot you'd adored had been dying in secret with no symptoms, making it impossible to truly believe he was okay in this moment either. It seemed as if he might crumble beneath you at the slightest movement, but you kept talking, refusing to be quiet. "No one knew, not even me, that you were wasting away while we thought everything was fine! I didn't know! How many times did you hold me, or tell me you wanted to be together forever, while you..."
Sobs made it impossible to breathe, and therefore impossible to talk. 
"Y/N, I'm sorry..." Swerve said, softer than he'd ever been before. Careful servos pulled in your crying body against his and stroked your shaking shoulders, allowing you to vent everything you'd been enduring. Whether it took moments or hours before you were mostly quiet, he didn't interrupt you for anything, and he was silent until you were and he spoke again. "I never wanted to hurt anyone... I never wanted to hurt you... I... I didn't even know how bad of shape I was in."
"But you knew you were lying." you said, getting back to the core of the problem. Awareness of his condition mattered far less in the face of what he'd known and kept on doing. Though he did flinch yet again, Swerve didn't deflect this point, and instead nodded glumly in agreement. 
"That... yeah, I did."
"To everyone." you emphasized, pushing for an answer in regards to why. Not a single soul on the ship had known what was happening, until it was almost too late. Had Skids not acted so quickly and carried his friend to the medical bay directly... You made a mental note to thank him later, then returned to the present when the minibot in question finally looked ready to really talk. 
Taking more than a few starting vents, he finally got his thoughts gathered and his nerves primed, but every single word was unnaturally heavy. "It... it really didn't seem like a big deal. You were the only one who ever wanted to see me, in my own place, but it felt like I was doing you a favor..." Swallowing hard, he managed something like a smile and tried to sound reassuring, even if only to himself. "We still got to talk and everything else!"
There was too much to sort through in his partial explanation, thus you only stared. You'd always known he had issues when it came to self worth, but to hear him say teetering on the edge of death was no big deal? That by ridding you of himself he was doing you a favor? It wasn't something you could really wrap your brain around, but you supposed that wasn't important at the moment, not compared to what still needed to be done. There were more questions to be asked.
"You're hurting, and that's... I know you'd never try to hurt me, but you did. I want you to feel better, and I'll help, but I have to ask..." you said softly, finding the strength only as you came to each individual word to continue. Swerve showed in his braced expression that he anticipated something heavy was coming, a question he really didn't want to answer, but he didn't do anything to stop you.
"Y/N..."
Trying not to cry but still hiccuping, you forced yourself to keep looking in his visor. This wasn't supposed to be easy, after all, you repeated in your head as you finally croaked out the question. "Did you think about me at all? What this would do to me? Did you really think I wouldn't care?"
Something within him, something physical, seemed to break quickly and painfully. You felt it in how he flinched his much larger body as you lay curled over him. The unique way his visor light sputtered when he was hit with deep emotion told you he was reeling, and in that moment you forgot all about the complexities of the situation.
"I... I didn't-" he choked out on a sob, vents pulling air back and forth quickly in the Cybertronian equivalent of breathless crying. Heart breaking, you registered in some deep part of your brain that a dam he'd been relying on had just cracked.  Embracing his helm against your chest, you gently stroked his cheek, whispering his nickname to try and convey your support.
"Swervy..."
Clipped by sobs, his words tumbled out mostly coherently, and you held him as they did. "I r-really thought you could... could do better. I'm just h-holding you back and... and if I wasn't there... but I couldn't make myself stop seeing you!" A few hard sobs stopped him for a good minute, at which point your shirt began to dampen with his tears. What you were hearing had been simmering for ages, and as much as it hurt to hear, you knew just letting it out was progress. That didn't make it any easier to listen as he continued... 
"The holo... it was s-slow and made it like... like I was saving us both from hurt by slipping away. I didn't have to end things, we could pull back bit by bit and then... then you'd find someone better... but I didn't pull back at all, did I? I even made a second you, because I'm too selfish-"
You couldn't let him finish that thought. "Stop. No more of that."
Swerve looked surprised at your firmness, and admittedly had reason to feel as such. Swearth had included a holomatter of you already, albeit one that lived completely separate from his split personas... It had been you in the simplest, happiest of ways, living your dream life on his fictional escape from reality. Clearly he expected you to still be furious at what had only made you sad.
"B-but I ruined everyt-thing! If I'd just been brave enough to break up with you before-" 
"I don't want you to break up with me!" you cried, lifting your upper body to look down at him. Emotions raged inside you with enough ferocity to make you tremble, and for an instant you had to gather yourself. You'd known he was suffering, that he struggled with inadequacy, but for it to have gotten so bad? How had you not known he felt like this? 
Swerve looked absolutely baffled at your words, as if he'd heard you wrong or misunderstood. "But... I-"
"I love you! Even if there's some voice in your head that won't let you believe it, it's true! I want to be with you, and even after all this I still do!" you insisted, holding onto him as if he might vanish in a flash like before. Unable to stop yourself from crying at the raw emotions you didn't have the ability to handle, you wiped away the tears on the back of your arm, fighting to keep talking despite the pain. He had to know how you really felt, and if this moment was the only one you could break through to him you were going to use it. His cheeks were hot in your hands as you cupped his face. "I just need you to work on getting better! No more hiding, or lying, or any of that, I want you to be with me as you, because that's who I fell in love with!"
Swerve was totally silent, his little dentae gap showing between his slightly parted lips as he stared at you. His feelings were beyond guessing, but you were growing exhausted, too much to even hope you could keep this up. Sniffling, you laid back down over him. The frame beneath you was warm and alive, but just that morning it had been... he'd been so close to leaving you. Then again, he'd felt fine all the times you'd held him in the prior months, how did you know this was any different?
"I want to be with you. The real you. I don't know how to be sure this you is real either..." 
Exhaustion dragged you down against him, and you lost the ability to even lift your head as it all seemed to sink in. You hadn't wanted to make this about yourself, but your pain was just too intense to shove aside. Tears, more than you knew you had, continued to fall onto his chest. As they dripped onto the newly cleaned armor, you felt him suddenly shift beneath you. Curling up partway, he scooped you up completely in his arms and hugged you close.
"It's me this time, babe. A hundred percent. I k-know it's hard to believe that, but I... I want to help you trust me." he said, shaky but firm as he made his promise. For all the hours you'd spent listening to him you'd never once heard him use such a tone. There was conviction in the depths of his visor as he held you close, tapping his forehead against your forehelm. While you could also see pain, there was a desire to fight it now. His request for help came on a quiet murmur. "I don't know how to do that, but I don't wanna hurt anymore..."
"I can help with that. Not all by myself, but I'll be here for you as long as you try." you vowed, stumbling over your words as you found them. There was a strange solace in the idea, as if planning your recovery together was healing in and of itself. Too relieved to care, you pressed your face into his cheek. The faintest hint of his usual scent; sweet energon blends and brews, was still apparent beneath the sterile medical air. It soothed you as you allowed yourself to rest on top of him. "From now on, no more hiding this stuff. We're gonna get you feeling better, I promise."
"I love you..." Swerve whispered, hopefully but tentatively. A lifetime of doubt wouldn't just dissapear after one massive event, you knew that, but the start was good enough for you. Kissing his tear stained cheek, you held him close, hoping your unconditional love was clear in every word. It would be a journey, but you hoped someday he'd understand how much you meant it.
"I love you too, Swervey. Always will."
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dirkjakeweekly · 3 years
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DIRKJAKE FIC RECS
This is a rebloggeable version of our sidebar page reproduced in full, for those who prefer to save things on their own blogs for later!
INTRO
This page is not intended to be an encyclopedia, but rather a non-exhaustive list of a few Dirkjake Fanfics (and Fancomics) for those that may be interested in the ship, but a little too tired of trawling through AO3 search! Some of these contain NSFW or suggestive content, viewer discretion is advised.
[ FIC RECS (last updated Jan 2021, click readmore for full list) ]
It’s only a canvas sky
Their guardians dead at the hands of the Condesce, growing up in the shadow of her slow takeover of the Skaian Federation, Dirk Strider and Jake English have spent their whole lives alone up until shortly before their twelfth birthdays.
Or: Dirk fixes a transmitter, makes a friend, builds a robot, and tries to communicate affection over distance to the barest possible minimum.
Read here!
GOD’S BRAND NEW FATE SELECTOR (Fancomics)
In ONE PARTICULAR TIMELINE, detached from many similar ones, an aspiring divorcee stands by his baby’s cradle and attempts to hatch an escape plan with some aid from the ghost of his long-deceased boyfriend. He’s not exactly helpful.
SOMEWHERE ELSE ENTIRELY, Dirk Strider is overcame by the nagging feeling his splinters may be getting a little out of hand and far too into his head, when he gets a booty call.
One timeline is Epilogues-Compliant, another Epilogues-Divergent. 
Read here!
We’re All Friends & Family Here (And Frankly, We’re Sick Of Your Shit)
It’s been about a year since the big Fast Forward, and sure, things on Earth C aren’t perfect for everyone. But they’re fine. Really. It’s fine. Everything is super fuckin’ swell, and that’s that.
It’s not like one night is going to change anything.
Read here!
Perpetuity
“Call it a car crash waiting to happen, you’ll just call it your downfall”
Dirk is a romantic, just not a particularly optimistic one.
(Written pre-epilogues release, post-game, fix-it)
Read here!
Tailspinning Into the Epilogues with Dirk and Jake (complete series)
Read here!
Stark Nonfiction (Part of the Tailspinning series)
Jake tries his hand at a gentler epilogue.
Read here!
Between the Lines (Part of the Tailspinning series)
“It’s just… I can’t remember the last time I felt so at peace, I guess. It was such a lovely jaunt with Jade, and instead of being all torn up about coming home, I feel even better, now. It’s actually been a real while and a half since I felt… bad, you know? Like actually bad.”
You don’t have much in the way of emotional permanence about that sort of thing. Surely it was months ago, when you were staring gloomily at the bottoms of bottles like the world’s most up-his-own-ass useless overdramatic dilettante. Did it even really happen, if it all, in hindsight, just seems like a dumb pantomime of misery to get attention? A successful dumb pantomime of misery to get attention, mind you, you definitely got it, and a boyfriend to boot. Was it ever really as atrocious and apocalyptic and unsurvivable as it seemed?
Read here!
A Palate Cleanser (Part of the Tailspinning series)
ROXY: hay everybody its jakes turn! ROXY: hes got a few words hed like to say about our dear departed buddy
The eulogy we missed on Candy’s page 15.
Read here!
Eschewal
“you hope he’s a benevolent god”
Read here!
Grublr. (Fancomic)
In the consort kingdom, atop of the large, humongous mansion where the god of Hope lives, there is an apartment complex.
Read here!
The Hitchhikers Guide to Your Ex-Boyfriend (Fancomic)
Jake English waking up sore and alone on a cold floor is not a strange occurrence for him as of late. The ethereal beam of light and sluggishly churning floor is new, but he’s woken up in stranger places.
If circumstances were better he’d probably have something shocked and relevant to say about this strange landscape he’s found himself in, but circumstances are in fact legendarily shit right now.
(A comic/fic where Jake English gets rights)
Read here!
The Four Kings, the God Thief, and the Black Diamond Pirates
Dirk and Vriska have it good. They raid ships, pillage merchant vessels, constantly poison each other, possess a lucrative pact with the Wind King, sing a lot of dope fuckin’ sea shanties, and captain a loveable crew of pirate scum. They’re ready to kick back, take it easy, and become the vile and revered scourge of the diamond trading line.
Then they find someone in the water.
Read here!
Sea shanties for Thots (Four Kings continuation)
Jake English has never done anything wrong, ever, in his life, if you don’t count literally all that stuff from the first installment of oxfordRoulette’s diegetic-musical-cum-found-family-pirate-AU. Luckily, that was in the last story, and he is completely better now in all respects. None of that nonsense is a thing anymore and it will not be relevant at all! Surrounded by friends and allies, with a very cool piratey boyfriend and a hold full of treasure from his recently decimated country, he’s got everything a fellow could want.
What will he do?
Befriend an octopus god. Learn to fish. Kick back. Take it easy. Kiss his boyfriend a lot. Open a jewelry company? Pursue immortality. Confront his past. Embrace his future. Maybe save the world. One thing’s for sure: there will be a lot of songs involved.
Read here!
Two idiots at Homoville, N69, TX
In a moment of desperation, Dirk goes on r/relationships. Things get oversharey real quick. He types as follows:
“I [23M] cannot understand my [24M?] roommate. He is the most bizarre man to ever set foot on earth and I’m afraid I’m losing him.”
or, and They Were Roommates.
Read here!
Drive it home with one headlight
Some mistakes are so fucking big that they divert the path of your life entirely, sending you somewhere you were never meant to go. Some mistakes are so seismic and so obvious that when you look back on your life all you can see is the beacon where you made them. Some mistakes leave you so far off course you don’t even recognize who you are or why you’re still here.
You don’t usually get a chance to make amends.
Read here!
A Tallied List of Various Occasions in Which Jake English Encountered the Elusive Smile Belonging to One Dirk Strider
Jake English, explorer extraordinaire, tracks down the most unique treasure of all: a nerd in pointy sunglasses.
Read here!
BONES OF BLACK MARROW
Dirk summons a demon for the exclusive purpose of ‘cathartic boning.’ He gets what he wants.
NOTE: This fic is ergodic (think House of Leaves), which means it cannot be downloaded for offline perusal on your kindle/pdf reader. Also has CYOA elements, so clicking “Entire Work” will make the fic impossible to read.
Read here!
fire fly
A wedding. An anxiety attack. A daring tryst.
Read here!
DIRK TOPS (Fancomic)
Ever think about how Dirk Strider got full narrative awareness of the fanfics where he’s the big scary hunk in charge and went “I can do that” when he wasn’t, in fact, able to do that? i do. i think about that.
Read here!
MLM stands for Moron loving Moron (Fancomic)
aren’t you TIRED of longing? don’t you just want to go APESHIT while dating your best bro? i mean, you’ve earned it, right? (Collection of oneshot comics. marked as complete, updates whenever)
Read here!
fist is a four letter word
Jake’s face quirks. “App?“ 
“Yeah, app. Like, application. You know your phone can do other things right? Like, apps.”
“You sure do keep using that word! I’m not quite sure I understand what you mean.”
“You know, apps.” You try to think of how to explain apps. You suddenly can’t think of what apps are.
What’s the name of an app.
Literally just name any app.
He’s staring at you.
Oh my god.
Read here!
Witching Hour
There’s something almost magical about that time between too late at night and too early in the morning. It’s the perfect time to meet a stranger and go on an adventure.
Read here!
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THE SLEEPOVER FIC | Part 5 The Contemplating
Notes: James Acaster, Original characters, No warnings this week just some good innocent fluff. I lied. I mention babestation twice, one day I will write something innocent. 
Pairing: James Acaster x Reader 
Genre: Fluff with eventual smut, Slow Burn fic
Words: 2,439
Summary: You and James have put yourselves into trouble, but you think maybe it’s hotter that way. 
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 /  Part 9
The following Sunday morning you awoke to sunrise draping lazily through your cream curtains. Pulling the duvet back you dragged yourself out of bed with a soft stretch. Making your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You looked out your window at the dusty London street. 
It was going to be a pleasant day today. Temperature making its way up to the mid-twenties. So late last night you had decided you would have a day outdoors. You had some writing to do for a project you were planning therefore you’d figured today was as good as any to start. Brushing your teeth idly you started your, now rather frequent, internal dialogue on James. 
Your mind had been running circles since Wednesday evening and the kiss he’d given you on his way out. Part of you kept telling yourself that ‘maybe this was just a way he said goodbye to people’. After all, the two of you hadn’t had a sober goodbye up until that point. Perhaps it was just his formalities. And it wasn’t as if he’d called or even dropped you a text since then to indicate a romantic gesture. But the other half of you could help read between the lines of his subtle touches you could still feel on your skin.
Washing your face and leaving the room you moved to your wardrobe. Pulling out an oversized white tee and dark wash jeans. You began to get dressed. Considering where you might like to go today. After some deliberation you decided on the coffee house beside Camden lock. You sat down at your desk, putting on some concealer, liner and brushing up your eyebrows. You looked into your y/e/c eyes, edging the spoolie in between your fingers and resting your chin in both hands. Letting out a large sigh, the confusion continued.
You’d always considered yourself to know right from wrong. However, your thoughts of James had lately been trivial to that. Although you knew that James wasn’t happy in his relationship, that didn’t mean that his partner wasn’t. This was yet another hurdle of guilt that was blocking you from admitting growing feelings for James. But as much as you blocked it from your mind, you couldn’t block out the way James made you feel. A sense of calm, giddiness and as though you had known him all your life. Yet it had only just been one week since you first met. 
Dropping your hand and sighing you shook the thoughts from your head. Brushing your hair quickly, grabbing your laptop bag and heading out for the day. 
The air was warm, the sun shining down onto the streets as you stepped out from your apartment complex. You inhaled, sucking in the early summer air. It was busy on the streets, as it usually was on a Sunday in London. Many people basking in the final day on their trips before getting the train home. You would always recognise how lucky you were to have the chance to live in such a vibrant city, doing the work that you loved. Trotting with a skip in your step to your local tube station. A smile across your face from your blessing. 
The tube, as always, was muggy and dirty. Passing a burst of carbonated air through every once in a while. But eventually you made it to Camden station and were able to bask in the sunlight once again. You made your way up Camden market, the bright colours above the stylistic storefronts. People weaving past as you pushed through the crowd, heading straight up towards the lock. 
After some time of fighting past bodies you reached the lock, the filthy black bars and open arms of the coffee shop embracing you on arrival. You ordered your usual drink, nestling down onto a free table in the outside seating area. Under a parasol in the corner.
There were lots of people sitting and chatting around you, enjoying the sunshine with each other's company. You people watched for a while, taking pleasure in voyeurism was one of your favourite things to do in the city. It was filled with an array of characters, outside the restraints of the cafe’s fencing. The lining of the lock was littered with people, sitting, eating and drinking casually. There was a young couple beside you, seemingly on a first date, their conversation awkward and laced with anxiety. Reminding you subconsciously of how alone you were. Not only in this moment, but somewhat in day to day life.
Mostly working during the day, you hardly indulged in the thought of spending your time going on dates, let alone falling in love with someone. After your previous relationship you needed time for yourself. To learn, grow and understand who you were as a person. And yet here you were, years down the line having done all these things. Working alone in a coffee shop, surrounded by people in love. You pondered the idea for a moment, staring at the half drafted document on the screen of your laptop before beginning to type.
Comically however, just as you did so, your phone started to buzz from the pocket of your jeans. You reached inside, studying the caller ID before you answered. It was Olive, you pressed it to your ear. 
“Olive” 
“Hi lovely, I just wondered what you’re up to today?”
“Not much, I’m just starting the Eraser project I told you about the other day. I was going to send you the proposal a little later to see if you're on the same page with my thinking”
“Oh, brilliant, I was actually going to ask if you wanted to meet up over coffee to talk about it. I could come by yours in about an hour if that's okay?”
“I’m actually not in at the moment, I’m in Camden, I can meet you somewhere if you like though?” 
“Camden sounds lovely on a day like today. I’ll come down and meet you there!” 
“Alright perfect, I’ll text you the cafe I’m at when you set off?” 
“That's great thank you, I’ll see you soon.” The phone cut out, leaving only the hubbub of people as your background noise. With a smile you began to type once again, grateful for someone to  subside your lonely feeling. 
Olivia arrived about forty five minutes after your initial call, the second call being moments ago when she couldn’t find you in the seating area. She was wearing a jade kimono that had an intricate peacock pattern on top of a black cotton jumpsuit. Paired with embellished sandals as well as multiple chunky bracelets. She gave you a warm smile as you waved at her above the sea of people. 
“Y/n!” she said, making her way over and sitting across from you. A cup of jasmine tea in her hand. 
“Hello lady Olivia,”
“How have you been?” 
“On off, how about you?”
“About the same, grateful for the sunshine!” She exclaimed, raising her hands passionately in the air. 
“So.”
“So” You grinned at one another, excited to be discussing a new creative project. “What are your thoughts”
“I think first of all it should be filled with colour. Hopefully, if all goes well, we’ll be able to set up an open air theatre by the end of summer, just before the kids go back to school. I want flowers and paint and colourful lighting.”
“That sounds amazing, what do you want me to do on the other side of things”
“Well I’d like for you to take a bit more of a writing hat this time around. I think you’re ready for it. I’d like to see what you can create and bounce off of one another that way. I think it’d also be lovely to get a balance between different age perspectives with what were wanting to talk about”
“I’m up for that one hundred percent, I’ll be the old crone you need whenever you need it love” You laughed at her choice of words, not having intended your statement in that way but nonetheless you appreciated her humour. “How long until you’re wanting to book a space for making?” 
“I can get us one by next week if you want?” 
“Yeah that's fine by me.” 
The initial project proposal you’d brought forward was to explore gender and sexuality through growth. With memoirs, dance and music that was reminiscent of your own identity. You’d been brewing on the project for some time now. Unsure of how to put it into the world with its fullest potential. Then, you’d been working with Olivia and watching her grow at a later stage in life, you’d brought back out the project with a new filter. Wanting to go on a journey of creating ‘Eraiser’ along with her. The creative juices were flowing. You were on your third drink of the day, now accompanied with a muffin as your stomach had begun to rumble. You’d been brainstorming stories and concept ideas, bouncing off one another for a while when your phone began pinging on the table. It was a text from James causing you to do a secret giddy dance. The message that came through that read,
Are you in Camden? 
I am, why? 
Initially confused by how he knew your location before an image of you and Olivia from a distance came through. You smiled at the sound of his voice calling out your name above the early afternoon sun. 
“Y/n!”
“James!” You responded, him making his way towards your table. You stood from your chair as he came closer, embracing him in a hug. James was dressed in a pair of yellow canvas shorts and a white tee to match your own. He enclosed his arms around you. Being slightly taller he was able to naturally rest his chin atop of your head. 
“How’ve you been?” He murmured, placing a stealthy half kiss in your hair, before you released one another from the embrace. 
“I’m alright how are you?” 
“Okay thanks, you smell nice by the way” An offhand comment that made your hands curl around your middle finger. 
“This is Olivia, my co-worker. Olive, James”
“Lovely to meet you” James held out a hand to shake Olivia’s. Once again causing you to question his ambition by how he interacted with her in contrast to you. From the handshake to the lack of speaking her name in a sentence as he did with you. You regained your seat as the two chatted.
“You too James. Might you be James from the telly?” 
“Depends what channels you’re into.”
“Babestation?”
“Thats me”
“Have a seat,” She offered as the three of you chuckled, pointing to an empty table behind him. Accepting the invite to the table graciously James grabbed a chair and sat down beside you. 
“What are you doing here?” 
“Just having a meeting, enjoying the sunshine.” You squinted up towards the sky. 
“Oh sorry, I’m not interrupting am I?”
“No no,” Olivia spoke with a slightly devilish grin, “We were about finished I think.” 
This was a lie, you had been in the middle of explaining something to her when James had texted you. Knowing the implication behind her smile you rolled her eyes. It was going to be a long story to tell her once James had left. She continued, 
“So where did the two of you meet?” 
“We have a mutual friend, we met last friday for some drinks.” James nodded in agreement, mumbling a, some under his breath with a shake of his head. “What’re you doing here?” 
“Oh you know, getting out of the flat while it's nice out. I’ve been working all week so haven't had a chance to see many people that I don't have to be funny for” 
You felt slightly guilty but somewhat better about the fact that James hadn’t called since Wednesday. Selfishly forgetting he was a busy man, attempting to balance working to please people with a crumbling relationship. Not wanting him to feel lonely or burnt out. “Grab a drink if you like, I don’t mind not laughing at your jokes.” You responded sarcastically, however your intention was somewhat laced with care. James flashed you a kind smile, eyebrows raised in excitement. He placed his hands on the table, squaring his elbows in a half stand. 
“Only if you’re sure, I don't want to impose!” 
“No please join us, Y/n is not as interesting company as a real life pornstar” Olivia joked, causing a ripple of smiles and a light ‘fuck off’ to roll from your tounge. James stood from his seat with a ‘I won't be long’. The two of you watched him disappear into the cafe before Olivia turned to you with a knowing look on her face. You sighed, taking a sip of your drink. 
“So, is he good in bed?” 
“We haven’t had sex,”
“You should, he’s dishy” 
“It's not like that,” You trailed off “He has a girlfriend.”
“Are you sure?” 
“Yeah… but it's complicated apparently”
“How so?” 
You explained as briefly as you could the events of the past week or so. Trying to watch out for how close James was getting towards the front of the line inside. After your word vomit Olivia’s grin was back. 
“So you like him then?” 
“I-” You contemplated, not having audibly admitted your thoughts for him yet. And the idea that you would have to face him in a couple minutes after doing so made you nervous. “It’s confusing.” you settled with. 
“It doesn’t have to be Y/n” 
Silently agreeing, you observed James as he ordered his drink now. Standing gently with one hand in his pocket, the other placed on the counter, his pelvis angled towards the window you were looking in from. Olivia continued, 
“Listen to me. I’m twice your age love, and I know it might sound complicated and terrifying now but you’ll regret the things you didn’t try for when you’re my age. He seems lovely and it's clearly something that you want. You’ve been around him for less than ten minutes and your face has been lit up since he arrived. Even if its short lived its worth a shot, plus, it looks like he's into you”
“You don’t know that” 
“Please, the way he had his hands around you earlier. I was practically gushing” 
James had started making his way back to the two of you now holding an iced tea in his palm. He flashed you a smile as he came through the door. 
“Just think about it.” Olive started again with a wink, “Because if you don’t, I might”
Thank you to all the lovelies who have been following the fic so far. I’ve been posting now every other day just to try get better quality of writing so hopefully yall are coping with that. Let me know any thoughts you have about the fic. I’m also taking James x Reader oneshot requests via DM’s so if you have anything you need desperately to be manifested I’m your gal. 
- Princess Maria :)))))
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delphinidin4 · 3 years
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“Abominable neglect and unkindness”: Fanny Price and Trauma
I have C-PTSD, and it’s really been on my mind as I’ve been rereading Mansfield Park by Jane Austen: her heroine of Fanny Price is so OBVIOUSLY traumatized that I started making notes upon notes upon notes in my kindle copy on her symptoms and their causes. A couple of my followers said they’d be interested to read my analysis if I wrote it up, and it doesn’t take much to encourage me to put a few thousand words on the page screen! So below is my (probably WAY too long) analysis of Fanny Price’s emotional trauma and complex PTSD (a form of PTSD often caused by long-term emotional abuse/neglect). It’s hella long. sorrynotsorry lol
*unleashes inner academic*
Part 1: How Fanny Price Was Traumatized
Trauma 1: She is taken from family and home. 
Okay, imagine this: You’re ten years old. You grew up in a noisy, lower-middle-class family with multiple little siblings and both your parents. You are the oldest girl, and are important to all the members of your family because you act as “playfellow, instructress, and nurse” to your younger siblings. You are also “exceedingly timid and shy”. And suddenly you find out that your mother is SENDING YOU AWAY--far, far away--to aunts and uncle and cousins you’ve never met before, to be raised by THEM instead of your parents. Leaving everything else out of the equation for a second, that by itself would be ABSOLUTELY DEVASTATING.  You would feel like your parents didn’t love you and didn’t want you. You weren’t important to them. You might wonder what you did wrong to be sent away. And THEN it turns out you’re NEVER COMING BACK. EVER. Fanny doesn’t see her family again until she is, I think nineteen years old. At first, she doesn’t even have the means to write to her brother William, which was to be her ONLY connection to her family: it seems her parents don’t write to her at all over the course of the novel.
All of this would be bad enough. But to come to a place that was entirely alien to everything you had known... I mean, think about it. This is Mansfield Park, an ENORMOUS house with MANY servants, a completely different way of doing things. There’s MONEY. Even the items around you are of a totally different quality than you’re used to: Austen says of Fanny’s initial impression of Mansfield, “The grandeur of the house astonished, but could not console her. The rooms were too large for her to move in with ease: whatever she touched she expected to injure, and she crept about in constant terror of something or other; often retreating towards her own chamber to cry.” The accent people speak with is probably different. The vocabulary is probably different. And everybody DEFINITELY thought she was under-educated (more about this in a bit) because she didn’t have the education of a gentleman’s daughter--because she ISN’T a gentleman’s daughter. It must have caused her intense culture shock.
Trauma 2: William’s absence
It’s clear that in her childhood in Portsmouth, William is the dearest member of Fanny’s family (see below for a discussion of her parents). When Fanny first arrives at Mansfield, Edmund discovers that, 
dear as all these brothers and sisters generally were, there was one among them who ran more in her thoughts than the rest. It was William whom she talked of most, and wanted most to see. William, the eldest, a year older than herself, her constant companion and friend; her advocate with her mother (of whom he was the darling) in every distress. ‘William did not like she should come away; he had told her he should miss her very much indeed.’ 
Fanny’s one really warm and loving connection seems to be with William, and she is parted from him, first by her move to Mansfield, and then by his going to sea:
Once, and once only, in the course of many years, had she the happiness of being with William. Of the rest [of her Portsmouth family] she saw nothing: nobody seemed to think of her ever going amongst them again, even for a visit, nobody at home seemed to want her; but William determining, soon after her removal, to be a sailor, was invited to spend a week with his sister in Northamptonshire before he went to sea. Their eager affection in meeting, their exquisite delight in being together, their hours of happy mirth, and moments of serious conference, may be imagined; as well as ...the misery of the girl when he left her. Luckily the visit happened in the Christmas holidays, when she could directly look for comfort to her cousin Edmund.
Fanny continues a correspondence with William when he is at sea, but it’s clear that his long absence from her life is very difficult for her.
One final note on her being parted from her family for long intervals: I think we might actually see a sign of this trauma in an emotional flashback later in the book.
For those unfamiliar with complex PTSD, flashbacks don’t always mean that you have a sort of hallucination of a traumatic experience. In the case of complex PTSD and PTSD from early childhood trauma, flashbacks often occur in the form of “emotional flashbacks”: instead of re-experiencing the sensory  input of the traumatic experience (seeing and hearing the experience all over again when triggered), emotional flashbacks consist ONLY of the emotional content of the trauma. They result in sudden rushes of negative emotions such as fear, shame, sorrow, despair, embarrassment, anger, etc. This may be partly because the trigger is acting on so many different traumatic memories at once (the brain can’t just pick out one to show to you) and partly because the traumatic memory being triggered is from so early in your childhood that you don’t have a direct memory of it anymore, just the trauma memory. Emotional flashbacks can be identified by comparing the emotional response to the stimulus: If the emotion is inappropriate for the situation or inappropriately intense, it may well be a flashback.
In this scene, Miss Crawford--whom Fanny does not care for at all--is taking her leave of Fanny: I find it to be illuminating.
And embracing her very affectionately, “Good, gentle Fanny! when I think of this being the last time of seeing you for I do not know how long, I feel it quite impossible to do anything but love you.”
Fanny was affected. She had not foreseen anything of this, and her feelings could seldom withstand the melancholy influence of the word “last.” She cried as if she had loved Miss Crawford more than she possibly could.
It sounds to me as if Fanny is having a negative reaction that is out of proportion for and inappropriate to the situation. Miss Crawford is leaving, and Fanny is GLAD that she is leaving. Nonetheless, she is involuntarily emotionally “affected” by Miss Crawford’s goodbye, and cries far more than is actually in keeping with her feelings. It seems like Fanny is triggered by the leave-taking and “the melancholy influence of the word ‘last’.”  Fanny has had traumatic leave-takings from her family and her beloved William; and things like “This is the last time I’ll see you for who knows how long” must have been said to her before in intensely traumatic situations. So it’s no wonder she gets triggered by this situation’s similarity to those and has an out-sized emotional response. Separations from her family and from William were definitely traumatic to her and reminders of them now trigger trauma responses.
Trauma 3: Emotional neglect by parental figures
Fanny might not have been so badly traumatized by leaving her family and being separated from William if she had had emotional support from adult caregivers. Research has shown that if a child has even ONE adult to whom they can talk openly about their feelings, that can insulate them against the effects of trauma.
Fanny doesn’t have this. Both Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram are emotionally neglectful and distant.* Lady Bertram is pleasant, but is entirely self-centered and doesn’t really GAF about anybody or anything that doesn’t directly affect her. While she never abuses or hurts Fanny with unkindness, she also never comforts her, listens to her, or seems to do anything but get Fanny to fetch and carry for her and do half her sewing for her. There is a total lack of emotional  connection between them until considerably later in the story. 
[*Footnote: Miss Lee is surprisingly absent from the narrative and seems to be of no emotional support to Fanny whatsoever.]
Sir Thomas is worse. While he intends to take good care of Fanny--and to his credit, he does make sure she has her material needs met, is well educated, gets exercise, etc--he cannot be said to be NICE to her. Even when she first arrives, when he is trying his hardest to be kind, Austen says, “Sir Thomas, seeing how much she needed encouragement, tried to be all that was conciliating: but he had to work against a most untoward gravity of deportment.” He’s not good with kids, and he seems to be highly critical of Fanny, especially before his return from Antigua. Apparently he used to terrify her in childhood by catechizing her on her lessons in French in English, which implies he constantly found her wanting. His parting words to her on the beginning of his voyage to Antigua are downright scalding:  “If William does come to Mansfield, I hope you may be able to convince him that the many years which have passed since you parted have not been spent on your side entirely without improvement; though, I fear, he must find his sister at sixteen in some respects too much like his sister at ten.”
JFC, Tommy-boy. Throttle back a little, can’t you?
He’s not popular even with his own daughters: Austen says of Maria and Julia, “Their father was no object of love to them; he had never seemed the friend of their pleasures, and his absence was unhappily most welcome. They were relieved by it from all restraint”. Sir Thomas comes across as a bit of a martinet, always finding fault and always saying no. At best, he doesn’t seem to be at all warm and encouraging, and appears to be almost entirely ignorant, not only of what Fanny’s character is like, but also about his own daughters’ characters.
There’s also the problem of his lack of understanding and compassion for Fanny. She describes him as “all that was clever and good,” but both his cleverness and goodness frequently seem to be lacking. He doesn’t understand Fanny’s feelings any more than he understands those of Maria, sending Edmund to sound Fanny out on the subject of Mr. Crawford because he CANNOT understand how a woman might not love a man that was clever, pleasant and rich. While he provided the money to raise Fanny, his disregard of her is clear when he sends her on a long visit to Portsmouth, where her health suffers. Even Crawford recognizes Sir Thomas’s likeliness to neglect her:
I know Mansfield, I know its way, I know its faults towards you. I know the danger of your being so far forgotten, as to have your comforts give way to the imaginary convenience of any single being in the family. I am aware that you may be left here week after week, if Sir Thomas cannot settle everything ... without involving the slightest alteration of the arrangements which he may have laid down for the next quarter of a year.
Sir Thomas, while priding himself (and being praised by others) as being so kind and clever, has low emotional intelligence and too little care for Fanny. Despite his occasional kindnesses, and her claim on his care as his direct dependent, she is not one of his priorities.
Of course, Fanny’s own parents would have had the strongest effects on her earliest years (especially considering the Prices didn’t seem to have a nanny or governess, so Mrs. Price would have been responsible for all her education, as well).  It’s clear that Fanny’s mother didn’t show her much love in her early childhood: Mrs. Price is described as 
“the ‘mama’ who had certainly shewn no remarkable fondness for her formerly; but this [Fanny] could easily suppose to have been her own fault or her own fancy. She had probably alienated love by the helplessness and fretfulness of a fearful temper, or been unreasonable in wanting a larger share than any one among so many could deserve.” 
We can see Fanny here doing what so many emotionally neglected children do, making excuses for their parents and assuming that the emotional neglect and abuse they suffer are somehow THEIR fault. Many emotionally abused or neglected children believe that they’re too loud, too needy, too much, and even ugly, blaming themselves for their parents’ rejecting and disgusted behavior toward them.
It’s proven, however, when Fanny goes home, that her parents are just as neglectful of her as she felt them to be formerly. Her father is “negligent of his family”, and her mother clearly does not really love her:
Mrs. Price was not unkind; but, instead of gaining on her affection and confidence, and becoming more and more dear, her daughter never met with greater kindness from her than on the first day of her arrival. The instinct of nature was soon satisfied, and Mrs. Price’s attachment had no other source. Her heart and her time were already quite full; she had neither leisure nor affection to bestow on Fanny. Her daughters never had been much to her.* She was fond of her sons, especially of William, but Betsey was the first of her girls whom she had ever much regarded. To her she was most injudiciously indulgent. William was her pride; Betsey her darling; and John, Richard, Sam, Tom, and Charles occupied all the rest of her maternal solicitude, alternately her worries and her comforts. These shared her heart: her time was given chiefly to her house and her servants.
[*Footnote: I have to stop here for a moment and mention poor Susan, whom I like better at every reading. With Mrs. Price only loving her sons and Betsy, with Mary dead and Fanny gone, Susan was for years THE ONLY completely unloved child in the house, which must have been pretty awful. It’s clear that Fanny and Susan have suffered rather similar fates in being raised without love, and Susan only responds more with irritation and Fanny more with tears:  “Susan was only acting on the same truths, and pursuing the same system, which [Fanny’s] own judgment acknowledged, but which her more supine and yielding temper would have shrunk from asserting. Susan tried to be useful, where she could only have gone away and cried”. Please tell me somebody’s written a sequel about Susan?]
Again, while Mr. and Mrs. Price are not CRUEL, they’re not KIND, either. They are deeply emotionally neglectful toward Susan and Fanny, and Mrs. Price shows favoritism for the rest of her children, thus hurting her daughters further. Fanny’s probable surmise when she was sent away that she was not loved or wanted by her parents unfortunately appears to be very true. While an adult like Fanny can rationalize such behavior by her parents (even if it pains her), a child cannot do so, and the Prices’ lack of love for their own daughter must have been traumatizing and contributed to her belief that she can never matter to anybody (more on this in a bit).
Trauma 4: Lack of Companionship: Maria and Julia (and Miss Lee)
Fanny’s education when she arrives at Mansfield is not that of a gentlewoman--hardly surprising, given both her family’s socioeconomic position and her mother’s busy-ness with her family and general indolence. Maria and Julia’s education on scholarly subjects is clearly much stronger (they’re also 2-3 years older than her), and we know that their moral education was neglected, so that they only care about whether Fanny is rich and well-educated like themselves:
They could not but hold her cheap on finding that she had but two sashes, and had never learned French; and when they perceived her to be little struck with the duet they were so good as to play, they could do no more than make her a generous present of some of their least valued toys, and leave her to herself, while they adjourned to whatever might be the favourite holiday sport of the moment, making artificial flowers or wasting gold paper.
They’re generous enough to give her presents (though their least-valued belongings), but not generous enough to actually spend time with her, and it appears that this pattern holds throughout Fanny’s time at Mansfield.
At first, Mrs. Norris, Sir Thomas, and Miss Lee all think her actually stupid instead of just ill-educated: we are told that not only did Miss Lee “[wonder] at her ignorance,” but
A mean opinion of her abilities was not confined to [Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris]. Fanny could read, work [that means “sew”], and write, but she had been taught nothing more; and as her cousins found her ignorant of many things with which they had been long familiar, they thought her prodigiously stupid, and for the first two or three weeks were continually bringing some fresh report of it into the drawing-room.
You would think that the adults at least would realize that Fanny hadn’t had the opportunity of a gentlewoman’s education, but no, they attribute it to natural stupidity instead of opportunity:
“My dear,” their considerate aunt would reply, “it is very bad, but you must not expect everybody to be as forward and quick at learning as yourself.”
It is only Edmund who perceives that Fanny is not only NOT stupid, she’s actually clever:
He knew her to be clever, to have a quick apprehension as well as good sense, and a fondness for reading, which, properly directed, must be an education in itself. Miss Lee taught her French, and heard her read the daily portion of history; but he recommended the books which charmed her leisure hours, he encouraged her taste, and corrected her judgment: he made reading useful by talking to her of what she read, and heightened its attraction by judicious praise.
One wonders, if a sixteen-year-old boy hadn’t decided to undertake part of Fanny’s education himself, how much worse off would she have been?
That Fanny’s companionship fell almost entirely to a teenage boy six years her senior who spends most of the year away at boarding school/university, is a ringing indictment of the behavior of Maria and Julia, and of those who should have been encouraging them to make a friend of their cousin.
Trauma 5: Mrs Norris (who gets a fucking section all her own)
Here we are. We’ve finally come to it. The other four traumas would certainly have been sufficient to cause C-PTSD, but JFC, Mrs. Norris could have caused it all by her lonesome. While she comes across as amusing in Austen’s sardonic style, she is absolutely toxic for Fanny’s mental health.
Mrs. Norris seems to have had an out-sized effect on the three Mansfield girls. Generally, mothers were in charge of the education of their daughters (even if indirectly, through a governess), so while Sir Thomas did examine them on their lessons, it was really supposed to be Lady Bertram’s job to see to their practical and moral education. But Lady Bertram is an absolute zero, a completely passive character, and Austen says directly that, “To the education of her daughters Lady Bertram paid not the smallest attention.” So it seems like the much more active Mrs. Norris stepped in, and her influence was extremely strong with all three of them, despite her being married and having her own house and her own concerns for the first seven or so years of Fanny’s time at Mansfield.
We can see her influence with all three in the fact that all three of the Mansfield girls end up evaluating themselves in almost perfect accordance to how Mrs. Norris evaluated them. Maria, the golden child*, became very spoiled and proud and thought she could do almost whatever she wanted. Fanny, the scapegoat, came to believe that her only worth was in being “useful” (Mrs. Norris’s hobby-horse) and that she could never be of any importance to anybody. And Julia, while closer to Maria’s level of treatment than Fanny’s, also suffers from comparisons to the golden child:
That Julia escaped better than Maria was owing, in some measure, to a favourable difference of disposition and circumstance, but in a greater to her having been less the darling of that very aunt, less flattered and less spoilt. Her beauty and acquirements had held but a second place. She had been always used to think herself a little inferior to Maria.
[*footnote: Treating one child as the golden child and one as the scapegoat is a very common tactic of abusive caregivers. The scapegoat becomes entirely worn down in self-esteem so that she is powerless to fight back against the abuse. The golden child and other children see how the scapegoat is treated and try hard not to rock the boat because they don’t want to end up like that.]
Mrs. Norris teaches Fanny from the beginning to judge and reject her own natural emotions. On her first traumatic separation from her family, Mrs. Norris lectures her incessantly on how she ought to be HAPPY, not sad:
  Mrs. Norris had been talking to her the whole way from Northampton of her wonderful good fortune, and the extraordinary degree of gratitude and good behaviour which it ought to produce, and her consciousness of misery was therefore increased by the idea of its being a wicked thing for her not to be happy.
Fanny is taught to regard her own natural feelings as “wicked”, especially when they are a negative reaction to how the Bertram/Norris family treats her. While she can see some of her own feelings as just--when they have been sanctioned by Edmund’s judgment--any feeling that tends away from perfect gratitude toward the Bertram/Norris family she immediately rejects as an immoral response. She frequently takes herself to task at these moments. Anger and resentment are natural responses meant to help us protect ourselves against mistreatment from others, and this self-defending response is entirely squelched by Mrs. Norris’s behavior to her.
Mrs. Norris’s behavior toward Fanny is not only emotionally abusive; it is also at least physically neglectful, if not physically abusive. Despite the fact that everyone agrees that Fanny “is not strong”, Mrs. Norris makes a lot of difficulties in Edmund’s attempts to make sure Fanny has a horse to ride, and also refuses to allow Fanny a fire in the East Room, even in the middle of winter, a privation that ever Sir Thomas thinks bad enough that he countermands it--though doing so with a little explanatory disclaimer to Fanny explaining why Mrs. Norris MEANS well and why Fanny shouldn’t dare to be angry, or indeed anything but immensely and forever grateful for their neglectful treatment of her:
Your aunt Norris has always been an advocate, and very judiciously, for young people’s being brought up without unnecessary indulgences; but there should be moderation in everything. She is also very hardy herself, which of course will influence her in her opinion of the wants of others. And on another account, too, I can perfectly comprehend. I know what her sentiments have always been. The principle was good in itself, but it may have been, and I believe has been, carried too far in your case. I am aware that there has been sometimes, in some points, a misplaced distinction; but I think too well of you, Fanny, to suppose you will ever harbour resentment on that account. You have an understanding which will prevent you from receiving things only in part, and judging partially by the event. You will take in the whole of the past, you will consider times, persons, and probabilities, and you will feel that they were not least your friends who were educating and preparing you for that mediocrity of condition which seemed to be your lot. Though their caution may prove eventually unnecessary, it was kindly meant; and of this you may be assured, that every advantage of affluence will be doubled by the little privations and restrictions that may have been imposed. I am sure you will not disappoint my opinion of you, by failing at any time to treat your aunt Norris with the respect and attention that are due to her.
~*GAAASSSSS-LIGHTINNNNGGGGGGG*~  
“Oh, shit, you’ve been freezing to death here for years because your aunt’s an abusive asshole. Oh, but there are three million excuses for her, and also you’re SO GOOD AND GRATEFUL that I KNOW you’ll never allow yourself to see it for the abuse it was, and aren’t you so GRATEFUL to us all for everything we’ve done for you? We MEANT well. And being abused was good for you anyway. If you ever get mad at your abusers I’ll treat you with withering criticism.” 
*gagggg* I could write an entire essay explicating the gaslighting in that passage ALONE.
I could go on and on about Mrs. Norris’s abusive behavior toward Fanny, but I think most of it’s perfectly obvious to the reader. I think a very interesting argument might be made on whether Mrs. Norris would count as having a form of narcissistic personality disorder--always worried about her own importance, living through her golden child Maria, taking everything out on her scapegoat, insisting always on associating her own value with that of Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram and insisting on Fanny’s status being lower because her own self-esteem is dependent on being as good as her sister Bertram and better than her sister Price. Might be interesting.
Part 2: Fanny Price’s Trauma Responses
Complex emotional trauma expresses itself in a number of symptoms and behaviors. We’ve already talked about emotional flashbacks, and I’m going to look at four more major aspects of Fanny’s trauma responses.
Anxiety and Hypervigilance
People with PTSD often suffer from hypervigilance, where their body is constantly on high alert for threats in their environment. These threats are not only physical threats (resulting in things like jumping really hard at sudden noises) but also interpersonal threats. For instance, whenever I hear people talking really quietly in my house, I stop whatever I’m doing and listen REALLY HARD because I’m worried they’re talking about me and it’s gonna be bad.
Fanny exhibits this same behavior when she has retreated to the East Room when Crawford is in the house to propose to her:
She sat some time in a good deal of agitation, listening, trembling, and fearing to be sent for every moment; but as no footsteps approached the East room, she grew gradually composed, could sit down, and be able to employ herself, and able to hope that Mr. Crawford had come and would go without her being obliged to know anything of the matter.
Nearly half an hour had passed, and she was growing very comfortable, when suddenly the sound of a step in regular approach was heard; a heavy step, an unusual step in that part of the house: it was her uncle’s; she knew it as well as his voice; she had trembled at it as often, and began to tremble again, at the idea of his coming up to speak to her, whatever might be the subject. It was indeed Sir Thomas who opened the door and asked if she were there, and if he might come in. The terror of his former occasional visits to that room seemed all renewed, and she felt as if he were going to examine her again in French and English.
Her trembling at the sound of her uncle’s footsteps looks like hypervigilance, and the fact of her childhood “terror” being “renewed” sounds like she’s having another flashback, since she so strongly associates the presence of her uncle in the East Room with those painful childhood visits. She reacts with physical symptoms of stress, trembling at his approach.
Fanny’s anxiety and hypervigilance also demonstrates itself in her being constantly convinced that people are going to be angry with her. When she turns Mr. Crawford down, for instance, she is CONVINCED that Miss Crawford is going to be furious with her, and fears to meet with her. Edmund tells her Miss Crawford isn’t REALLY angry with her, but cannot convince her:
The promised visit from “her friend,” as Edmund called Miss Crawford, was a formidable threat to Fanny, and she lived in continual terror of it. As a sister, so partial and so angry, and so little scrupulous of what she said... she was in every way an object of painful alarm. ...The dependence of having others present when they met was Fanny’s only support in looking forward to it. She absented herself as little as possible from Lady Bertram, kept away from the East room, and took no solitary walk in the shrubbery, in her caution to avoid any sudden attack.
Fanny is so terrified of a polite confrontation with Miss Crawford, whom she has never seen angry before, that she spends DAYS trying to never be alone so that she’ll feel protected by the presence of company! Of course, when Miss Crawford DOES visit, she’s nothing but friendly. But Fanny’s PTSD couldn’t allow her to believe that until it happened. Her anxiety is intense, and this sort of thing happens repeatedly over the course of the novel.
Over-accommodation of others / people-pleasing
Childhood emotional trauma frequently leads to people-pleasing behavior: doing what you do not want to do simply because someone else wants you to.  To understand this, you have to put yourself into the point of view of a very young child or an infant. Children depend entirely on their caregivers for survival: they are aware of this on an instinctive level. If the caregiver shows them very conditional love, only appearing pleased with them when the child does things they like and displeased when the child does things that inconvenience them, the child quickly learns that they need to please their caregivers in order to survive. “Mom gets angry when I cry--Mom doesn’t like me to cry--if Mom gets angry at me, I could starve to death--I need to not cry.” Obviously this line of thinking happens on a subconscious rather than a conscious level, but it’s incredibly powerful nonetheless. I have found myself in situations where a person with some kind of power over me--a doctor, for instance--shows displeasure with something I say to them, and I INSTANTLY find myself backing off, making light of it, taking back everything I said, etc, even though I very much meant it and it needed to be said. The people-pleasing instinct is very strong and difficult to overcome.
In Fanny’s case, it isn’t just a matter of her caregivers showing her inconsistent love in early childhood. Even as an adult, she is fully aware that she needs to please the Bertrams, or she--and her family!--are SCREWED. She is entirely financially dependent on the Bertrams. If she displeases them, not only can they make her life at Mansfield even MORE uncomfortable than it already is, but they can send her back to Portsmouth. Even worse, they could stop their financial support of William and the financial support they are periodically sending to the rest of her family. Huge things hang on Fanny’s pleasing the Bertrams, and it’s small wonder she has developed the habit of trying to please everybody constantly (even her un-pleasable Aunt Norris).
Fanny repeatedly does things she doesn’t want to do, simply because someone asks or tells her to, even if there’s likely to be no major consequences if she doesn’t. One example is on Miss Crawford’s last visit to Mansfield, when Fanny is trying her darnedest to avoid speaking with her alone:
[Miss Crawford] was determined to see Fanny alone, and therefore said to her tolerably soon, in a low voice, “I must speak to you for a few minutes somewhere”; words that Fanny felt all over her, in all her pulses and all her nerves. Denial was impossible. Her habits of ready submission, on the contrary, made her almost instantly rise and lead the way out of the room. She did it with wretched feelings, but it was inevitable.
Fanny doesn’t want to talk to Miss Crawford alone. Fanny doesn’t NEED to talk to Miss Crawford alone. Fanny could stall, perhaps until Miss Crawford left. Nonetheless, the MOMENT Miss Crawford asks it of her, Fanny does it--even though she’s clearly terrified, feeling it “in all her pulses and all her nerves” (more on this physical reaction later). She acts almost like Ella Enchanted: she literally can’t say no.
Likewise, she doesn’t take opportunities she is offered to do things that she DOES wish to do. After a very long description of how much she wants to dance one evening, when her only chance of a partner is Tom, the following exchange occurs:
When he had told of his horse, [Tom] took a newspaper from the table, and looking over it, said in a languid way, “If you want to dance, Fanny, I will stand up with you.” With more than equal civility the offer was declined; she did not wish to dance. “I am glad of it,” said he, in a much brisker tone, and throwing down the newspaper again, “for I am tired to death.”
Fanny DOES want to dance, and the way that he worded the question, she could very well have said, “Yes, please,” and gotten up to dance with him. He has made it obvious that he doesn’t want to dance, and she has picked up on this and said--not only that they don’t have to dance, but the LIE that she doesn’t WANT to dance--in order to please him. Later Austen points Tom out as a hypocrite when he complains, “It raises my spleen more than anything, to have the pretence of being asked, of being given a choice, and at the same time addressed in such a way as to oblige one to do the very thing, whatever it be!” But while it is true that Tom left Fanny LITTLE choice in the matter, it is also true that a stronger character, like Miss Crawford, could probably have found a way to say that she DID want to dance, even with such an unencouraging questioner. Fanny cannot do this: she has been conditioned all her life to give in to people--because her very SURVIVAL has depended on it.
In particular, Mrs. Norris has squelched Fanny’s independence of spirit very firmly. At one point she observes, very unfairly,
There is a something about Fanny, I have often observed it before—she likes to go her own way to work; she does not like to be dictated to; she takes her own independent walk whenever she can; she certainly has a little spirit of secrecy, and independence, and nonsense, about her, which I would advise her to get the better of.”
As a general reflection on Fanny, Sir Thomas thought nothing could be more unjust.
Obviously, Mrs. Norris is completely wrong about this. But as long as she can project* the fault of independence on Fanny, and punish Fanny for this false fault, she can prevent her from ever developing it. By picking on the least little supposed sign of independence and harping on it for ages, Mrs. Norris can prevent Fanny from ever developing a will of her own.
[*Footnote: this is another thing narcissists do: they project their own bad behavior on to others. Mrs. Norris is definitely not secretive, but she is very “independent” and has a lot of “nonsense”--instead of consulting with others about what they actually need in any given situation, she TELLS them. She has no spirit of cooperation, and all her “services” to others tend to be officious and useless.]
Low self-esteem
I thought about putting this together with the section on Mrs. Norris, because Fanny’s self-esteem has been so much shaped by her aunt. This is the kind of message Mrs. Norris is constantly drilling into her about the lowness of her importance:
The nonsense and folly of people’s stepping out of their rank and trying to appear above themselves, makes me think it right to give you a hint, Fanny, now that you are going into company without any of us; and I do beseech and entreat you not to be putting yourself forward, and talking and giving your opinion as if you were one of your cousins—as if you were dear Mrs. Rushworth or Julia. That will never do, believe me. Remember, wherever you are, you must be the lowest and last.
This message is so entirely in keeping with the messages Mrs. Norris has been indoctrinating Fanny with over the years that she has fully internalized it. When a primary caregiver tells you over and over again that you do not matter to anyone, you come to believe it:
[Fanny:] “I can never be important to any one.”
[Edmund:] “What is to prevent you?”
“Everything. My situation, my foolishness and awkwardness.”
“As to your foolishness and awkwardness, my dear Fanny, believe me, you never have a shadow of either, but in using the words so improperly. There is no reason in the world why you should not be important where you are known. You have good sense, and a sweet temper, and I am sure you have a grateful heart, that could never receive kindness without wishing to return it. I do not know any better qualifications for a friend and companion.”
“You are too kind,” said Fanny, colouring at such praise; “how shall I ever thank you as I ought, for thinking so well of me.”
Fanny’s “I can never be important to any one” sounds very much like a triggered teenager sobbing, “Nobody will ever love me!” even while friends next to her are demonstrating that they DO love her. The survivor of this kind of abuse comes to a place where their beliefs do not reflect reality because their beliefs instead reflect the intense emotional rejection they have received from their main caregivers*. Fanny is important to Edmund, William, and Lady Bertram, but is convinced that she not only is NOT important to ANYONE, but never CAN be. She also convinced that she is foolish and awkward, probably by the early experiences at Mansfield when she didn’t know all the intricate rules of high society and was far behind Maria and Julia in her education. Fanny, though she is extremely shy, manages to carry off most things with surprising grace, and she is clever and has a wisdom and common sense in some things far beyond her years. Yet she is CERTAIN that she is “foolish and awkward”, because she has been repeatedly called so by authority figures in her life and almost all of her family at Mansfield.
[*Footnote: these extreme beliefs are often couched in “black-and-white” language: “EVERYBODY hates me, NOBODY loves me, I’ll NEVER be able to do it right, I’ll be alone FOREVER”. We can hear this in Fanny’s “I can NEVER be of importance to ANY ONE”.]
Fanny not only thinks very lowly of herself, she also is afraid of being praised or of anything that could possibly raise her self-esteem. For instance, in a discussion with Edmund, she explains why she never wants anybody to notice her:
[Edmund:] “Your uncle is disposed to be pleased with you in every respect; and I only wish you would talk to him more. You are one of those who are too silent in the evening circle.”
[Fanny:] “But I do talk to him more than I used. I am sure I do. Did not you hear me ask him about the slave-trade last night?”
“I did—and was in hopes the question would be followed up by others. It would have pleased your uncle to be inquired of farther.”
“And I longed to do it—but there was such a dead silence! And while my cousins were sitting by without speaking a word, or seeming at all interested in the subject, I did not like—I thought it would appear as if I wanted to set myself off at their expense, by shewing a curiosity and pleasure in his information which he must wish his own daughters to feel.”
“Miss Crawford was very right in what she said of you the other day: that you seemed almost as fearful of notice and praise as other women were of neglect.”
She is literally fearful of notice and praise--because Mrs. Norris has told her repeatedly throughout her life that she must NEVER shine more than Maria or Julia, must NEVER take attention away from them--a sort of vicarious narcissism. And Fanny feels that to receive a compliment, to state her own opinions, or even to TALK much in company is “stepping out of her place”, the high crime and misdemeanor of Mrs. Norris’s upbringing.
I was raised by a narcissistic caretaker, and I am sometimes suddenly overwhelmed with terror that I’m taking too much attention to myself and that I’m therefore BAD somehow. Because a narcissist (or their proxy, the golden child) must always be the center of attention, the scapegoat is emotionally punished for ever taking the spotlight. Mrs. Norris is disposed to be upset when Sir Thomas holds a dance in Fanny’s honor, and is only reconciled to it because SHE will be able to make herself the center of attention in the preparations.*
[*Footnote: I think another argument can be made for Mrs. Norris’s narcissism in her response to Crawford’s proposal to Fanny:
Angry she was: bitterly angry; but she was more angry with Fanny for having received such an offer than for refusing it. It was an injury and affront to Julia, who ought to have been Mr. Crawford’s choice; and, independently of that, she disliked Fanny, because she had neglected her; and she would have grudged such an elevation to one whom she had been always trying to depress.
Mrs. Norris is DETERMINED to put Fanny down, as the scapegoat, and is offended that one of her golden children (her emotional stand-in) is shown less honor in this situation than the scapegoat. For the scapegoat to be elevated and her narcissistic stand-in to be neglected induces a narcissistic rage.] 
“Sensibility” and High Sensitivity
In the 18th century, a theory and “culture of sensibility” grew up in places like Britain, France, Holland, and the British colonies. Encyclopedia.com’s article on sensibility states, “Sensibility (and ‘sensible’ and ‘sentiment’) connoted the operation of the nervous system, the material basis for consciousness.” But the workings of the nervous system, they believed, affected more than just the physical body. Some people, it was held, had greater sensibility than others: their nerves were more easily affected by not only physical but also emotional and moral input, and they responded accordingly--not just in word and in deed, but in tears, blushes, trembling, fainting, etc. It was believed that people’s emotional responses AND physical responses could tell you something about their physical AND moral makeup. A truly modest woman, for instance, would blush and look confused when confronted with something that offended her maidenly modesty. A woman--or indeed, man--who was truly moral and “sensible” would be emotionally affected by something sad, such as a tale of oppression, to the point of openly weeping. A heroine of sensibility would most likely faint if threatened with something she found, not only physically frightening, but morally abhorrent (such as a forced marriage). This is part of the reason for what seems to use like excessive emotional reactions in some 18th-century novels: the writer is demonstrating her characters’ moral superiority through their physical sensibility.*
[*Footnote: Encyclopedia.com adds, “The coexistence of reason and feeling was assumed, but the proportion of each was endlessly debated, above all because of what many saw as the dangers of unleashed feelings... [After the French Revolution,]  The debate over the proportions of reason and feeling in persons of sensibility was politicized, and the need for women to channel their feelings toward moral and domestic goals was reemphasized. The word ‘sentimental,’ which had been used positively, became a label for ‘excessive sensibility’ and self-indulgence.” We can see this conflict clearly in Austen’s Sense and Sensibility!]
There is, in fact, a modern equivalent to the 18th century idea of sensibility: the concept of the Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) or Sensory Processing Sensitivity (SPS). First proposed by Elaine Aron's book The Highly Sensitive Person (1996), the theory suggests that SPS 
is a temperamental or personality trait involving "an increased sensitivity of the central nervous system and a deeper cognitive processing of physical, social and emotional stimuli". The trait is characterized by "a tendency to 'pause to check' in novel situations, greater sensitivity to subtle stimuli, and the engagement of deeper cognitive processing strategies for employing coping actions, all of which is driven by heightened emotional reactivity, both positive and negative". (wikipedia)
While some people have mocked this theory as pseudoscience, Aron is by no means the only researcher to have studied it, and a great many people who suffered from people telling them “You’re too sensitive” when they were hurt have taken comfort in the positive affirmation that high sensitivity is a natural phenomenon and can even at times be regarded as a strength rather than a character flaw.
It seems to me that there is a good deal of overlap between those who self-identify or may be identified as HSPs and those who have C-PTSD. Whether this is because greater emotional sensitivity leads to a greater incidence of traumatic responses to negative experiences, or whether high sensitivity is itself a product of repeated childhood trauma, I can’t say. (Heck, it could even be that the HSP’s belief that they’re over-sensitive comes from childhood gaslighting!)
What I can say is that Fanny Price exhibits, not only hypervigilance, but also what Austen would call “great sensibility” and I would call “SPS”. Fanny has the greatest sensibility of any character in the entire novel, even Edmund: she judges more clearly on moral matters than Edmund or Sir Thomas, and has the strongest physical and emotional reactions to stimuli. She seems to be constantly blushing, trembling, or tearing up. This is not only painful to modern readers (who, if they’re not pained by sympathizing with her, may well be pained by what seems to them a lack of proper 21st-century backbone in a main character) but is clearly highly uncomfortable at times to Fanny herself. She might be able to pride herself on her moral discernment (not that Fanny would EVER pride herself on ANYTHING), and she may be in transports of happiness when something good, like William’s arrival or promotion, occur, but she is often “cast down” as well by things that seem to others like trifles. We see this not only in her hypervigilance but also in the depression and the black-and-white thinking which are often the products of trauma. Edmund observes to her, “It is your disposition to be easily dejected and to fancy difficulties greater than they are.” Fanny’s apparent high sensitivity may be just a natural trait (made worse by trauma) or may itself be a product of trauma.
Conclusions
At the end of all this, I’m really not sure what I think about Fanny’s “happy ending”. On one hand, she gets what she’s always wanted in life: companionate marriage with Edmund, valued by Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram, with Mrs. Norris (and Maria) gone forever, and Julia and Tom chastened and better behaved. It seems perfect for her. But a little voice inside of me keeps saying how very unlikely it is. People rarely change as much as Sir Thomas does in the book--and in fact, we are only assured by Austen that Sir Thomas comes to value Fanny more: we don’t actually SEE it. I can’t help but feel that Fanny must still have been subject to ongoing gaslighting about how she was brought up and about respect toward Mrs. Norris and himself. Fanny got what she thought she wanted, but at the same time, she didn’t get free. Especially considering that Austen goes out of her way to say that things COULD have turned out differently and that Fanny and Crawford COULD have been happy together, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if Fanny had ended up with the ONLY person in the entire book who truly recognizes how badly she has been treated at Mansfield Park:
[Crawford]: And they will now see their cousin treated as she ought to be, and I wish they may be heartily ashamed of their own abominable neglect and unkindness.
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novantinuum · 3 years
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Fandom: Steven Universe
Rating: General Audiences
Words: 1600~
Summary: Lapis genuinely doesn’t know how many hours (Days? Months? Years?) have passed when light finally graces her eyes once again.
Ah, my first Lapis POV fic! This one has been in my drafts for ages- at least a year and a half. Feels nice to finally have it done.
If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3
________
Finally Free
It’s funny, in a way.
She spent thousands of years trapped inside herself, unable to form... hating the Crystal Gems... fearing the endless destructive conquest of the Diamonds... and yet in the end, the first time she falls in a battle she fought willingly she does so fighting alongside those star-bearing rebels, face-to-face with the very Diamond who abandoned her to Earth to be forgotten to begin with.
And now, she’s gone. Trapped inside herself again. It’s equal parts disorienting as it is concerning. After all, Lapis Lazuli cannot see the world beyond. She has no way of knowing if the Crystal Gems lost or won. No way of knowing if she’ll be shattered at any moment. It’s nerve-racking— suffocating! She wants out. She wants to know.
But no matter what she tries, she can’t manage to pull herself out of this formless limbo on demand. She always imagined that the next time she got struck down she’d reform in an instant... pop right back up like the next day’s dawn, ready to slice the waves and swing her fists like she’s never been shaken to her knees in the first place. Apparently not.
Despite her dearest wishes, it would seem the universe has a higher agenda.
_
Lapis genuinely doesn’t know how many hours (Days? Months? Years?) have passed when light finally graces her eyes once again.
Fittingly, it’s the ocean who greets her first as she hovers midair in the midst of reformation, arms outstretched and coursing with newfound strength as her form fully solidifies. She gently falls to her knees on the sand. With the sun’s energizing warmth kissing the gemstone on her back, she spreads her fingers through the fine granules, her relief at being free from unconsciousness’ cruel prison so palpable and overwhelming that for a moment she’s irrationally terrified she’ll poof again from the intensity of this fierce emotion alone. Her hard-light body remains solid, however. After all, she’s a stubborn Gem. There’s no way she’ll let herself poof as easily as she did this time around ever again.
Coaxing herself to her feet, she makes a clear point of judiciously surveying her surroundings. Her first big clue as to the outcome of the battle is the fact that the Diamond ships still lay broken and motionless in the shallows at the edge of the peninsula. (Not to mention the fact that the Earth is still... well, here.) Directly behind her, she finds a makeshift worktable formed out of a thick board placed over twin stacks of wood, with plenty of human tools scattered across its surface. No one appears to be hanging around Steven’s house right now, but there’s a sizable tarp thrown over the half that Blue’s ship smashed during the battle. That’s good, that insinuates that someone’s alive to begin repairs. Although, wait a minute... Her brow sharply creases as she filters back through recent memory. Wasn’t that ship still leaning against the side of the cliff when she poofed? How’d it get into the water? And how did the arm ship’s thumb get reattached?
Before she can fret about these mysteries further and and risk losing herself to a burst of paranoid panic, she hears her name called from the distance. Attentively, she whirls around, seeking its source.
It’s Peridot, sprinting right towards her across the fine sand as if the rest of this growing, changing world has somehow hurtled to an abrupt stop. But not her. Goodness, never her. She’s always in motion, always manages to be so alive.
And she... she’s changed her outfit. There’s stars everywhere, on her leggings at her knees, in the silhouette formed by the shape of her visor and hair, and plastered proudly right across her chest. Lapis can’t help but give a fond smirk at the sight. It suits her. Now she can finally represent like a true Crystal Gem.
“Lapis!” she exclaims as she crosses the final distance, lands herself face-to-face once more. “You’re finally back!”
For a minuscule moment the green eyes behind that tinted visor glitter with deep affection and relief, and her arms stretch outward as if she intends to envelop her in a tight embrace and never let go, but as oft is the case, the turbulent waves of emotion coursing through this Gem are riddled with more complexity than initial appearances let on. And if there’s one thing Lapis fails to excel at, it’s understanding how to best respond to the nuances of complex emotions. She’s never been much of a people person, even before her capture.
Eventually, the joyful familiarity within Peridot’s expression dims, and— inhaling deep— she steeples her fingers together as if she were an agate merely addressing a subordinate. The tone of her voice becomes bitingly procedural, detached.
(Try as she may, Lapis can’t block the ephemeral ache this new reality elicits at her core as the conversation continues. She clutches at her wrist, shamefully dropping her gaze to the sand.)
“Anyways,” the former Kindergarten technician says evenly, gesturing at the mess littering the beach behind them, “we have a lot of work to do. No time to waste!”
Her brow creases. “But... didn’t we win?”
“We did, yes,” she nods in confirmation. “Bismuth can explain in more depth, but she’s currently on one of the diamond ships. We’re fixing them so we can fly out as backup.”
“Backup? Backup for what?”
Peridot’s cool and collected guise crumples at this query, her hands curling into small fists as she blinks away any lingering evidence of her distress.
“Steven’s in trouble,” she reveals. “We just received a distress message from him yesterday. I’m told he returned to Homeworld with the Diamonds to discuss healing all the corrupted Gems, but...”
“Something went wrong,” she guesses, the shadow of her bangs darkening over her eyes. “They turned on him.”
“Well... we don’t really know what happened. Which is why time is of the essence!” she says with a sudden surge of positive energy, swiftly jabbing her pointer finger in the air. “Follow me, and I’ll show you where we’re working.”
Her old roommate prepares to jog away, towards the other side of the beach where the ships lay in temporary rot and ruin. Time stills in Lapis’ mind, if but for a brief moment, as she watches the sunlight glint at the upper edge of her visor, the refraction producing almost kaleidoscopic patterns in the sand. The choppy rhythm of the ocean, its undulating melody as it washes in and away from shore, uninterrupted... it almost sounds sad. She hums a few bars of a song she wrote back in her solitude, on the moon. And then she realizes, eyes widening... that she never really left that place, did she? In a way, even though she returned to Earth, it’s like she’s still stuck watching everyone from that observation sphere, still barring herself from nurturing her relationships with others out of fear.
Lapis throws her glance out towards the endless horizon, standing tall and erect as the loose pants of her new form billow against her legs in the light breeze. The long-held tension at her core releases. She’s done closing herself off from people. She’s done with feeling trapped and alone. She wants to mend her relationships, not let them erode away.
Which means... she has to at least try to make things right with Peridot. Somehow.
The tide’s pace resumes to its full intensity. At that precise moment, her friend turns on her heels, swiftly preparing to return to their work site.
“Peridot,” she says, quickly stepping forward to catch her shoulder before she can walk off, before she journeys to some distant shore where she can’t follow.
The shorter Gem freezes in place upon the utterance of her name. She doesn’t respond in words initially, lips tightly pursed. Waiting. Hoping.
(Stars, just say it!)
“I... I shouldn’t have run away,” Lapis blurts out, her form growing lighter the second that vocalization crosses the threshold from her guilt-filled subconscious to shining reality. “That was... a huge mistake. And I really wish I could make it up to you, but...” Her scattered focus shifts as she searches for something— anything— to say in further acknowledgement of her regret, eventually landing upon the shattered remnants of wood still strewn across the beach. She sighs sadly, giving her respects. “I’m pretty sure we can both agree that the barn’s a goner.”
Under her hold, Peridot’s once-tense shoulder relaxes. She makes no move to face her, however, still drinking in the no-doubt humbling sight of this planet’s boundless sea
“Well,” she begins slowly. “As long as you work to communicate with your friends whenever you feel overwhelmed in the future, and promise not to kidnap all of my morps into space again, I think we can call it even.”
She places one of her hands atop hers, the action but a small sign of their renewed goodwill.
“In any case, I’m- really glad you’re back,” she says, fondness evident in her tone.
Lapis smiles.
The ocean’s melody is no longer tinged with a companionless melancholy.
_
It’s funny how things can change.
She spent thousands of years terrified of the consequences of being caught as traitor to the Great Diamond Authority, and now she’s planning to illegally commandeer a diamond ship to fly a rescue mission into the stagnant heart of Homeworld. She’s only been a Crystal Gem for the equivalent of a few minutes, and yet she’s already reformed bolder and braver than ever before.
She feels strong. Despite the inherent danger of their task, she feels an ever-building reassurance, fighting amongst her friends. For the first time ever, she finally feels like someone has her back.
Lapis closes her eyes as she reflects on the culmination of her journey, standing confident alongside her dear friend on the bridge of Blue’s ship.
No more searching. No more running. She’s finally free.
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spectrumed · 3 years
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7. identity
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The aesthetic of suffering, the allure of victimhood, it’s important to acknowledge that to many people, the idea of struggling with mental illness is hot. A common trope in teen dramas is the existence of the sexy bad boy haunted by demons of depression or addiction or some other psychological malady. Women with mental illness tend to be sexualised, less, but then again, women are most typically always sexualised, no matter the state of their mental health. But it’s not just a case of some people finding mental illness to be attractive in others, many see mental illness in themselves as something to take pride in, to celebrate and nurture. To seek out a diagnosis, to infiltrate communities that exist to provide support to those in need, and to declare themselves as being special. Fakers, you could call them. Yes, we’re going to be entering into dangerous grounds here, talking about a potentially incendiary topic that might feed the flames of controversy, but it’s a topic worth discussing. Self-diagnosis. Is self-diagnosis valid or not? Should one self-diagnose? Is it ableism to be against self-diagnosis? Is it ableism to be for self-diagnosis? Is it ableism itself ableist? I don’t know, sweetheart, you are asking a whole bunch of questions and I am hungover… But let’s go on rambling about what it means to be labelled neurodivergent.
Do you have an identity? Do you root for a particular sports team? Do you like a particular kind of music? Do you dance a lot? Are you a dancer? What are you? Simply stating that you’re just “a human” probably won’t do. Sure, it’s correct, but I am also a human, and we could be two very different kinds of people. Your identity should be that certain something that makes you stand apart from the rest, that distinguishes you from the squirming mass of flesh that is the whole of humanity. There are plenty of things about you that do figure in your identity, even though you wish it didn’t. You’re black, you don’t wish to always be “that black guy over there,” but you’ve come to realise that’s just how society views you. Maybe you are a transwoman, and you very eagerly want your friend to stop introducing you as her “trans bestie.” You’re just a woman, you don’t need her to keep labelling you as trans, even though that's what you are. There are many ways we can change our identity through direct personal action. Maybe you could start wearing a hat, and be known as “that hat guy” to the people you work with. Maybe you could embrace a punk aesthetic, looking like young Johnny Rotten stepped into a time machine and got transported to the current day. Actions like these can have a big or small impact on how others see you, but it feels good to be able to make a decision like that and get a response. This is me, this is what I am. I’m the guy who wears bow-ties, don’t I look cool? If only shaping your sense of self always came down to personal decisions like that. You don’t always have a choice.
I’ve lately been watching some Conan O’Brien (American TV talk show host who’s recently decided not to be a TV talk show host) clips. I am sure I don’t need to explain who Conan O’Brien is to my readers, but just in case this is being read by aliens ten-thousand years from now, what I can tell you is that Conan O’Brien is well known for being freakishly tall. Like, really tall. He’s an elongated leprechaun. He’s turned being tall into one of his trademarks. Like many comedians, he’s come to use his corporeal form as a source for levity and fun. While, naturally, the man did not choose to grow as tall as he did, he’s come around to use his height not as a hindrance to success, but rather as an asset. He’s “that tall irish guy on the TV,” and he’s been that person for nearly thirty years. It pays to have some distinguishing feature if you wish to be distinguished. Mr. Joe Average might be perfectly funny and charming, but being an average-looking guy can be wholly detrimental in making a career for yourself as a funnyman. At least get yourself some weird voice, or something. Maybe pretend to be some foreigner and put on a fake accent. As a comedian your job is to be exploited, you wish to be made into a commodity to be sold. People will want to watch your special because of that funny face you pull in the thumbnail. To be different can be financially lucrative.
What’s the best approach in turning something that could be perceived as an abnormal feature into something that is beneficial to you? To make jokes about it? Certainly, if I were to meet a man with a heavily scarred face, I feel there’d likely be a tension between me and him that could be dispelled if that man with the heavily scarred face made some little joke about his appearance, some little quip. “I’m sorry, I cut myself shaving this morning,” would do. The person isn’t obliged to justify his existence to me, he does not have to go out of his way to make me feel less uncomfortable. I am the one in the wrong, certainly. I shouldn’t look at a person with a heavily scarred face and feel uncomfortable, that’s me letting prejudices get in the way, I know that. But, it is what it is. If you’re looking for a practical solution, telling people to simply get over themselves and learn to not be so awkward around folks with physical deformities won’t do. It may be the right thing, but it’s not going to happen any time soon. I am sure that the man with the heavily scarred face isn’t interested in being defined by his heavily scarred face. He's probably sick and tired of that little joke, and wish he didn’t have to make it. But it does the job. Suddenly, you are not looking at something to be feared, the other, you are looking at a person, and someone with a sense of humour. The importance of humour in eradicating stigma, making it possible for the ostracised to enter in society, cannot be understated. Through humour, you can convince most everyone that you are someone worthy of inclusion, because… well, you’re just a funny guy, who doesn’t wanna hang out with you?
For those who have grown up not feeling normal, worrying that there are aspects of your character that others may perceive as unwanted, the yearning to be liked can at times become excruciating. I like to consider myself a funny person, while this blog isn’t intended to be a humorous one, occasionally small little jokes will squirm their way to the top, like worms coming up to the surface during a rainstorm. I am also a cartoonist, and produce a new cartoon every other day. My humour isn’t universal, no good humour ever is universal, but it’s done good in getting some folks to like me. Some people want to be admired, some people want to be feared. I only want to be liked. The one thing I absolutely do not want to be is pitied. I don’t want your pity, I fear your pity.
You’re probably familiar with The Sims, right? It’s a life simulation game, where you control a little digital human, known as a sim, and try to help them make the right decision through life. Each sim has a number of meters that measures their current needs. Hunger, hygiene, energy, if they need to urinate or defecate (though, frankly, the distinction between the two isn’t made in the game, so one can assume that sims are like birds and have just one cloaca that does both,) and so on. One of these meters is for social activities. If a sim hasn’t been social in a while, they go nutty. What’s interesting here, the reason why I bring it up, is that in real life, though we all (to a lesser or greater degree) crave to socialise with others, what kind of socialising you do is of a very big importance. There are a myriad of ways in which one can be social, and depending on your needs at the time, one kind of socialising may not do, whereas another kind of socialising may be just what you need. Do you want to hang out with your pals, cracking jokes and maybe drinking a couple of beers? Do you want to have a serious conversation with your partner about what you wish to accomplish together? Do you want to play with your dog? These different social situations scratch different parts of your mind, and you can’t just substitute one for the other and think that’s all alright. A person may have tonnes of friends, lots of buddies to spend their time with, but they may still desperately be yearning for another kind of social interaction, one that none of their friends can deliver. The human need for company is more complex than how it is depicted in The Sims… which, to be fair, probably shocks nobody. The Sims doesn’t pretend that it’s some highly realistic simulation of real life, it’s a game meant to be played for fun. But what’s important here is the fact that while humans do have a need to be social, how that need is fed changes dramatically on the person, and their conditions. Socialising that may bring comfort to one person, may bring discomfort to another person.
I don’t want you to pity me. I may list my diagnoses, I may tell you of the difficulties that I face in life, but I do not want you to feel sorry for me. I want you to be entertained reading this, I don’t want to make you weep thinking about how cruel life can be. I don’t want you thinking I’m special, or different, because of my diagnoses. I want you to think I’m special and different because of my writing. Sure, this blog is about living with autism spectrum disorder, but I don’t want you reading this blog just because it’s about autism spectrum disorder. I want you to read this because, while it is about a diagnosis you are interested in learning more about, you also find what I write to be well-written and at times, mildly humorous. This blog isn’t my rabid manifesto detailing all the ways my life sucks, and what must be done by society to appease me. Nah, I’m doing relatively fine, don’t feel bad for me, please. I don’t want that kind of attention. I do want attention, I won’t lie and tell you that I don’t have an ego, or that I don’t get pleased seeing people like the things I put out there. I do have a social need, it’s just that being pitied does not do it for me. It doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel bad. It makes me feel sad. It really makes me feel mad.
We’re finally getting around to the topic I promised I would discuss. Self-diagnosis. A principal concern people have with self-diagnosis is that people only self-diagnose in order to receive pity from others. The difference between someone like me, who’s got a proper official diagnosis, and someone who is self-diagnosed, is that I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to fetishise my diagnosis, this thing about me that I did not choose to be. I don’t want special favours just because of my diagnosis, I don’t want to be known as “that cartoonist with autism.” I am autistic, I’ve come to accept that, but I don’t want anyone to introduce me as “their friend who’s on the spectrum.” Some may accuse me of self-loathing, treating being autistic like some bad thing that I am ashamed of. But that’s not it. After all, I did start this blog to discuss what it is like. I just don’t want to be defined by this certain something that lies outside of my control. I don’t want it to be my “thing.” I don’t mind being referred to as a hairy cartoonist, because I am pretty hairy. I don’t want to cut my hair any time soon (especially with this plague going around.) No-one would pity me just because I am hairy. At most they may regard me as a good-for-nothing beatnik, and I’m okay with that. Ideally, I still want to be liked, but anything is better than being pitied. To be pitied is to be robbed of your own agency, your own potential. Sure, it gets you that attention you may be craving, but at the cost of infantilization. Autistic people often struggle with being infantilized by society, to the point where some folks don’t even realise that there are autistic grown-ups in the world. Anyone who would voluntarily seek out a diagnosis just to be pitied, well… it doesn’t sit right with me. It makes me, quite frankly, feel demoralised.
But not all people self-diagnose just to get pity from others, right? For some it’s genuinely their only option, likely living in a barely-functioning country like the United States where receiving psychiatric care is expensive and it’s just not something they can afford. It’s unfair of me to phrase self-diagnosing as just a quest to receive pity, it’s way more complicated than that. And yes, I’d have to agree. To know all the reasons why a person may self-diagnose, you have to go personally ask them. Even if it is possible to highlight a few certain trends, things that they all have in common, it’s bound to be impossible to make this one sweeping generalisation to explain everything. All I am saying is that there absolutely are those people who do self-diagnose with the explicit goal of getting pitied. Whether they are knowingly faking their condition or not, to them, being pigeonholed as a person with autism isn’t at all a negative. It’s their identity. It is how they have chosen to let the world see them. They made a choice. They chose this label. This is why many people who have official diagnoses are sceptical of those who've only got a self-diagnosis. Whether your self-diagnosis is accurate or not, in the end, you chose to identify yourself with it. You made a decision, oblivious of the fact that many people don’t get to make that kind of a decision, and they may bear resentment for how you are turning something they’ve faced ostracization for, into what is potentially on the same level as listening to a certain kind of music, or being a supporter of a sports team. A diagnosis is not something you should choose to have.
There are other things to say about self-diagnosis. First of all, it can be dangerous. Some of the diagnoses I’ve seen people give themselves are really serious, things like personality disorders or psychosis. Psychiatrists are very careful when putting these kinds of labels on people, knowing the harm that it can do. A diagnosis is meant to only be given after careful deliberation, and after long conversations with the patient. Psychiatrists know that reducing a person to a set of symptoms can have detrimental effects to that person’s sense of self. If you’re trying to cling on to a diagnosis, seeing it as a major part of your identity, then that may hamper any attempts you make to become a better person, to improve your mental health. You will feel as if you need to correspond to the exact specifications of the disorder, and you will not allow yourself to grow naturally as a complicated human being, a human being whose internal life is far too vast to be fully rounded up with some psychiatric jargon. There are plenty of things about me that do not line up with the diagnostic criteria for autism spectrum disorder, and guess what, that’s quite good actually. It doesn’t mean that I don’t have autism, I very much do, but I realise that as a person, I am more than just my diagnosis. The diagnosis does not define me, I define the diagnosis. If you self-diagnose, do you comprehend all that you are getting yourself into? Are you going to find yourself in psychological traps that will only serve to worsen your mental health? It’s hard to look at yourself objectively, you could easily be misrepresenting yourself inside your own mind. You may effectively be locking parts of yourself away, making it so you are no longer able to see the full you. You will no longer be all there, you will be segmented in favour of upholding the defining marks of a diagnosis that doesn’t suit you.
Instead of self-diagnosing, try doing a self-assessment. Keep in mind that, while you may have this diagnosis, it’s too early to say for sure. You’re going to need somebody else’s input. You’ll need to sit with it for a while to see if it sticks. Keep an open mind, realise that there’s no easy way to explain exactly who you are, or what you are like. It’s very possible that you will come to realise that you are in fact autistic, or have whatever other diagnosis you may suspect describes you. I, after all, came to the conclusion that I was autistic before I got the diagnosis (though, I was going to therapy at that point, and I was on the way to undergo a neuropsychiatric evaluation.) It’s not bad to try and get to understand yourself, don’t come out of this thinking that self-reflection is only possible with a psychiatrist looming over you, telling you how to think about things. We all need to come to certain conclusions over how we self-identify, and sometimes you need to take mental leaps to explain certain things. Just don’t feel as if your best option is to put a label on yourself that can potentially negatively affect your psychological well-being. If you are truly searching for understanding, if your goal is to find out more about yourself, you should act with caution and concern for what you are doing. If all you are looking for is to have people pity you, then… well… I don’t know what to say, really…
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xpeachesncream · 3 years
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off the grid | nine (final)
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summary: it was as simple as swapping places with a stranger from across the world to get away from everything back home. that is - until you meet Jimin. things become more complicated as he unfolds a new chapter in your life that you were initially trying to avoid.
pairing: reader x pjm
genre: post-college au, christmas/holiday au | angst, fluff, smut (to come)
words: 1.7k
chapter warnings: cussing, more insecurities and overthinking, crying, reminiscing, fluff
notes: here we are, folks! the final chapter to this series. i may post some drabbles later on and accept requests, but for now, i’ll keep this where it’s at. thanks for the love and support on this! head over to my kth fic called perfectly wrong if you’re looking for something a little messier lol
> series masterlist <
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You took one last look around Yana's loft to make sure you weren't missing anything. You made sure her loft was spotless, doing loads of laundry and cleaning every inch to make sure it was ready for her arrival back home.
Once you were satisfied with your round, you sighed, giving the loft one last look with a tight-lipped smile. This place truly gave you the best memories by far. You look towards the living room, remembering the moment you shared with Jimin and how you both had confessed your feelings for each other.
It was something you were never going to forget.
You grabbed your purse and your luggage and made your way downstairs to the cab you called over to take you to the airport. The driver happily helped with your luggage before you took your position in the back seat and sat quietly. You held Jimin's polaroid album tightly, letting it sit on your lap as you reminisced once more on the memories you made in Seoul while the driver began to pull off.
The people you met. Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok, Jin.
The places you've been.
Jimin.
You were feeling a little unsettled as the ride continued because you were still questioning the decisions you've made. Was this truly it for you two? Were you really going to go back home without reconciling in any way with Jimin?
You flipped through the polaroids one last time, fixating on the very last polaroid of you and Jimin. You made many mistakes in the past, and you knew this would be the cherry on top if you allowed it to slip from in between your fingers.
Fuck this. This couldn't be it, and you were wrong for initially thinking so.
You've lived these past years in so much sadness and frustration, so much stress and pent up negative energy. You felt like you wasted so much time being unhealthily down in the dumps, and you were so damn tired. You came here to start over and do better for yourself and you finally found that reason that pushed you to do better. You weren't gonna do this to yourself, not again. You weren't gonna make this mistake. You weren't gonna let him get away. You weren't gonna go home feeling this empty. You were gonna be selfish, and you were going to do whatever that meant to you.
You abruptly told the cab driver you had a change in destination, and he drove back towards Jimin's address without any complaints. All of a sudden, the 10-15 minutes to get to his apartment complex seemed like forever. You were dying to get out of the cab, mainly afraid you'd miss Jimin and you'd miss your chance to do this.
God, if this was meant to be, please just let me talk to him.
When you finally arrived to the steps of his apartment building, you paid the cab driver heftily and dragged your belongings into the small elevator. As soon as you reached Jimin's floor, you rushed over to his door, pushing your belongings to the side. You knocked frantically, hoping someone was at least home.
"Y/N? Are you okay? Don't you have a flight to catch?" Taehyung looked at you worriedly.
"Yeah, but that's not important right now." You rushed in while Taehyung politely brought your things in and set them aside. "Is Jimin here?" You asked although you were already making your way to his room.
"No, he just left not too long ago." Your heart dropped.
"Fuck." You said to yourself as you ran your hand through your hair.
"I'm pretty positive he went to his parents' cafe. Do you need me to drive you there?"
"Please? I really need to talk to him." He nodded and grabbed his keys.
"Alright, come on." You and Taehyung rush out the door and hop into his car. You were praying that you'd find Jimin there, but you were hopeful. Jimin had always spent time with his mom and dad, besides helping out at their café. Your felt your heart beating against your chest, the anxiety skyrocketing every minute that passed by. Taehyung was doing his best to navigate the streets quickly, but safely, immediately understanding how important this was to you.
Jimin had been having a difficult time getting past this, being that all he really did was sulk in his room if he wasn't at the café. He didn't know how someone could come in and change his life the way you did. How he could fall so easily for you. But he was starting to think that maybe, you were right. Maybe, you had a point. At least, that's what he liked to tell himself so it would become easier to move past this.
It never got easier, though. If anything, it really didn't do anything for him. You continued to stay on his mind, 24/7.
And so, you and Taehyung finally arrive at the café. It's not too busy, with only a few people sitting inside, sipping on their drinks and eating pastries. You and Taehyung don't spot Jimin at the front, and only see his sweet mother. She smiles from ear to ear as she approaches the both of you, pulling you into a tight hug.
"Y/N, I told Jimin to bring you over for Christmas, but he said you were busy getting ready to go back home. Isn't your flight today?"
"Yeah, I'm sorry." You pouted. "It is, but there's something I need to speak to Jimin about. Is he around?" She shook her head.
"We had him run some errands, but he should be here soon. Just wait here, I'll bring you two some drinks and pastries." She sat you both down at a table near the register, pouring you some coffee and Taehyung his favorite tea.
"Hey, don't worry. He'll be here soon." Taehyung flashed you a toothless, reassuring smile.
"Thank you for driving me here." He nodded. "I, um. I don't wanna go home like this. Even though, I'm not sure he'd want to talk to me after our stupid argument."
"He'll be happy to see you, Y/N. Trust me. Just be honest with him and let him know how you feel."
"You don't think he'll be mad?" He shook his head.
"No. I promise you." Before you know out, you both see Jimin's car pull up out front. He hops out of the car, bringing a few bags towards the back of the cafe. You couldn't wait for him to notice you, so you head outside to follow him. You stand there with Taehyung a few steps away, hoping he'd turn around and warmly greet you. Just as long as he didn't storm off all pissed, that's all that mattered.
Which, he doesn't. When he turns, his facial expression softens, and his whole body relaxes. He stands there in a puffy jacket, a white tee and jeans. He stares at you, slightly caught off guard as to why you were still lingering around when you had a flight to catch.
"Y/N?"
"Jimin." You ran straight to him, throwing your arms around his neck. "I'm sorry, I totally messed up. W-what I said, I didn't mean any of that shit and I was just so stupid. I-I don't wanna go home like—" You rambled on and on into his chest before pulling away from the hug you embraced him in, confusion plastered on his face as he couldn't understand what you said word for word.
"Woah, slow down. What is it?" You sighed as your face softened while caressing his cheek.
"Jimin, I'm sorry. I messed up. I didn't mean anything I said after we got home from the bars. It was stupid."
"It's okay. Don't worry about it." He leans into your hand. "But, you have a flight to catch. We should probably get you going—"
"No, I don't care. I'm staying for a bit longer. I wanna stay with you. I want to be with you, I want us." You smile at him as the tears begin to well up in your eyes.
"I hope you don't feel obligated to do this in order to make amends." He says softly. "You know I'll understand and give you the space you need—"
"No, I'm not. My feelings for you," You paused. "My feelings for you run deep, Park. God, it's so frustrating. I didn't intend to fall in love coming here, but I did and it's the greatest feeling in the world knowing it's you. I've made a ton of mistakes in the past, but I wasn't going to let this be another. I wasn't going to let you get away. I wanna be selfish for once, and I wanna choose what will make me happy." You cupped his face with both of your hands as he smiled down at you, his hands resting on your wrists. "We'll figure this out, but for right now, lets just enjoy this as we are, in this time and space. I wanna do this ride with you and I hope you still do, too."
"Of course I do." He smiled down at you. "God, fuck, I really, really do." He held you tightly against his body. You wasted no time planting a kiss on his plump lips, smiling into it as he caressed your back and held you close. Everything about this felt so right, and you couldn't but feel complete. You couldn't help but feel like you have finally done things for yourself, reached new heights for yourself and finally let go of the past, leaving it to where it belonged.
And so, you, Jimin and Taehyung take this back inside, not giving one fuck about missing your flight or what the upcoming days will look like. You were extremely giddy from the spontaneity, and all you wanted to do was curl up in Jimin's arms, right where you were safe. You had never felt so free and so loved at the same time, surrounding yourself with your new friends, who cared for you, and Jimin, who absolutely adored you in every way possible. Being here, you had learned that it was just better to let go. Don't chase those answers or explanations. You keep fighting for you, because no one's got you like you got yourself.
Seoul had brought you that, paving a way for a new beginning that you were excited to conquer with Jimin by your side.
That holiday-solo-vacation love story didn't end up being so bad after all.
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cherry-interlude · 3 years
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Lana Del Rey Unreleased Ranking (3)
This is a re-ranking of Lana's unreleased songs, after making a first a few years ago. This is all my opinion, which I don't mind anyone disagreeing with but don't come for me for it - honestly, I like every song, despite any criticism, and this ranking is very vague. It's based on objective and subjective opinion.
This is the third of five posts, with the middle songs.
Dreamgirl
Purely wholesome and dreamy, Lana adds some very fifties “shoo-wops” to play a fifties starlet whispering, her vocals soothing and soft along with the looping piano that guides the song.
Jimmy Gnecco
Breathless over the brisk guitar, Lana gushes over Jimmy – mixing her adoration of her lovers with wannabe-starlet fangirling. It’s one of her best acoustic tracks as she smirks and requests a trip to the park.
Elvis
Lana’s acoustic dedication to her icon Elvis Presley is memorable despite how stripped back it is. It could have been cleaner but Lana’s sorrowful desperation to be close to this man who she is such a fan of works well in being decent output from her.
Boarding School
It’s a difficult listen, considering Lana’s nostalgia is for a “pro-ana nation” and a school where “makig love with your teachers” is revered, but it may just be a satirical look at her time in boarding school when she was younger. I don’t enjoy listening to such worrying topics being handled in an upbeat song but the song itself has well-written lyrics and a great instrumental.
Television Heaven
This song is incredibly sweet, with lovely lyrics, dreamy verses and a distinctive pop feel, but it is definitely a strange mash of instrumentals. It’s not too jarring but it does make the song fall lower in ranking. It feels indecisive as it goes from sugary pop to a slightly darker feel in the choruses, and the lyrics aren’t the most imaginative in Lana’s library of tracks.
Be My Daddy
Lana’s full on sex-kitten in this song that opens with twangy guitars and her hushed “what’s up?” as she greets her potential “daddy”. With dirtier lyrics that she’s “open like a Christmas present” and how she’ll “fuck you”, Lana avoids keeping the sex in just the vibe of the song.
Break My Fall
Another song made for another artist, Lana this time sounds like she’s doing her own track. The pop sound is still ideal for actual music charts but Lana pulls the song off well, playing a strong woman far removed from the tragic women of many of her songs. It’s strong in quality and doesn’t stray into more experimental territory where many of Lana’s unreleased songs reside.
Hit and Run
With three versions to pick from (the poppy original, the Born To Die style slower version and the demo Criminals Run The World that’s a little more overt about Lana’s violent intentions), all three of these songs have something special about them. The pop version is bouncy and chaotic, perfect for a wild spree of gun fights and car chases. The slower version is much more seductive and measured, but a little too reflective compared to the manic power of the upbeat version. Criminals Run The World ranks much lower, not as smooth compared to Hit and Run but still with that insanity that makes Hit and Run a wild ride.
Heavy Hitter
With a jazzy introduction, Lana gives us a glamorous tale of a star having an overdose (somehow she makes it glitzy). However, following the suggestive chorus in which Lana asks her man to open his butterfly doors of his car (to drive her to get help, somehow delivered with seduction rather than horror), the lyrics get lost in Lana’s generic praising of herself and her wicked ways. However, it’s a staple of Lana’s unreleased music, even if I do skip after the (if you think about it) harrowing first verse and chorus.
Behind Closed Doors
The instrumental is a little bit all over the place, but it does work when Lana details her ill-received romance to her lover, then jumps right in the chorus to eagerly tell him how much she enjoys sleeping with him.
Gangsta Boy
Lana is inspired by Betty Boop as she croons and gasps her way through the track. The vibe is great, though the music falls a bit, but Gangsta Boy is playful, light-hearted fun.
You’re Gonna Love Me
Lana may be raw in her vocals and basic in her instrumentals (only a guitar) but Lana takes control, self-assured she will make the listener adore her. Her confessional whisper that she might just want to be loved gives this song a knowing edge despite the pondering questions and realism-on-the-edge-of-pessimism feel tone.
Living Legend
Lana’s Living Legend was intended for Ultraviolence, and whilst the song fits in it is definitely one of her more slumbering songs. Yet her sentiment is strong, her lyrics thoughtful and thoroughly enjoyable. All of the versions bring something a bit different but it is underlined by great song-writing.
Hey You
Lana has fun greeting a potential lover with this track and I have as much fun listening to it. The chorus is sparse and repetitive but Hey You is all about grabbing your attention rather than going to deep.
Is It Wrong?
Claustrophobic and guided by a smart riff and technological glitches, Lana pulls off the perfect unhinged groupie as she questions whether or not she is wrong for wanting the star of her dreams so much. The glitching is great for really seeing how Lana teeters on the edge of sanity for this guy she can’t resist, going from being the starlet to the foaming-at-the-mouth fangirl.
Playground
Lana becomes a rapper apparently in Playground and hits back at anyone who doubts her and her music. With a cloying chorus that compares the music industry to a playground of bitchy comments and school yard, Lana’s verses are smooth and her references overall decent. It can be a little bit clunky in places but it doesn’t take itself too seriously.
Motel 6
A cute little dance track which namedrops Jim and her sister, Chuck, Lana brings the party to her favourite motel, downplaying her glamour to throwback her ‘lore’ and her old life pre-fame. Though it’s very much just describing one night rather than anything complex, it’s harmless fun.
Dynamite
Like the explosive dynamite itself, this song is punchy, restless and powerful. Lana layers this dominating track with innocent references to ice cream and pillow fights whilst also not holding back from the sexual references.
Afraid
Neat and mournful, Lana finally breaks off from her toxic partner. Lana is either sick of being worried for the future or terrified of her partner, and its reflective sadness as she plans to go back home still leaves hope that she will be able to be happy.
Wayamaya
Rolling calmly like a beach wave, Lana takes us straight to Hawaii and paints us an image of handsome surfers and Mercurys. Wayamaya is simply a soothing, short, cute little track that keeps very much surface level.
Hawaiian Tropic
Plinky music paired with non-stressful verses and imagery of Hawaiian shirts, this is the (in my opinion) better version of Every Man Gets His Wish (which shares the same chorus). The subtlety of this track compared to Every Man Gets His Wish helps to convey the hurt feelings a lot better, with the nostalgic feel and mournful longing in the vocals.
Dum Dum
Lana plays the alcoholic star who name drops Scarlett O’Hara and Bugsy Malone as part of her identity. These lyrics are pretty witty and the song snappy but, like some of her unreleased music, is a bit too overproduced and not cohesive. The verses and choruses don’t quite gel which doesn’t make for a song that flows well but with tweaking it could be even better.
Hollywood’s Dead
Lana fits perfectly into the era of fifties with this mid-20th century driven track. It sounds perfectly in place for the decade she frequently romanticises (with a modern twist) and Lana’s crooning, tearful references to her icons drips with glamour.
Fake Diamond
For an anti-romance song, Fake Diamond is quite upbeat. Lana complains of her ‘lover’ who is one way with her, a different way with others, whilst comparing their relationship to all manner of Lana-themed aesthetics (diamonds, movie projectors, etc.). Comparing herself to a child, she practically has a tantrum in the chorus, stamping her feet lovingly as she demands he loves her. I do think this song is joyful, making fun of her inattentive lover whilst keeping one step ahead of his games.
I Must Be Stupid
Lana’s live unreleased track lets Lana enjoy her life despite the hurt that surrounds it, showing strength in the face of heartbreak and other such topics in her music. It was performed post-Lust For Life, an era in which Lana embraced the light side rather than simply the dark.
Live Or Die
The version that is a little bit more lowkey and, in some ways, mature in that it matches a lot of her early albums sound is good but it’s not my favourite. There’s the heady, ultra-pop second version that has plenty more sexy references, a little meow (iconic) and an overall vibe of just having fun on the run. The former version is a bit more serious, but the second is – though less good in terms of production – full of soul.
Velvet Crowbar
Velvet Crowbar is a song that shows the dark side of fame and bad boys, namely the way they self-destruct to the point that their adoring lovers (already addicted to these gangstas of course) are falling with them. This song is a warning to these destructive souls that they aren’t invincible, and an equal warning to the people that love them that they might just fall apart and lose them. Lana puts her emotion across so well, with her stark lyrics, anxious guitars and growling third chorus. Even her more flowery imagery doesn’t cover up the overt fear that runs through this song.
Your Band Is All The Rage
Probably one of Lana’s saddest songs (which could be a great deal many since she knows how to tug heartstrings), Lana lets go of her rock star lover despite still loving him in this acoustic track. She makes soulful promises to be there when he needs him, her love lingering until he wants her back, and utilises the country music theme to her advantage.
1949
The studio version is my favourite but the charm of the original, acoustic demo is unmatched. Despite the controversial inspiration for this track, Lana puts us straight in the world of the 1950s, with American motels and Kmart. It has a note of sadness – perhaps because of the unfortunate tale of Lolita that much of this song seems based on – but it works as one of Lana’s aesthetically pleasing and classic tracks.
Because of You
The spoken intro is a little bit cringe but the song is lovely. Lana plays an immature brat who fell in love with a good man who essentially tamed her (a little bit questionable for some in 2021). It’s got some of her most flowery imagery and it details how her relationship bought out the best of her. The casual comments she throws in throughout the song give this a real bedtime story feel, though this song is anything but sleepy.
Resistance
Frustrated but fun, Lana’s catchy and upbeat Resistance brings to mind surfers and sunny days set in the noughties. Even though she’s furious with the guy who’s causing her so much trouble it still, for a change, stays perky and pleasant. A song that needs more attention, it’s the type of song that gets people singing and dancing along to it.
Dangerous Girl
With a rock-feeling patriotic opening, Lana launches into a track about her prowess as a dangerous girl, like a deranged beauty queen with a gangsta on her arm. It’s simply fun, complete with wolf-whistles and an impression of a siren.
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